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Chapter Text

The crowd screamed like a wave crashing against the stage, neon lights flashing wildly across their faces. The bass hit hard, rhythmic and primal, as the opening notes of Crazy in Love vibrated through the floor.

And then she stepped out.

Izuku.

Wearing nothing but a soft white knitted bra, snug around her chest and bouncing ever so slightly with each confident step—and a pair of short shorts, riding high on her thighs, hugging every curve she usually kept wrapped in oversized hoodies or glittering stage gowns.

But tonight?

She was fire in human form.

Katsuki, already off-stage from his performance, had just taken a gulp of water when the camera panned—right on her. Lips parted, hair tousled like she just rolled out of his bed, sweat glistening over her abs, her body rolling with every beat like she was possessed.

His jaw clenched.

His grip tightened around the bottle until it nearly cracked.

“Shit.”

He hadn’t seen this version of her—not like this. Not where the whole damn world was watching what he usually kept to himself. The seductive smirk, the biting of her lip mid-chorus, the way she dragged her hands down her own hips like she knew exactly who was watching.

And she did.

Because in that one moment, under strobe lights and cheers, her eyes flicked offstage. Right. At. Him.

Katsuki felt his pants tighten, the arousal sharp and demanding, undeniable. His tongue ran over his teeth as he leaned forward, watching her flip her hair, drop to a crouch, and arch her back in time with the chorus. Every movement screamed “come get me.”

His group members were laughing, jabbing each other about how crazy the crowd was going—but Katsuki heard none of it. He was zeroed in, his gaze feral.

She was too good at this.

Too damn hot.

And she knew exactly what she was doing to him.

As she finished with one final hip roll, head tossed back, she bit her lip again—his signature tell. That tiny gesture she always did when she knew he was watching.

Katsuki's fist balled at his side.

She was driving him fucking insane.

And the second she stepped off that stage?

He was going to drag her into the nearest room, shove her against the wall, and remind her who she belonged to.

The cheers exploded.

But all Katsuki could think about was how fast he could get his hands on her.

So the second Izuku stepped off the stage, still flushed from the heat and high of performing, Katsuki was already there—grabbing her wrist, pulling her with such urgency she barely had time to catch her breath.

“Ka—Kacchan?” she gasped, her voice still breathy from the final note.

He didn’t answer. Just slammed the storage room door shut, the noise swallowed by the roar of the crowd outside.

His hands were already on her waist, spinning her, backing her up until she hit the wall of crates.

“You think that was funny?” he growled, voice low, dangerous—needy. “Putting on a show like that? In that outfit?”

Izuku just smiled, still glowing from the spotlight.

“Didn’t you like it?” she whispered, her voice sultry and playful.

He didn’t respond with words.

He kissed her, hard and hot and claiming, tongue pushing past her lips as he gripped her thighs and lifted her. She wrapped around him instantly, fingers clawing through his hair, pulling him deeper, her knitted bra brushing against his chest.

His mouth broke from hers only to trail kisses down her neck, rough and biting.

“You knew exactly what you were doing out there,” he panted. “You knew I was watching.”

“I did.”

She arched her back.

“I wanted you to.” Then, teasingly, “Was it good?”

Katsuki growled, then dropped to his knees, dragging her with him until her back hit the cold floor of the storage room. He loomed over her, hand pinning her wrists above her head. She looked up at him—panting, flushed, and smiling like the damn devil.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” she whispered, her legs slowly rubbing against his hips. “About how you’d lose control… just like this.”

He didn’t even pretend to hold back anymore.

He kissed her again, deeper, messier.

One hand slid under her shorts, fingers rough with desperation. She gasped against his mouth, hips arching.

“Say it,” he breathed against her lips. “Say you're mine.”

“I’m yours, Kacchan,” she moaned, eyes fluttering. “Always yours.”

“Damn right.”

His forehead pressed against hers. The sound of their breaths tangled with the distant thrum of music still echoing outside. But here, in this small locked room, it was just them—no fans, no cameras, just stolen moments between stage lights and chaos.

Moments that always ended with Katsuki reminding her—

she belonged to him.

Chapter Text

Katsuki’s mouth was still crashing against hers, all teeth and tongue, when Izuku gasped into him—arching her back, pressing her body up like she couldn’t get enough. Her breath hitched when his hand cupped her breast through the soft knit fabric of her bra.

She grabbed his wrist, eyes dark and daring, and guided his hand, slow and purposeful—pressing it harder to her chest.

“Don’t stop touching me,” she whispered, her voice wrecked and begging. “I want more.”

His breath caught.

She moved his thumb over her peaked nipple, the fabric doing nothing to hide how sensitive she’d become under his hands. She bit her lip, eyes locked to his as he finally squeezed—firm, possessive, like he wanted to mark the shape of her in his palm.

“Fuck, Izuku…” he breathed.

And then—with her other hand—she reached down, pulling his other hand along with her. She guided him under the waistband of her shorts and panties in one bold, fluid motion. No hesitation.

She gasped the moment his fingers slid through her heat.

“You’re already so wet,” he groaned, in awe, almost angry about it. “You’ve been like this the whole time?”

“For you,” she choked out, clutching his shirt. “Only for you.”

Katsuki’s fingers moved, sliding into her slowly at first, then deeper, his thumb teasing circles on her clit. She cried out, hips lifting into his touch, the cold floor beneath her completely forgotten.

He was still cupping her breast with his other hand, thumb dragging over her nipple again and again while his fingers worked her from below, filling her, curling just right to make her tremble under him.

“Louder,” he growled, lips ghosting over her ear. “Let them hear you.”

“Kacchan—ah—please—”

He covered her mouth with his, swallowing her moans, kissing her harder each time she bucked beneath him. Her legs tightened around his waist, one heel digging into the floor as she rocked up into his palm.

“You’re gonna come for me like this, huh?” he whispered roughly, his lips brushing her jaw. “On my fingers? With my hand on your tits? While you wear this slutty little outfit?”

She nodded frantically, whimpering, nearly undone already.

“Good,” he murmured. “Then I’ll take my time owning you after.”

Izuku’s back arched off the floor, her body a trembling mess under Katsuki’s hands. His fingers moved inside her with deliberate pressure, curling and stretching, slow at first—like he wanted her to feel every inch, every second of being filled by him.

She was already soaked, her slick coating his hand and wrist as he picked up pace. His thumb stayed circling her clit, firm and teasing, the kind of rhythm that had her gasping, hands tangled in his shirt, pulling him closer with every breathless cry.

“Katsuki—”

It was half a moan, half a plea. Her voice cracked on his name like it was too much, too fast—but she didn’t want him to stop.

Never stop.

He growled low, watching her unravel beneath him. Her cheeks were pink, lips swollen from his kisses, and her knitted bra had slipped slightly off one shoulder, exposing more skin for him to claim. She looked wrecked. Perfect. His.

And she was so damn tight around his fingers.

“Look at you,” he muttered, pressing his forehead to hers. “Fucking taking me so well.”

She whimpered in response, but her hips bucked up to meet his hand. She wasn’t shy—not anymore. Her hand slid down between them again, guiding his other hand back to her chest, encouraging him to squeeze harder.

He did.

Rough palm over her breast, he rolled her nipple between his fingers through the knit fabric, watching her body jerk in response.

“Harder,” she begged. “Please—Kacchan, harder—”

He didn’t hold back. His mouth replaced his hand, tugging the bra down just enough to suck her nipple into his mouth, flicking his tongue against it while his fingers pumped harder and deeper.

Izuku was a mess—moaning shamelessly, legs trembling, her shorts twisted halfway down her thighs, his hands claiming every inch of her. She couldn’t stop moving, couldn’t stop chasing that high he was dragging out of her with expert cruelty.

And he loved it.
Loved her like this—raw, wanton, completely his.

“Come on, baby,” he muttered against her chest. “Wanna feel you fall apart.”

“I—Katsuki—”

She gripped his wrist tightly, and then—she broke.

Her thighs clamped around his hand as she came, hard, hips stuttering in frantic little movements while her moans spilled out uncontrollably. Her walls clenched around his fingers, soaking his hand even more as she rode out the waves.

Katsuki slowed his hand just enough to help her through it, thumb still circling, coaxing every last shudder until she went boneless beneath him.

He kissed her, gentler now, licking the corner of her mouth, dragging his tongue up to her flushed cheek.

But he was far from done.

“You think we’re finished?” he whispered, pulling back to stare down at her. “That was just my fingers, Izuku.”

She blinked at him, breathless, dazed—but the smile that spread on her lips was wicked.

“I don’t want to be finished.”

Katsuki shoved his pants down, enough to free himself. He was aching, rock hard, tip already leaking from how long he’d been watching her on stage—wanting her. Needing her.

He pushed her shorts off completely now, tossing them aside, spreading her legs open beneath him. She stared up at him like he was her whole world, flushed and waiting, hand drifting up to her chest again, fingers teasing her own nipple as if to tempt him more.

“You’re unreal,” he muttered, lining himself up, rubbing the tip against her entrance, teasing her.

And then—he pushed in.

Slow. Deep. All at once.

She gasped loud, back arching again, the stretch of him filling her completely.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned, leaning over her, kissing her jaw, her neck. “You feel so fucking good—so tight—”

Her legs wrapped around him again, pulling him deeper, desperate.

“I want all of you, Katsuki—please—move—”

He obeyed.

The first thrust was slow, letting her feel it. Then again. And again. Each stroke deeper, harder, their bodies slapping together in the dark heat of the room. His hands gripped her hips, holding her in place as he set a rough, punishing rhythm, driving her into the floor.

Her moans echoed off the walls. They didn’t care who might hear anymore.

Katsuki’s name fell from her lips over and over, each one more desperate than the last. And every time he saw her eyes roll back or her nails dig into his shoulders, he thrust harder, whispering how beautiful she looked, how much he loved feeling her like this, how she was only his.

And she was.

With every slam of his hips, she took it. She wanted it. Her body welcomed him, begged for more. And when her second orgasm hit her, she screamed—loud, raw, her whole body shaking beneath him.

But Katsuki wasn’t done until he was buried deep inside her, panting against her neck as he came, hips twitching, filling her with every drop.

They collapsed together, tangled and sweaty, chests heaving in sync.

Silence fell over the room, broken only by the distant muffled sound of music and their ragged breathing.

Katsuki kissed her shoulder, brushing sweaty bangs from her forehead.

Izuku giggled softly, still catching her breath. “That was…”

“Yeah,” he smirked. “You’ll pay for that stage stunt later.”

She grinned, wrapping her arms around his neck.

“I hope so.”

The storage room had gone quiet, save for the soft hum of muffled voices outside. Somewhere out there, their teams were likely looking for them—or pretending not to.

But here, on the cold floor, tangled in the aftermath of heat and breathless need, they were in their own world.

Katsuki rolled them gently to the side, still holding Izuku close as her chest rose and fell against his. Her skin was damp with sweat, her cheeks flushed, lips bruised from kisses and the way she couldn’t stop whispering his name while he wrecked her.

Izuku let out a low, contented moan, then winced slightly.

“Ugh… my back…” she murmured with a pout, stretching a little under his arms. “That floor is gonna leave a mark.”

Katsuki chuckled under his breath. “Yeah? Could’ve fooled me with how hard you were grinding into it.”

Izuku narrowed her eyes with a playful glare. “You didn’t give me a choice.”

“You were begging for more.”

“Still. Ow.”

Katsuki sat up slightly, gently coaxing her to lie on her side. He leaned over and pressed a kiss between her shoulder blades, lips warm and unhurried. Then another, lower this time, his mouth moving down her spine—slow, sensual, like he was memorizing every inch of her skin with reverence now that the frenzy had passed.

His voice was low, soft but still dark with lingering desire.

“I’ll make it up to you tonight.”

Izuku hummed, her smile returning. “At the condo?”

“Yeah. After this whole show bullshit’s over, I’m taking you home.” He trailed his fingers down her side, gentle this time. “Where I can take my time.”

She turned her head, meeting his eyes. “You promise?”

Katsuki didn’t hesitate.

He took her hand, kissed the back of it slowly, then pressed her palm to his lips, holding it there for a breath longer than necessary.

“I promise.”

Izuku’s breath caught at the gesture—soft and rare from someone like him—and she let herself melt back into his arms. But before she could relax too much, his hands slid down again, cupping her breast just like before. His palm was warm and familiar, fingers massaging with slow, intentional rhythm, exactly how she liked it.

She gasped quietly.

“Kacchan…”

He leaned in close, mouth brushing her ear. “You didn’t think I’d stop, did you?”

“I thought we were done,” she whispered, lips parting with a moan as his thumb teased over her nipple.

“We’re never done,” he growled, pressing his hips lightly into her again. “Not until I’ve memorized every sound you make here. Every spot that makes you beg, every way your body tells me you want more.”

Izuku’s body shivered against him.

Still tangled together, still recovering, yet already craving another round.

“Then let’s go home,” she whispered. “Soon.”

Katsuki kissed her shoulder one more time, then nipped it gently.

“Soon.”

Chapter Text

They cleaned up quickly.

Izuku had slipped out first, hair messy but chin high—her back still aching slightly from the rough floor, cheeks tinged pink from something more than just post-performance glow. Her manager gave her a knowing look, eyes narrowing at the smudged makeup and barely hidden wobble in her steps.

“I assume you’ll behave now until the show ends?” Ochako muttered, her manager, brushing a loose strand of hair back into place.

Izuku just smiled innocently. “Of course. I’m a professional.”

Katsuki walked out moments later from a different hallway, jaw set, eyes slightly unfocused like he was still stuck in that room. His groupmates from DYNAMIC snickered when he approached.

“Yo, Bakugo,” Kaminari teased, nudging him. “Took a while to 'cool down', huh?”

“Shut it,” he snapped—but there was no bite in it. Just distraction. Just heat he hadn’t managed to shake.

Izuku stood still as the stylists zipped up her final outfit of the night. The long, fitted lace gown clung to every curve of her body, ethereal and commanding. It glittered under the lights, soft at first glance—but sharp with elegance, the kind only years of stardom could carry.

Her bare back peeked through the delicate lace, and the slit up her leg was just high enough to tempt, not tease.

It was her crown.

Her finale.

“You look stunning,” one stylist whispered in awe.

Izuku nodded faintly, not because she didn’t hear—she did—but because her thoughts were still in that locked room, skin still remembering the way Katsuki kissed her back, held her, whispered that promise in her ear.

She was still pulsing from it.

Still burning.

The stage filled with colorful waves of performers, boy groups, girl groups, soloists. Lights danced across their faces as they lined up for the final bows and group acknowledgments.

And at the center—was her.

Izuku stepped forward, every step deliberate in her heels, posture regal in her fitted lace gown. The cheers from the audience exploded as the host announced her title:

“The Nation’s Sweetheart—our most awarded, most beloved idol—Midoriya Izuku!”

She smiled brightly, bowing, waving. On either side, other idols clapped and bowed to her—respect, admiration, legacy. Behind her, TNT lined up, Katsuki just one row away.

They all looked radiant under the stage lights.

Perfect.

Untouchable.

They waved. They smiled. They congratulated each other.

Then—as they moved around for the final formation—Izuku and Katsuki crossed paths in the center, right where the spotlight faded momentarily.

She turned just as he brushed past her.

Their eyes locked.

They hugged.

To everyone else, it looked like a warm, respectful idol moment—a brief, friendly hug between top performers.

But no one else noticed the way Katsuki’s hand slid down, firm and sneaky, squeezing her ass with practiced precision, just for a second.

Izuku gasped softly—not visibly—her breath catching as his mouth dipped just beside her ear.

“You’re the most beautiful damn thing I’ve ever seen, baby.”

She didn’t answer—not with words.

Just with the flush in her cheeks, and the flicker in her eyes as they pulled apart like nothing happened.

Cameras kept rolling.

Fans screamed.

Confetti fell.

And the only thing between them now—was time.

Because once this curtain closed?

They both knew round two was waiting.

The door clicked shut behind them, the world outside falling silent for the first time that night.

Katsuki dropped his bag by the wall, not even bothering to turn on more lights. The soft golden glow from the hallway was enough—enough to see her standing in the middle of the room, already slipping out of her heels with a graceful arch of her foot.

Izuku’s back was still bare, her lace gown hugging her body, the long slit revealing the flawless length of her leg. She looked over her shoulder at him, slowly, that knowing smile tugging at her lips.

Katsuki stepped forward, pulling at his collar, jaw already tightening. “You’re gonna kill me wearing that.”

Izuku let the lace fall from one shoulder.

“That was the plan.”

He swallowed, watching as she walked toward him—barefoot, slow, dangerous. The dress slipped down further as she moved, her hands teasing the fabric down her waist, letting it pool around her ankles in a quiet whisper.

All she wore underneath was lace.

All of it.

Sheer.

Tempting.

Katsuki’s breath caught.

Her bra was delicate, see-through, the floral lace barely concealing her nipples. Her panties matched—cut high on the hips, transparent enough to reveal everything he knew by heart and still craved like he’d never had her before.

“Deku…” he warned, voice already wrecked, body already hardening just from looking at her.

But she stepped closer, unhurried, every move deliberate.

She placed a single hand on his chest, palm warm.

“This was supposed to be my honeymoon night outfit,” she murmured, tone soft and playful. “You know, the one I’d wear right after you finally put a ring on my finger.”

Her eyes flicked up to his, a hint of mischief gleaming through the heat. “But you haven’t done that yet, Katsuki.”

He opened his mouth, but she cut him off—raising her other hand, making a slow circle with her finger.

“Guess it’s getting a little lonely without a ring.”

Then, without warning, she lifted her hand to his lips—slid the circle over his mouth, gently tapping his lips like she was fitting him with something sacred.

“But for now…” she whispered, leaning closer, letting her breath ghost over his cheek, “…maybe I can ring you first.”

Katsuki's pupils blew wide when she pressed her finger circle against his mouth, and he—instinctively, needily—stuck his tongue out, dragging it through the open space she made, licking the air between them.

Izuku’s lips curved higher.

“Good boy,” she murmured, letting her finger drop.

Then she dropped to her knees.

Katsuki’s hands twitched at his sides, already dying to touch her, to bury his fingers in her hair. But he held himself still, watching, mesmerized, as she slowly tugged at his belt, looking up at him through her lashes the whole time.

“You looked so tense during the closing act,” she said softly, hands gliding over his waistband. “Bet you were thinking about what I was wearing under that dress.”

“I was thinking about bending you over the balcony,” he growled, chest heaving. “Still am.”

She giggled

—a little too innocent for someone slipping his pants down now.

“But wouldn’t it be rude if I didn’t thank you first? For earlier.”

And then, without another word, she took him into her mouth—slow, deep, with no hesitation. Her lips wrapped around him perfectly, wet and warm, her tongue moving like she already knew how to ruin him.

Katsuki groaned, loud and raw, one hand finally finding its place in her hair, fisting it gently, trying not to thrust into her mouth right away.

But she welcomed every movement. Her hands gripped his hips, holding him in place as her head bobbed, tongue dragging along every vein, every ridge, her lips messy and eager.

“Fuck, Izuku—” he hissed, looking down at her. “You keep doing that, and I’m gonna forget all about that honeymoon dress.”

She pulled off just long enough to whisper, breath hot against him, “That’s the point.”

Then she licked him again, eyes locked to his, inviting, daring.

Katsuki’s knees nearly buckled.

Chapter Text

The moment Katsuki kicked his pants away, Izuku crawled back across the bed, eyes burning with intent. Her sheer lace underwear was nearly see-through under the soft glow of the bedside lamp, but she didn’t stop there.

She hooked her fingers into the sides of her panties—and pulled them down.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Leaving them bunched around one ankle as she leaned back, legs spreading open without shame.

Katsuki’s breath caught in his throat, his body tensing like a live wire.

Izuku, still flushed from her earlier teasing, let her fingers drift downward—touching herself, right there in front of him.

She moaned softly at the contact, two fingers dipping through her slick folds before tapping at her own entrance, already wet, already stretched.

“I already fingered myself earlier,” she whispered, biting her lip but not breaking eye contact. “So you can skip the prep, Kacchan. I’m ready. Just shove it in again.”

Katsuki stared at her—frozen for just a second.

She was breathtaking.

Shameless.

Wild.

Every word she said lit a fire under his skin. But he didn’t move forward like she expected.

Instead, he walked to the edge of the bed slowly, kneeling in front of her legs spread wide like a feast she served herself on a silver tray.

Then he reached up, brushing her damp hair off her forehead with a soft touch, and murmured—almost to himself, voice rough and awed:

“The Nation's Sweetheart, who? You’re gonna be the death of me.”

Izuku smirked, teasing. “Then die happy.”

But Katsuki didn’t give her what she asked for—not yet.

He leaned in, gripping her thighs and pulling her hips toward the edge of the bed, lowering his face between her legs, his breath hot against her soaked core.

“Kacchan—?” she blinked, the air catching in her throat.

“You think I’m just gonna shove it in after that mouth you gave me?” he muttered, dragging one finger across her slit—feeling how ready she was. “Nah. You wanted to tease me earlier.”

He looked up at her, smirking darkly.

“Now I’m gonna ruin you.”

And then he dove in.

His mouth latched onto her, tongue immediately flicking over her clit in fast, wet strokes that made her cry out. Her hands flew to his hair as he sucked, rough and desperate, devouring her like he couldn’t get enough.

“Katsuki—!”

Her hips bucked off the bed, but he held her down, forearm braced over her stomach, keeping her pinned as his tongue worked lower—licking through her folds, teasing her entrance before he shoved it inside her.

Izuku gasped, thighs trembling around his head.

He tongued her deep, fucking her with his mouth, groaning into her with each twist of his tongue. His nose pressed against her clit, his tongue moved relentlessly, and every sound she made—every moan, every cry—just made him hungrier.

She twisted under him, one leg thrown over his shoulder now, her voice breaking. “Katsuki—! I-I can’t—You’re gonna—”

He didn’t stop. Didn’t slow down.

He angled his mouth, letting his tongue curl up, finding that sweet spot inside, and the moment he sucked her clit again while his tongue was still buried deep—Izuku shattered.

She came with a cry so raw it echoed against the walls, body shaking violently as he held her through it, never letting up until her hips finally dropped, boneless and trembling on the sheets.

Katsuki pulled back, chin slick, eyes wild.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, licking his lips like she was the best thing he’d ever tasted.

And then he stood, towering over her spent form, and said—voice low, voice dangerous:

“Now I’ll shove it in.”

Izuku was still breathless, collapsed on the bed, skin flushed and trembling from the orgasm Katsuki just pulled out of her with nothing but his mouth.

But there was no pause.

No mercy in his eyes now.

Katsuki stood at the edge of the bed, towering over her, and slowly wrapped his hand around his cock—slick, throbbing, flushed red at the tip.

She bit her lip, watching, mesmerized.

He pumped himself slowly, deliberately—a show, right in front of her face. Her breath caught with every motion, the way his hand curled perfectly around his thick length, thumb brushing the tip now and then, collecting the precum that had already begun to drip from how hard she worked him earlier.

“You want me to f*ck you, huh?” he asked, voice low and gravel-edged.

Izuku nodded quickly, lips parted, still spread open on the bed like a prize waiting to be claimed.

He grinned, smug and wicked.

“Then make it hard for me,” he muttered. “Earn it.”

She blinked—surprised, but immediately dropping to her elbows, crawling forward toward the edge of the bed on trembling limbs. She licked her lips, eyes locking to his fist moving over himself.

Without needing more instruction, she leaned in and kissed the tip, soft and wet.

Katsuki hissed. His hips jerked, just slightly, at the contact.

Her lips parted further, tongue darting out as she began to lick him, slow and teasing—lapping around the head, trailing her tongue down the side before wrapping her lips around him.

“Mmh… like this?” she asked sweetly, voice muffled as she took more of him into her mouth, her hand stroking the base where her lips couldn’t reach.

Katsuki’s hand fell into her hair, gripping but not forcing—just anchoring, groaning deep in his chest as she began to bob her head, using her mouth to make him as hard as he’d ever been.

“Shit, Izuku… you’re too good at this.”

She smiled around his cock, letting her tongue swirl around the tip before pulling back, a thin line of spit connecting them.

“I want you hard,” she whispered, rubbing him now with both hands, teasing. “So I can feel everything when you’re inside me again.”

“You will,” he growled, grabbing her jaw, tilting her chin up. “You’re gonna feel it all night.”

And then he pushed her down on the bed again, climbing over her, his cock now fully erect and twitching against her thigh as he settled between her legs.

He rubbed himself against her soaked folds—slow strokes, dragging his tip through her wetness, nudging her clit and then teasing her entrance.

“Tell me how much you want it,” he muttered, eyes boring into hers.

“I want it so bad,” she gasped, hips lifting to meet his every teasing grind. “I want you to stretch me, f*ck me rough, make me cry your name again, Katsuki—”

He smirked.

And then—he thrust in.

One hard, deep, claiming movement.

Izuku cried out, eyes flying open wide, arms clutching around his shoulders as he filled her, every inch, stretching her in one perfect stroke. He didn’t give her time to adjust—he started moving, slow and deep, savoring the tight grip of her around him.

“You wanted this,” he groaned into her ear. “I'll give it to you.”

Chapter Text

Katsuki didn’t stop.

His hips slammed into her again, harder now, their bodies colliding in the dark with the sound of wet skin and panting breath. The air around them crackled with heat—not just lust, but power. Years of knowing every inch of each other, every limit, every trigger that tipped pleasure into ecstasy.

Izuku took it all—wanted it all.

Her hands gripped the sheets, legs thrown wide open, hair splayed across the bed like a halo of chaos. She was moaning, laughing even, that delirious, seductive laugh Katsuki knew only came out when she was past the point of return.

When she was ready for more pain.

More control lost.

More fire.

He knew that sound.

“You’re crazy,” he growled between thrusts, grabbing her hips to shove himself even deeper. “You’re so fucking insane.”

“Then break me,” Izuku panted, tilting her head back, eyes wild and sparkling. “Come on, Kacchan. You know what I want.”

His hand gripped her throat in an instant, tight—not just teasing anymore. His thumb pressed just beneath her jaw, cutting her breath off slightly, just like she liked it. Her eyes fluttered. Her lips parted. Her moan was heaven and hell.

“You want this?” he snarled.

She smiled, gasping as her fingers grabbed his wrist—not to pull him off, but to keep him there.

“Always.”

He choked her a second longer—until her moan was nothing but airless sound—and then released.

Her body bounced as he slapped her across the face, hard, just once.

A sharp crack filled the room.

Her head turned with the force, but her grin widened. Her cheek flushed red instantly, and she laughed again—so filthy, so full of bliss.

“Fuck, you look hot like this,” he whispered.

“Do it again,” she begged. “Come on, Kacchan. Harder.”

He grabbed her by the jaw and slapped her again—harder this time. Her body jolted with it, but her thighs only squeezed tighter around him, her cunt clenching down so tight it made him curse into her neck.

And she was still smiling.

“Izuku…” His voice was unsteady now, panting, wrecked. “You’re gonna destroy me.”

“Then let me,” she breathed. “Break me while I burn you alive.”

Katsuki’s mouth crashed down on hers, biting her lip until it swelled, then dragging his teeth across her neck—biting down hard enough to bruise.

She gasped, back arching off the bed.

He moved to her collarbone, sinking his teeth in, leaving another purple mark in the shape of his mouth. Her body jerked under him, twitching at every sting and every sting made her wetter.

“More,” she whispered, barely able to speak between the impact of his thrusts. “Don’t stop. Bruise me. Claim me.”

And so he did.

He grabbed both wrists and pinned them above her head, holding them with one hand as the other came down to spank her—loud, hard.

The sting echoed.

Her body trembled with every blow, her moans growing messier, more desperate.

“Say it,” he growled. “Tell me what you are.”

“I’m yours,” she moaned, eyes rolling. “Your bitch. Your toy. Your f-fucking mess—”

And he lost it.

Katsuki slammed into her harder than ever, letting go of every restraint, letting the raw, animalistic need explode between them. Her moans turned to cries. Her skin glowed with sweat, covered in finger marks, handprints, bite bruises.

Her whole body sang with pain—and she laughed through it, her joy laced in every cry for more.

“I’m gonna come,” she sobbed. “I’m gonna—Katsuki, please—”

“You better,” he hissed. “You asked for it.”

He reached down and rubbed her clit hard, fast, dirty—and she screamed.

Her whole body convulsed, legs locking tight around him as she came, hard, her walls clenching him so tight it nearly brought him down with her.

“FUCK—Izuku—!”

He came deep, biting her shoulder as his hips jerked through the wave. He held her close, shaking, growling through his teeth as he emptied into her with every twitch of his cock.

They collapsed together, drenched in sweat, chests heaving, the room echoing with the aftershocks of what they just unleashed.

Katsuki’s face rested in the crook of her neck, where teeth marks and bruises were already blooming beautifully across her skin.

“...You really are gonna be the death of me,” he muttered, still shaking.

Izuku just laughed—soft, sated, ruined.

“Then let’s make it a slow, sweet death.”

The room still smelled of sex, sweat, and heat.

Izuku lay sprawled across the ruined sheets, her body marked and glowing, legs still twitching faintly from the brutal orgasm he’d just wrung out of her.

Katsuki sat at the edge of the bed, running a hand through his messy hair, chest heaving as he cooled off. His jaw was tense, his eyes heavy—but not with regret. Just resigned awe at the woman lying behind him, who always had more to say, more to take.

“You good?” he asked, not turning around yet.

“I’m more than good,” Izuku purred, shifting her hips lazily. Her body ached in the most perfect ways—every bruise a souvenir, every bite a signature. “You didn’t disappoint.”

“Tch. I never do.”

She giggled.

He finally looked over his shoulder—and regretted it immediately, because she was smirking again.

“Still,” she murmured, licking her lips. “I’ve been thinking.”

Katsuki narrowed his eyes. “Oh no.”

She rolled onto her stomach, propping her chin on her bruised forearms, her legs swinging playfully behind her despite being absolutely ruined. “Next time, I want more.”

“You always want more.”

Izuku’s smirk deepened. “I mean real more. You know what I mean.”

He didn’t reply, but the twitch in his jaw said he knew exactly what she meant.

“I wanna be on all fours,” she whispered, voice darkening, “with a chain clipped to my collar. I want to crawl for you, Kacchan. Want to be your pet. Your little plaything.”

Katsuki let out a slow exhale, raking a hand down his face.

“You’re outta your damn mind.”

“Am I?” she teased. “You’re the one who bites me like a rabid dog. I figured… maybe I should just wear a collar next time and finally make it official.”

“Don’t test me.”

Izuku chuckled—low, dangerous, sweet.

She sat up slowly, still naked, her skin glowing under the faint moonlight coming through the window.

“I’ll even leash myself to the bed,” she said, walking her fingers up his thigh. “And maybe—if I behave—you can call me something filthier than just ‘Deku.’”

He groaned, turning to glare at her. “You’re seriously talking about this now?”

But the look in her eyes was pure fire. “I just want you to know my next goal.”

“Oh yeah? And what’s that?”

She crawled into his lap, straddling him without care for how raw her thighs were, resting her forehead to his.

“I want you to put a collar on yourself next time,” she whispered wickedly. “So when I wrap my arms around your neck and chain myself to you, I can finally say I’m getting f*cked by my lover’s dog.”

Katsuki froze. His jaw dropped slightly.

“…You—”

She kissed his cheek sweetly, then whispered in his ear: “Because no one bites like you do, baby.”

Katsuki closed his eyes and groaned. “You’re gonna kill me.”

She giggled, arms slipping around his neck. “Then let me. But promise me next time, we go harder.”

He grabbed her ass with both hands, hard enough to make her squeal.

“Fine,” he muttered. “But you're picking the collar.”

“Deal.”

“And if you dare bark during sex, I’m locking you in a crate for the night.”

She burst into laughter, resting her forehead against his chest. “Kacchan, that just gave me another idea—”

“NO.”

Chapter Text

The sunlight filtering in through the blinds was soft and golden, kissing over the bruises still faintly blooming across Izuku’s skin. Her body ached in the good way—used, adored, and thoroughly wrecked.

She hummed lazily under the covers, eyes fluttering open just enough to see Katsuki standing by the bathroom door, shirtless, a towel over his shoulder, looking unfairly fresh for someone who spent hours torturing her body the night before.

“Rise and shine, trouble,” he muttered, tossing her robe onto the bed.

Izuku pouted immediately, letting the blanket fall just enough to expose her shoulder, and a bit more.

“Mmm, not ‘trouble’… I’m your precious baby girl today,” she cooed, stretching slowly like a spoiled cat. “Shouldn’t you start the morning by letting me ride you again?”

Katsuki didn’t even flinch. “You can barely sit up.”

“I can if I ride real slow,” she tried, voice thick with suggestion.

He rolled his eyes. “Get up. You’re getting washed.”

She groaned dramatically but let him pull her to her feet anyway. Her body wobbled, muscles sore in all the right places, and she leaned into him with every step to the bathroom.

The warm water filled the tub as Katsuki knelt beside it, gently rinsing a cloth through the bubbles. He turned to her, eyes softer now, less wild than last night—but just as intense.

He guided her into the bath, easing her in like she was made of glass.

Izuku sighed at the heat, melting under his touch. But the moment he leaned in to wipe her shoulder, she smirked.

“You know, if you really wanted to help, you could sit behind me and let me grind on you while we soak.”

Katsuki paused—then flicked water in her face.

“Hey!” she laughed, splashing him back.

“Behave,” he grunted, rinsing the cloth again before bringing it to her back.

He washed her slowly, with deep, smooth strokes, careful around the bruises he’d left. His fingers paused every now and then to check if she flinched.

She never did.

Instead, she leaned back with a soft sigh, finally relaxing.

“You’re being unfair,” she mumbled after a minute.

“Hm?”

“You’re all gentle and responsible now. Makes me want to act up.”

“You always want to act up.”

“And you usually let me.”

Katsuki smirked faintly but said nothing, just kissed the back of her neck before draining the water.

Back in the room, Izuku sat on the edge of the bed, now clean and bundled in a soft white robe Katsuki had tucked around her like she’d break apart without it.

She still tried. She spread her knees open just a little, hinting at what she wasn’t wearing underneath the robe.

Katsuki caught it.

He sighed—walked over—and kissed her deeply, long enough to steal her breath, long enough to make her whimper.

But when he pulled back, it wasn’t to take more. It was to tuck a loose curl behind her ear and whisper, “Not today, baby. You need to rest.”

She blinked. Pouted. “But I—”

“No.”

Then he placed a tray on her lap.

Toast. Eggs. Fresh fruit. Orange juice. Cut exactly how she liked.

Izuku stared at it. Then at him. Then at the juice again.

“You’re really ignoring all my seduction for scrambled eggs?”

“You begged me to slap you and choke you while I f*cked you sideways for hours straight,” he said dryly. “Yeah, you’re eating first.”

She huffed but took a bite anyway. “I hate how sweet this is.”

“You love it.”

She chewed, pouting with every bite. “You’re too good to me.”

“I ruined you last night,” he muttered, sitting beside her and feeding her a piece of melon. “Let me at least fix you in the morning.”

“Fine…” she leaned on his shoulder. “But tomorrow, I’m back on my collar fantasy.”

Katsuki smirked.

“Finish your breakfast, mutt.”

She grinned around a strawberry.

“Woof.”

Wrapped in oversized hoodies, sunglasses, and caps, Izuku and Katsuki stood by the condo door, bags packed, makeup light enough to conceal identities, but hearts still loud with everything that happened between them the night before.

Outside, Izuku’s van had just arrived—the usual black-tinted, soundproofed vehicle her team used to transport her privately without fan eyes catching wind of her whereabouts.

Katsuki leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. His cap shadowed his eyes, but the way he looked at her… there was no hiding the warmth. Or the hunger still simmering beneath it.

Izuku, pouting slightly, stepped close, arms looping around his waist.

“One kiss?”

Katsuki arched a brow, but didn’t hesitate.

He cupped her waist, pulling her snug against him. One hand trailed up, fingertips grazing the back of her neck in that way he knew made her shiver. And when he leaned down, their noses bumped briefly—playful—before he kissed her.

Not rushed.

Not wild.

Just deep.

Firm.

Like a promise sealed in breath.

When they pulled back, their lips barely apart, he whispered against hers, “See you later.”

She nodded softly, whispering, “Don’t forget me until then.”

“Not possible.”

Then she gave him one more quick peck on the cheek before slipping on her mask and hoodie again, face hidden but smile untouched.

The moment Izuku stepped inside, her team immediately jumped into action.

The usual routine.

She sat down on the cushy bench as three stylists and Ochako, her longtime manager, gathered around her.

The interior of the van looked more like a makeup lounge—fully furnished, with foldable counters, LED-lit mirrors, even compartments filled with everything from contour palettes to emergency first-aid.

“Alright, Izuku,” said Mina, one of her stylist, already pulling out concealer. “Let’s cover up your ‘art exhibit.’”

Izuku giggled. “Some are shaped like actual flowers if you look closely.”

“Uh-huh,” the second stylist, Momo, deadpanned. “And some are shaped like bite marks from a wild animal. Guess which one’s harder to explain to your next endorsement.”

“Whatever,” Izuku muttered, smiling with closed eyes as they powdered over a bruise on her collarbone. “It’s not like I didn’t ask for them.”

Ochako sighed as she reviewed the day’s schedule. “You specifically begged for them, if I recall the texts you sent at 3 a.m. about how your ‘lover dog is the best beast ever.’”

The stylists all paused.

Izuku only giggled harder.

“Well, he is,” she whispered dreamily.

Ochako didn’t even flinch anymore.

“You’ll meet with the creative director at 2, then choreography run-through at 5. We’ll stop somewhere after if you need something.”

At that, Izuku perked up.

“Can I drop by that boutique in Gangnam?”

Ochako glanced up from her tablet.

“What do you need now?”

Izuku pretended to think.

“Hmm… collar… maybe chain, the one with gold links this time... and oh! Maybe that dildo with the built-in vibe, you know the one with the ridges—”

Everyone groaned.

The third stylist, Tsuyu, put down the highlighter pen and said flatly, “I’m not covering for you next time you pass out during rehearsal.”

“I stretch before practice now!” Izuku argued.

Momo muttered, “Yeah, just not the parts you should.”

Ochako only dragged a hand down her face, muttering, “This woman is a damn sex addict... and somehow, the only one who can handle her is idol Bakugo.”

At that, the whole van sighed in agreement.

“Honestly, good luck to him,” Mina whispered.

“Should we prepare next time with massage oil or a neck brace?” Tsuyu joked.

Izuku just beamed under her makeup.

“What can I say?” she shrugged, cheeks dusted with blush, smile cheeky and soft. “I fall hard and beg harder.”

Chapter Text

The bass pulsed through the studio walls as DYNAMIC’s choreographer clapped his hands, counting out beats while the group repeated a complex transition in the middle of their new routine.

Katsuki was killing it—sharp, on point, face still blank and unreadable like always. Even sweat running down his jaw looked calculated.

But inside?

He was praying for the music to stop.

Because the second the last count hit, and he paused to grab his water bottle, his phone lit up on the bench nearby.

From: Deku 😈💚
1 Voice Message + 1 Attachment
Caption: “For your ears only. 🎧💦”

His heart dropped. Or maybe jumped. Or did both and exploded.

He glanced around. The rest of DYNAMIC was busy reviewing moves with the choreographer, giving him just enough cover. He grabbed the phone, shoved his towel over his shoulder like nothing was wrong—and slipped an AirPod in.

He hit play.

And the moment her voice whispered through, his knees nearly gave out.

“Kacchan…”

Her moan was soft. Breathless. Need-soaked.

“I’ve been thinking about last night all day…”

A wet sound. Squishy. Deliberate.

“Had to sneak into the dressing room to… prep myself. Just in case. You know, in case we bump into each other and you get that look in your eyes again.”

Katsuki’s grip tightened on the bench. His legs spread just slightly for balance.

The room was suddenly too hot.

“My fingers aren’t as good as your mouth. Or your cock. But I’m trying… ngh—trying so hard.”

More breathless, wet sounds. Then her moaning his name.

“Katsuki… Katsuki… please—ahhh… I miss being full.”

He nearly choked on air. His hand instinctively went to adjust himself in his sweats.

And then—

“Fingers crossed… your lover dog can come pull me by the collar and remind me how good I taste when I beg.”

The voice message ended.

And so did Katsuki’s ability to think straight.

“Bakugo!” the choreographer snapped, clapping again. “One more round. Reset from the pre-chorus.”

Katsuki stood frozen for a moment, eyes unfocused.

One of his members—Kirishima—leaned toward him with a suspicious brow.

“You good, man?”

Katsuki nodded stiffly. “Yeah. Just… thinking about something.”

“Oh. You looked like you were being possessed.”

He didn’t reply.

Just turned away, grabbed his bottle, and whispered under his breath:

“…I swear to f*cking hell, Izuku.”

But the little smirk tugging at the corner of his lips?

That was the look of a man planning exactly how he’d handle her after this rehearsal.

The vlog camera focused and adjusted as laughter echoed in the room. The stylists and assistants were seated near the mirror-lined walls, watching the star of the room casually kick her sneakers off mid-stretch.

Midoriya Izuku, reigning idol queen, was wearing a loose off-shoulder top and tight jogger pants that clung perfectly to her every move. Her green hair was tied in a messy bun, a few rebellious strands framing her still-sleepy but glowing face.

“Say hi to the vlog, Deku!” Mina laughed.

Izuku waved with a mischievous smirk. “Hi vlog~! I’m sweating like hell and not even half-hot enough yet!”

One of the camerawomen whispered, “Don’t tempt your fanbase.”

“I live to tempt,” Izuku winked, then dramatically fanned herself with a towel. “But seriously—can I change clothes? Something short? Like... maybe just a bra?”

Cue the sharp voice of Ochako, her manager, from behind the camera: “No.”

Izuku blinked like a kicked puppy.

“Why not?”

“You know why.”

“I’ll behave~?”

“You’ve got bite marks on your collarbone and finger-shaped bruises under your ribs,” Ochako said flatly, appearing on camera with a clipboard. “Do you want this vlog to go viral for the wrong reason?”

Izuku looked away like a guilty child. Her stylists laughed behind a hand.

“Don’t forget the back of her neck,” someone added. “It’s practically stamped.”

“Shut up,” Izuku muttered, pouting but not denying it.

Ochako crossed her arms.

“You’re lucky this isn’t a close-up shoot. If even a shadow of that ‘souvenir art gallery’ from last night gets caught on film, the internet’s gonna have a meltdown.”

The camera zoomed in on Izuku’s face—fully pretending to be innocent.

“And what happens if your fans recognize the same type of bruises on Bakugo Katsuki’s neck next week?” Ochako added, voice dropping.

Everyone froze.

Momo whispered, “She’s right though.”

Izuku blinked.

Ochako narrowed her eyes. “Do you want me to get a call from DYNAMIC’s team? Or worse—Katsuki himself flagging our vlog upload like he did last time?”

Izuku dramatically flopped onto the floor.

“Okay, okay! No sexy fits during practice.”

“Good girl.”

“But—” she raised a finger, hopeful, “can I still go to that boutique after the meeting?”

Ochako raised a brow.

“The sex toy boutique?”

Izuku gave her the most innocent eyes ever.

“Please?”

Ochako sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Only if you stay clothed for the rest of this vlog.”

Izuku shot up like a soldier.

“Deal!”

A few staff members clapped sarcastically. “Motivation achieved.”

With her phone hidden discreetly under her hoodie sleeve, Izuku opened her chat with Katsuki.
No name. Just a 💥 + 🐶 emoji for his contact.

She smirked and typed:

Deku💚:
Survived another day of pretending to be a good girl 😇
but don’t worry…
heading to our boutique after this.
gotta buy our collar for the next round 😈
hope to see you soon, my lover dog 🐾💋

She hit send and giggled to herself.

Behind her, Ochako narrowed her eyes. “You’re texting him again, aren’t you?”

Izuku didn’t even deny it this time. “He should know I’m preparing for war.”

“Just don’t send him pictures of the collar display. He almost skipped DYNAMIC’s showcase last time.”

“No promises~”

Chapter Text

The boutique in Gangnam was sleek, minimalist, and discreetly tucked between two art cafés. But inside?

It was heaven for chaos-loving idol Midoriya Izuku.

Private rooms.

Mood lighting.

Velvet walls.

And shelves full of things not meant to be used gently.

She hummed to herself as she walked through, oversized sunglasses hiding her identity—not that the staff didn’t already know her.

She was a regular.

“Welcome back, Miss Green,” the receptionist greeted. “Would you like to browse the new arrivals today?”

“Only if they vibrate,” she winked, voice sugary sweet.

Momo trailed behind her, half-hiding behind a mannequin, whispering frantically into her phone, “Yes, Ochako. She’s already in the restraints aisle—she’s touching things. Please send help.”

Izuku paused at a shelf of collars, fingers dancing along soft leather, spikes, velvet-lined loops.

She took a selfie with one red velvet collar, attached chain hanging down her chest, and sent it straight to Katsuki:

Deku💚:
guess which one I’ll wear when I’m on all fours next time.
the leash is yours, baby 💋🐾

Then she slipped into the next aisle.

Vibrators. Double-ended dildos. Plugs in unholy sizes.

“Oh,” she muttered, lifting a sleek, curved toy. “This one has a remote app. I should give him the controller…”

Another message sent:

Deku💚:
if I use this during rehearsal, will you let me come, or watch me break first?
asking for my weak thighs.

Meanwhile, miles away, Katsuki stood in a private showroom hidden inside one of DYNAMIC's stylist warehouses—handpicked items, specially requested. His hood was up, mask on, but his presence alone made the room feel on fire.

The stylist-in-charge, a trusted friend, tilted his head.

“You’re seriously requesting custom items now?”

Katsuki glared. “Just show me the f*cking whip.”

From a velvet case, the stylist pulled out two options—one leather-bound, short-handle, the other longer with braided tips and a silver ringed grip.

Katsuki took the shorter one. Whipped it once into the air.

The crack it made was sinful.

He smirked.

“This’ll do.”

A message popped on his phone.

Deku💚 sent a photo.
Red collar. Eyes wide. Pouty lips parted.

Then another:

Weak thighs ready for round two.

He groaned, rubbing his temple.

Kacchan💥:
You keep pushing me, and I’ll leave you tied to the headboard for 2 hours before touching you.
Hope you like begging with a bit in your mouth.

He stared at the whip again. His fingers gripped the leather.

Yeah.

She was definitely getting that collar—and a leash.

But also? She was getting the whip without escaping.

Izuku closed the door behind her, the quiet click echoing in the dimly lit condo. The city lights outside painted silver streaks on the walls, but all she focused on was the paper bag she dropped onto the bed.

Inside? Her new arsenal.

She reached in, fingers brushing over cold metal and soft velvet, until she pulled out the piece—a strappy, jet-black lingerie harness. Velvet, gold accents, collar, thigh garters, every strap placed to both tease and torment.

Exactly what she wanted.

She grinned to herself.

“Tonight… you’re mine,” she whispered—not to herself, but to the look on Katsuki’s face she was already imagining.

Izuku stripped with slow intention, letting her clothes pool at her feet as steam filled the marble-lined shower.

She took her time.

Every inch of her body was washed and pampered.

Hair up.

Skin moisturized.

Bruises from the last round still there—but lightly faded now.

She prepped herself too—just in case.

Lubed fingers, soft moans, shallow breaths.

Not for pleasure—just for readiness.

She was a professional at being his perfect temptation.

Back in the bedroom, Izuku stepped into the harness lingerie with care, tightening each strap just enough to frame her curves but leave room for Katsuki’s fingers to pull.

The black velvet hugged her perfectly.

The thigh straps clipped securely.

The collar—she adjusted it last.

Tight.

Commanding.

Waiting to be tugged.

She looked at herself in the mirror.

A masterpiece of lust and control.

She smirked.

He won’t survive this.

She turned off all but one lamp. Dim, moody. She laid herself out on the edge of the bed, one leg propped up just enough to show the full design. She picked up her phone, snapped a teasing photo from the neck down, just the outfit and the collar, and sent it to Katsuki.

Deku💚:
Ready for tonight, lover dog.
Don’t keep me waiting or I might use the new toy without you. 🖤🐾

Then she leaned back on her arms, lips parted, chest rising slowly.

Now, all that was left… was to hear the door unlock and feel him lose control.

The sound of the door opening echoed like a gunshot in the quiet condo.

Katsuki stepped in, tossing his hoodie aside, expecting the usual greeting—or at least the soft thump of Izuku’s footsteps running toward him.

Instead… silence.

Until his eyes landed on the bed.

There she was.

Bent forward at the edge, bathed in the glow of a single lamp, her silhouette seductive and deliberate. She wore the black harness set he’d only seen in her texts—straps hugging her body like custom-wrapped temptation. Her back arched. Her thighs spread. Her face flushed as her fingers worked something between her legs.

Their eyes met.

She didn’t stop.

She just moaned his name.

Katsuki didn’t move at first—he just watched.

Silent.

Controlled.

The corner of his mouth ticked up.

“Well,” he muttered, voice low and gravelled, “you really didn’t wait.”

Izuku’s smirk trembled into another soft whimper. She held the remote in her hand—until Katsuki slowly approached and plucked it from her fingers.

“Mine now,” he said.

She wiggled, teased by the toy still humming inside her.

Katsuki didn’t touch her yet—he just circled her like a predator. His fingers brushed along the strap at her waist, then down to the garters framing her thighs. Every movement was slow.

Appreciative.

“You really wore this for me, huh?” he whispered, fingers tracing the strap between her shoulder blades. “Look at you. F*cking perfect.”

He squeezed her hip, leaned down, lips brushing just behind her ear.

“You look like a fantasy I didn’t know I needed.”

Then he clicked the remote.

Izuku gasped, body jerking just slightly as the setting changed.

He watched her squirm, her breath catching, and smirked again.

“We’re gonna take our time tonight, baby,” he whispered. “Let’s see how long you can behave before I decide you’ve earned more.”

Katsuki stood behind her like a shadow come alive—remote in one hand, dominance in the other.

Izuku was trembling, not from fear, but from the delicious tension building inside her. The way the harness framed her curves, the way her skin glistened slightly under the soft light, the way her knees nearly gave out with every change in vibration—

He drank in the sight.

“Not even ashamed,” he murmured as he traced a single finger along the base of her spine, following the strap line that hugged her back. “You really got yourself off while waiting for me?”

“I—I was just warming up,” she breathed, voice hitching as he turned the intensity up a notch with a lazy flick of the remote.

“‘Warming up,’ huh?” Katsuki leaned in, lips grazing her neck but not kissing. “You mean prepping yourself so I don’t go easy on you.”

His fingers slid down the strap running around her waist, resting where it dipped toward her inner thigh.

Still, he didn’t take the toy out.

No—he wanted her to endure it.

“Every time you moan my name like that,” he whispered against her ear, “I remember exactly how good you sound when you’re begging.”

Izuku whimpered, hands clutching the bedding, her body rocking slightly as the rhythm of the toy pulsed deeper inside her.

But Katsuki still didn’t move fast.

He dragged out the torture—watching her writhe, caught in the slow rhythm of the vibrator and the weight of his voice.

“You look like a fucking present, all wrapped up in black,” he murmured. “But maybe I’ll wait to unwrap you. Maybe I’ll just watch you shake first.”

He clicked the remote again—max power, sudden pulse.

Izuku gasped, knees buckling, and he caught her by the waist, strong hands locking her upright.

“Easy now,” he growled, smirking. “Don’t fall apart yet. I haven’t even touched you properly.”

Izuku’s legs were shaking—but her smirk didn’t fade. Not even as the vibrations pulsed through her, not even with Katsuki’s hands tightening on her waist.

She arched her back with a small, taunting laugh.

“You talk big, Katsuki,” she purred, breathless but sharp. “But so far… you’re just watching.”

He paused.

The room crackled with silence.

Izuku slowly turned her head, her cheek grazing his jaw as she whispered, “What happened to that lover dog who said he’d make me cry and crawl and beg?”

Katsuki's eye twitched.

“You’re real confident for someone who’s one click away from collapsing.”

She leaned into his grip, lips brushing his jaw. “Maybe I want to collapse. But only if you’re man enough to make it happen.”

And with that, she did it—rolled her hips right into him, grinding down on the vibrator as it buzzed relentlessly inside her. She let out a breathy moan, loud and proud.

“Or should I just finish myself off while you admire the view?”

That was it.

Katsuki growled, tossing the remote onto the bed, and grabbed her by the collar strap at the back of her neck, jerking her upright until her back pressed against his chest.

“You wanna play brat?” he muttered, voice thick with heat. “Fine.”

He turned her chin toward him, forcing her to look in his eyes.

“You just earned yourself a new rule tonight: you don’t come until I say. Not one drop. Or I’ll edge you until sunrise.”

Izuku bit her lip, but her eyes sparkled.

“Promises, promises.”

He grinned.

Dangerous.

Hungry.

“I’ll make you regret mouthing off in five minutes.”

Then he dragged her toward the bedpost, already reaching for the restraint belt that matched her harness.

Tonight’s war had just begun.

Chapter Text

As Katsuki strapped her wrists to the bedpost, Izuku wriggled against the restraints, testing the tension, already wearing that dangerous grin he both adored and dreaded.

He was about to reach for the blindfold when she spotted something just under his jacket, peeking out of a side pouch on the floor.

Her eyes widened, lips parting in surprise.

“…Is that what I think it is?” she asked, voice husky but delighted.

Katsuki followed her gaze, then slowly picked up the coiled leather whip, letting the tail fall loose with a soft snap against his palm.

“Oh, you brought it,” she whispered, body arching with anticipation. “I didn’t think you’d actually—”

“You wanted weapons,” Katsuki said darkly, uncoiling it fully, “I’m just matching your energy.”

He ran the tail of the whip down her spine, not striking—just letting her feel the threat of it. She gasped as the leather dragged slowly across the sensitive straps of her lingerie.

“You sure?” he asked, lips brushing her ear. “Once I start, I’m not stopping until you scream for real.”

Izuku gave him a look — wild, glowing, nearly too proud.

“I’m already screaming inside,” she whispered. “Show me I belong to you.”

Her skin flushed. Her chest heaved. The whip had never struck hard—Katsuki knew her limits—but the snap of sound, the sting and slide of control, it had her exactly where he wanted her: undone, twitching, breathless… but not broken.

And that was the problem.

Katsuki leaned down, grabbing her jaw. “Still talking?”

Izuku licked her lip, smirking. “Always.”

With a slow, deliberate motion, she lifted her bound legs—wrapped them around him, and rolled her body just enough to shift balance. Katsuki stumbled forward onto the bed, caught off guard.

She didn’t hesitate.

“Untie me,” she ordered, voice low and commanding.

He blinked. “You think I’m just gonna—?”

“You’re gonna untie me,” she whispered, brushing her lips along his jaw, “because if you don’t, I can’t show you how I use that whip.”

Katsuki stared at her—torn between rage and awe.

And then? He untied her.

The second her hands were free, she shoved him back onto the bed. Her thighs straddled him in a flash, pinning his wrists above his head. She reached for the whip and draped it loosely around his neck.

“You started this round, Katsuki,” she purred. “Now let me finish it.”

Katsuki didn’t fight her when she pinned him. That said everything.

Izuku straddled his waist, her legs firm around him, the black harness pulling tight across her chest as she sat tall — regal, in charge, entirely composed, even after the way he’d had her trembling just minutes ago.

His wrists were still up over his head, but this time held there by her hands.

And the whip?

It was now looped casually around his neck, the leather cool against his throat, resting like a warning.

Not a threat.

A promise.

She leaned forward, the tips of her green hair brushing his jaw as she whispered, “You’re so used to being in control, Kacchan. You almost forget how good you look when you give it up.”

He growled low in his throat, but didn’t move. Not when she looked at him like that. Not when she pressed her hips down in slow, taunting rhythm against his core.

“Think I didn’t notice how your hands shook a little when you first saw me in this?” she whispered, brushing a finger along his jaw. “Or how you didn’t even touch yourself the whole time you were teasing me?”

His jaw flexed.

She was right.

She knew it.

“You don’t get to hide tonight.”

She released his wrists — not because she was done, but because she knew he wouldn’t move.

She slid the whip from around his neck and set it aside, then took both his hands and pressed them to her hips.

Her gaze burned into his.

“Hold me here. Don’t move them unless I say.”

Katsuki didn’t speak — but his grip was firm, obeying even in silence.

Izuku rocked against him once, slowly.

Then again.

Watching his jaw tighten.

His chest rise.

"You always make me crawl to you," she whispered, hands moving to his chest, dragging her nails across muscle. "I used to always demand everything from you. And you give it so easy."

She leaned close, lips brushing his. “So now… I’ll give it back.”

She moved with slow, relentless control. Everything Katsuki tried to command out of her earlier — she now took from him instead.

Every breath she stole from his mouth.

Every twitch of restraint in his muscles.

Every groan he tried to bury under his tongue.

Izuku didn’t back down, not once.

She matched the intensity he gave her earlier with confidence and care. The way she handled his body — the soft control of her hands, the teasing grind of her hips — made it clear: she wasn’t trying to overpower him. She was showing him what it felt like to surrender without shame.

When she finally leaned in, cupping his face and pressing their foreheads together, her voice dropped to a breathless murmur:

“You’re mine, Katsuki.”

He looked up at her, lips parted, pupils blown wide.

And for the first time all night, he whispered back — quiet, honest:

“I know.”

The room had gone still.

No music.

No toys.

Just the sound of their breathing, soft and synced.

Katsuki sat against the headboard, legs sprawled, body flushed and loose with heat. His arms wrapped lazily around Izuku from behind, his chin resting atop her shoulder. She sat on his lap, pressed back into him, still wearing the harness, her skin glowing in the soft light, her body molded perfectly against his.

They didn’t speak.

They didn’t need to.

Katsuki’s hands moved slowly—fingertips tracing the lines of the velvet straps, dragging over the curve of her waist, up toward her chest, down along her thighs.

Possessive.

Reverent.

Izuku just let him.

She loved this part.

Not the chaos.

Not the punishment.

But this—the quiet claim.

The way he touched her like she was something rare. Something only he was allowed to hold.

Every time his palm dragged over her hips or up her stomach, she shifted—just a little. Teasing.

Intentional.

She bit her lip to stop a smirk when she felt his breath hitch.

“You’re still trying to break me even now,” Katsuki muttered against her neck, voice rough but low.

“I’m just enjoying the view,” she replied innocently, even as her hips tilted again.

He grunted, lips curving into a half-smile.

“You’re dangerous.”

Izuku turned her head just enough to glance at him, her cheek brushing his.

“And you love it.”

His hand slid up, settling just under her ribs, palm warm over her stomach. He didn’t push, didn’t squeeze—just held her there.

Izuku placed her own hand over his, fingers tangling.

“I can feel you,” she whispered. “Still.”

Katsuki kissed the side of her neck, slow and deep.

“Then stay like this a little longer,” he murmured. “Let me feel you too.”

And so they stayed—entwined, quiet, no rush.

The war between them was over, for now.

But they both knew:

Another round was coming.

And neither of them would be the same after it.

The room was still wrapped in silence. Dim golden light slipped in through the curtains, barely reaching the edge of the bed. Time felt irrelevant now — the world outside didn’t exist. It was just them, tangled in warmth, breath against skin, pulse meeting pulse.

Izuku shifted in Katsuki’s lap, fingers curling over his.

“Kacchan…” she murmured softly, turning her head until her cheek brushed his temple. “Will you take it off me?”

Katsuki blinked slowly.

“The harness?”

She nodded once.

“Yeah. I want to feel your hands when I’m bare. I want you to see everything you did to me.”

He didn’t respond right away. He didn’t need to.

Instead, he gently slid his arms from around her waist and let her lean forward slightly, carefully maneuvering her onto the sheets without rushing the moment. Izuku rolled over on her side, her back to him, completely trusting.

Katsuki sat up behind her, dragging his hand slowly down her spine, over the leather straps that framed her so beautifully. Then he began to unbuckle them.

One by one.

Slow.

Precise.

Like he was unwrapping something sacred.

The sound of each soft click echoed in the quiet room. And with every strap he loosened, more of her skin was revealed—and with it, every mark.

Redness at her hips. A light, familiar bruise beneath her ribs. His handprint faint but there on her thigh. Faint bites across her shoulder. None too harsh aside from the whipped marks.

But all there.

Proof.

He stared.

And for a moment, he stopped breathing.

Izuku looked over her shoulder.

“Hey,” she whispered, teasing lightly, “don’t go soft on me now.”

He didn’t speak despite wanting to apologize.

His hand ghosted over her shoulder blade. Then down her back. Then her side.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, voice low. Raw.

Izuku smiled gently. “And you did this to me.”

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to her back. Then another. And another.

He kissed every mark.

Every bruise.

Every place his hands had held her.

She closed her eyes, letting his reverence sink into her skin.

“I wanted you to see it all,” she whispered. “Because I don’t regret a single one.”

Katsuki slid his arm around her waist again, pulling her close until her back rested against his chest once more. She was bare now—no straps, no armor, no teasing edge.

Just Izuku.

And him.

“You’re mine,” he murmured into her hair. “Every inch of you.”

“I always have been.”

The room had long since quieted. The sweat, the heat, the wild hunger—they’d burned through it all.

Now came the stillness.

Now came the truth.

Katsuki lay flat against the mattress, eyes closed, breaths deep and steady. Izuku lay on top of him, chest to chest, her bare skin molded into his, her arms wrapped around his neck like she was clinging to the rhythm of his heartbeat.

She didn’t speak right away. She just listened.

To the soft thud of his heart.

To the slow rise and fall of his chest beneath her.

His hands rested lightly on her lower back.

Warm.

Present.

Still a little trembling from how much she meant to him.

She shifted, just enough to brush her thigh against his side, and he twitched.

“You’re nervous,” she murmured, lips brushing his collarbone.

“I’m not,” he grunted, unconvincingly.

Izuku giggled, a sound like silk, and dragged her fingertip lazily down his sternum.

“You always are, after.”

“You keep catching me off guard,” he muttered.

“You love it,” she replied, smirking.

He didn’t argue. He just tightened his arms around her slightly, grounding himself in her presence.

Then she propped herself up on his chest, resting her chin just over his heart. Her expression shifted—not playful now, but open.

Serious.

Hopeful.

“Kacchan,” she said softly, “when will you put a ring on my finger?”

He froze.

“I want to get married,” she said, pouty but earnest. “We’ve been dating secretly for eight years now… and you always do a good job granting all my fantasies. Marriage should be one of those granted wishes too.”

Katsuki stared at the ceiling.

He didn’t answer right away.

Not because he didn’t want it.

But because the weight of her words dropped like a stone straight into his chest.

Izuku watched his reaction carefully, her green eyes scanning his face. “You… don’t want to?”

“No,” he said instantly, reaching up to touch her cheek. “That’s not it.”

He brushed back a few strands of damp hair from her forehead, caressing her gently. He held her like she was the most precious thing he’d ever been trusted with.

“I want it more than anything,” he said quietly. “I want to wake up next to you with sealed rights. I want to call you my wife and not just my secret. I want… mornings. And nights. And years.”

Izuku’s lips parted, the breath in her throat catching.

“But…”

Katsuki exhaled through his nose. “You still have so much to do, Izuku. Your career’s climbing higher every day. You’re shining. You’ve never been more powerful than you are now.”

“I’d still shine beside you,” she whispered.

He smiled softly, but the sadness lingered in his eyes.

“You’d shine,” he agreed, “but the world would try to smother that light the second they find out. They’ll say you’re selfish. That you lied. That you chose me over your dream.”

She didn’t answer right away.

She knew he wasn’t wrong.

But she also knew what she felt.

She leaned down and kissed him gently, lips barely moving.

“Then let them try,” she murmured against his mouth. “I’ve already chosen both.”

Katsuki shut his eyes.

He held her tighter.

“If we do it,” he said, voice firm now, “we do it right. On your terms. No one steals it from you.”

She smiled and pressed her forehead to his.

“Just promise me,” she whispered, “that when the time comes—you won’t hesitate.”

His voice cracked, just a little. “I already have the ring.”

Her breath hitched.

He reached under the edge of the pillow beside him—just touching the hidden box, not pulling it out yet.

“Since we turned twenty,” he said.

Izuku gasped quietly.

“You’re mine,” he said. “And I’m yours. We don’t need the world’s timing—we just need the right moment.”

Tears stung her eyes.

She kissed his cheek.

“I’ll wait for that moment,” she whispered. “But not forever.”

He smirked, brushing his thumb over her lower lip. “Then I better make it count.”

Chapter Text

They were just sixteen.

The training center was near-empty that late afternoon—most of the others had gone home, and Izuku had stayed behind to practice her solo. She was eager. Determined. Still fighting to prove she belonged in a world that already whispered doubts behind her back.

That was when her then-manager came in.

Smiling too much. Standing too close. Offering to “correct” her posture.

At first, she thought it was just another strict comment.

But then his hand didn’t leave her waist.

Then he got behind her, pressing her shoulder blades inward, too slow, too firm.

When she flinched, he just smiled. “Don’t be shy, this is how real idols get trained.”

She froze.

Couldn’t move.

Couldn’t speak.

Couldn’t scream.

Until the door slammed open.

“Oi.”

Katsuki Bakugo stood at the entrance, holding a towel over his neck, breathing heavy from his own training. He took in the scene in a second.

The trembling in Izuku’s hands.

The way the manager’s body was half-leaning against her.

The panic in her wide eyes.

And Katsuki snapped.

“Get your f*cking hands off her.”

The man had barely turned before

Katsuki punched him.

Once.

Twice.

He didn’t care.

The rage burned hotter than anything he’d ever felt.

His fists flew faster than his thoughts.

The manager tried to retaliate—but Katsuki didn’t let up until a nearby staff member burst in after hearing the noise.

By the time someone pulled him off, the manager was on the floor, groaning. Katsuki’s lip was busted. His knuckles bleeding. But his eyes never left Izuku—who had collapsed against the mirrored wall, hugging her knees, silent but shaking.

“Don’t touch her,” Katsuki growled through gritted teeth. “Ever again.”

The staff were panicked, calling security, trying to understand what happened. Katsuki barely registered them.

He only saw her.

Izuku didn’t speak.

Not even when someone asked if she was okay.

Her voice was locked inside her chest.

Katsuki crouched down in front of her—his bruised hand hovering, unsure where he could safely touch.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” he said quietly. “You’re safe. He’s not coming back.”

Still, she said nothing. But tears streamed silently down her cheeks.

So Katsuki did the only thing he could think of—he moved slowly, carefully, and wrapped his jacket around her shoulders. Then he shifted, putting himself between her and the others.

Shielding her.

“Back off,” he barked to the crowd. “She needs space.”

His voice was hard, but his hand… the one he dared to rest over her own… was shaking.

He stayed there until her breathing slowed. Until she looked up at him, green eyes wide, raw, but thankful.

And when she finally whispered, “Thank you,” it nearly broke him.

Katsuki gave every detail in his report.

He spoke to the executives himself.

He demanded they not bury it.

Not silence it.

Not force Izuku to “endure” like so many girls were expected to in the industry.

“I’ll go public if you don’t take action,” he said to the director. “I swear to god I’ll burn this company down if you let him walk.”

And they listened.

That manager was fired immediately.

He was charged.

And later—jailed.

Katsuki’s bruises healed.

But something else remained.

From that day forward, every time he passed Izuku in training, he looked her in the eye.

Not with pity—but with a quiet promise:

No one touches you unless you want them to.

Ever again.

And for Izuku?

That was the first day she realized someone saw her—not as an idol-in-training. Not as a body to mold.

But as a person worth protecting.

Chapter Text

The sun was just starting to dip below the skyline when Katsuki’s group was given a short break from dance training. They’d been rehearsing nonstop for hours—sweat clung to their necks, their limbs aching but disciplined. Katsuki had retreated to the far corner of the practice studio, his towel slung over his shoulder as he chugged water in silence.

That’s when she walked in.

Izuku Midoriya—small frame, oversized hoodie, clutching a brown paper bag in both hands.

Katsuki blinked.

Of all people… he hadn’t expected her.

They hadn’t spoken since the incident last week. Just exchanged glances in passing. She hadn’t shown up for two days afterward, and when she did, she wore a mask of focus so airtight, no one dared ask questions.

But here she was, standing just past the doorway, searching the room.

When her eyes landed on him, she smiled—small, unsure—and started walking over.

Katsuki sat up straighter.

“What the hell is she doing?” whispered one of his groupmates nearby.

“Is that her? From the whole… thing?”

“She looks okay, I guess…”

The whispers weren’t malicious—just curious. But it made Katsuki’s jaw clench.

Izuku reached him and extended the bag, two hands out, polite.

“Um… hi. I just wanted to say thank you. These are for you. I made them this morning.”

He glanced at the bag. A little smudge of chocolate on the outside. Still warm.

“Snacks?” he asked gruffly, frowning.

“Yeah,” she said, voice soft. “Sweet potatoes. And matcha cookies. My mom’s recipe.”

Before he could respond, one of the backup dancers not far away murmured, just a bit too loud, “She’s the one from that manager scandal, right? What really happened—?”

That was it.

Katsuki stood.

He didn’t yell.

Didn’t curse.

He simply stepped forward, placed a hand on Izuku’s back, and steered her out of the room like she was glass and the whole world was shaking.

They didn’t speak until they reached the dimly lit hallway outside.

“...Sorry,” Izuku mumbled first, eyes down. “I didn’t mean to cause a scene.”

“You didn’t,” Katsuki muttered. “They did.”

He handed the bag back. “You didn’t have to bring this.”

“I wanted to.”

Katsuki exhaled, then leaned against the wall beside her.

“Look… I didn’t do what I did last week out of kindness. I don’t want you thinking I’m some damn hero.”

Izuku blinked at him.

“I did it,” he continued, voice firmer now, “because that guy deserved to get his face caved in. I just happened to be there. That’s all.”

She held the bag tighter in her hands.

“…Still,” she said after a long pause, “thank you.”

Katsuki shifted, uncomfortable.

Then her voice lowered. “It was the first time someone actually… protected me.”

Something about the way she said it made him freeze.

He looked down at her.

She wasn’t crying. But her eyes looked far away. Like she was saying something she hadn’t even admitted to herself.

“What does that mean?” he asked.

Izuku didn’t answer right away.

Katsuki’s brows furrowed.

“Wait—” he asked, almost without thinking, “that wasn’t the first time he touched you like that?”

She shook her head.

Tight.

Quiet.

Not ashamed, but hurting.

Katsuki cursed under his breath, his fist balling against his side.

“You didn’t tell anyone?” he asked.

“I couldn’t,” she said. “I was scared. Everyone says ‘just endure it.’ That it’s part of the pressure. That if I speak up, I’ll get replaced. I already don’t look like an idol, you know? I thought… maybe this is just what happens when you’re lucky enough to get noticed.”

His stomach twisted.

“You’re not lucky to be harassed,” he snapped, voice sharp.

Izuku looked up, startled by the heat in his voice.

He exhaled again, softer this time. “Sorry.”

“No,” she said, “don’t be. You’re the only one who got mad for me.”

A silence passed.

Katsuki rubbed the back of his neck.

“You ever think about going to another company? A better one? Maybe they’d—”

“Would you come with me?” she blurted.

He froze.

“What?”

Izuku’s face turned bright red.

“I—I didn’t mean it like that. I mean, I just…” She shook her head, hugging the bag to her chest. “Forget it. That was dumb.”

Then she bowed quickly.

“Thank you for everything. Really. I’ll leave now.”

She turned and jogged down the hall, the hoodie flapping behind her. She didn’t look back.

And Katsuki?

He stood there in the silence, stunned, heart pounding—not from embarrassment, but from confusion. Because he didn’t know why her question stuck so hard in his chest.

Would you come with me?

They barely even knew each other.

But something about the way she looked at him…
like he was already her safe place…

It haunted him for days.

It didn’t change overnight.

They weren’t suddenly inseparable or skipping rehearsals just to talk. They were still trainees, after all — chasing the same impossible dream under the same pressure-cooker spotlight.

But after that day in the hallway…

They started noticing each other more.

The first time it happened again, Izuku passed by Katsuki’s group on their way out of the building. Her hoodie was too big, her hair a little messy from the dance floor, and her face flushed from a long routine.

Katsuki was walking beside Kirishima, towel over his shoulder, earbuds halfway in. But when he saw her, his steps paused for just a second.

Izuku noticed.

She didn’t wave, didn’t speak — just gave him a little bow and the tiniest smile.

He raised his chin slightly.

A nod.

Not much.

But something.

Then it happened again.

Again.

And again.

Sometimes she’d pass by the boys' practice room and glance in when no one was watching. Sometimes, when she saw him sitting near the break room, she'd silently leave a little wrapped snack on the bench beside him and walk away before he could say anything.

He always knew it was her.

Matcha cookies. Red bean buns. Spicy senbei that he didn't think she could even handle herself. But somehow, she knew his tastebuds.

By the fifth time she did it, he muttered just loud enough when she passed behind him, “You doin’ taste tests on me or what?”

Izuku blinked. Then grinned, shy but proud.

“I just wanna see what gets the Bakugo stamp of approval.”

Katsuki scoffed, but took another bite of the homemade cookie.

“…This one does.”

Another day, between vocal drills, Katsuki caught sight of her in front of a vending machine.

She stood there like she was solving a complex equation, eyebrows furrowed in frustration, switching her gaze from tea to energy drink to something with far too much sugar.

He stopped behind her, reached forward without asking, and pressed a button.

The machine blinked.

Out dropped a barley tea.

Izuku looked over her shoulder, startled.

“Kacchan?”

“Kacchan? What's with that?"

"A-Ahh..."

"Anyway, you’re gonna pass out if you drink another coffee milk,” he grumbled, grabbing the bottle and handing it to her. “This’ll keep you balanced. And it’s cold.”

Izuku accepted it slowly, staring at the label, then at him.

He reached out and wagged a few strands of her hair with two fingers.

“Good luck with your training today.”

She blinked again. Her cheeks tinted pink.

“…Thank you.”

He was already walking away when he called over his shoulder, “I heard you got a new manager. A woman this time.”

“Yeah,” she said, clutching the drink.

“Good. Tell me if she sucks.”

Izuku giggled. “You gonna punch her too?”

“If she deserves it,” he said. “I can kick girls too.”

That made her laugh harder than he expected.

Her voice lingered even as he disappeared around the corner.

And that’s how it started.

Not with confessions.

Not with grand gestures.

Just with moments — little ones. Quiet ones. Ones that made her feel safe, and him feel needed.

Neither of them said what was growing between them.

But they both started waiting for it — in the hallways, by the machines, in the sound of vending cans dropping and stolen glances across dance studios.

Something was blooming.

Slow, steady, unspoken.

But real.

Chapter Text

The training center was nearly empty.

The sun had long since dipped past the windows, leaving only the low hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional squeak of rubber soles against the polished floor.

Katsuki had just finished his rounds—showered, changed, bag slung over his shoulder—when he caught a glimpse of movement through the half-open studio door.

Someone was still practicing.

He paused.

It was her.

Izuku stood in the center of the mirrored room, arms up, sweat clinging to her forehead, lips mouthing silent lyrics as she repeated a dance combo over and over again. Her foot slipped slightly on the turn, but she caught herself, shaking her head with frustration.

Katsuki exhaled quietly. Then leaned against the doorframe and watched for a minute longer.

“Oi.”

She jolted a little at the voice.

Turning, she spotted him and smiled weakly.

“Kacchan. You scared me.”

“It’s past eight,” he said, walking in slowly. “You trying to sleep on the floor tonight?”

Izuku laughed softly and reached for her towel.

“Just one more round.”

“Liar,” he muttered, tossing his bag down by the wall and plopping himself onto the floor, stretching his legs out. “You’ve been here since noon, haven’t you?”

“Only because I messed up in rehearsal earlier,” she said, flopping down beside him. “My manager got on my case.”

Katsuki frowned. “That new one?”

“Yeah. She’s… alright, I guess. But she’s kinda bossy,” Izuku said, wringing the towel in her hands. “Like she doesn’t really believe in me, you know? Like she thinks I don’t have what it takes and I’m just lucky to be here.”

Katsuki glanced at her.

“She keeps giving me advice I didn’t ask for,” Izuku added with a half-laugh, “like how I should dress more feminine or move like the other girls. Says I’m trying too hard to be strong, not soft.”

Her words were light, but her voice faltered at the end.

Katsuki clicked his tongue.

“Tch. Screw that.”

Izuku blinked at him.

“Don’t let people like that drag you down,” he said, leaning back on his hands. “You’re the one building your dream. If they judge it? Prove them wrong.”

She stared at him, wide-eyed.

“They can guide you,” he continued, “but they don’t get to control you. You don’t owe anyone your shape. Be free—and the right people will stand beside you.”

A silence stretched between them.

Izuku looked down at her hands.

“…Will you?” she asked suddenly. “If that happens… will you stand beside me too?”

Katsuki turned his head toward her.

Her voice wasn’t teasing this time.

She sounded… hopeful.

Vulnerable.

And something in his chest clenched.

He smirked.

“I could do better than that,” he said casually, bumping her shoulder. “I could be the one to lift you up, if you want.”

Izuku blinked.

Then smiled—genuine, soft, and a little stunned.

“…That sounds kinda cheesy.”

“I don’t do cheesy,” Katsuki scoffed, standing up and offering her a hand. “Now come on. You keep practicing like this, and your knees are gonna give out before debut.”

She took his hand, pulling herself up—closer to him than she’d expected. Their hands stayed clasped for just a second too long.

And neither of them said anything about it.

They didn’t need to.

In that moment, under flickering lights and exhausted bodies, something quiet settled between them.

A promise.

That when the world started pulling too hard…

They’d pull each other back.

The next day, the halls of the trainee center buzzed louder than usual.

Katsuki heard it the moment he stepped inside—whispers from the other trainees in the lounge, murmured between sips of vending machine coffee and shoe changes.

“You heard what happened with Midoriya?”

“She snapped.”

“They said she yelled at her manager—like full on shouting.”

“No way… she’s always so quiet.”

“They said she threw her water bottle.”

Katsuki’s eyes narrowed.

He didn’t say anything, but his pace quickened as he made his way to the vocal practice room where Izuku was assigned that afternoon.

He didn’t know what he was expecting.

Maybe tears.

Maybe a room full of staff.

But what he walked into was a storm with green eyes standing her ground.

The moment he opened the door, he saw them:

Izuku, standing in the center of the room, hands clenched at her sides, cheeks flushed — not from crying, but from fury. Her eyes were locked on her manager, who stood near the mirrored wall with crossed arms and tight-lipped disbelief.

“I didn’t sign up to be a puppet!” Izuku’s voice was loud, but steady. “I asked for help. Not someone who would tell me to erase who I am.”

The manager’s nostrils flared.

“You’re being emotional. No wonder you struggle to match the others—”

“I’m not like the others!” Izuku snapped. “And that’s not a weakness.”

Katsuki didn’t move from the door.

Other trainees stood outside, peeking in. The vocal coach had stepped out earlier, likely to avoid getting involved.

“You think telling me I’m ‘trying too hard’ makes you right?!” Izuku went on. “No. It makes you lazy. Guiding someone means understanding their strengths. Not crushing them to make a clone of the girl you think the industry wants.”

The manager’s face twisted.

“You little brat,” she hissed. “You think you know better than me? I’ve been building idols since before you could walk.”

“Then maybe you forgot what it means to be one,” Izuku said, her tone sharp and brave.

That was when the manager raised her hand.

Her eyes flared, expression contorted with embarrassment, with power she thought was slipping — and she took one step forward, palm midair.

And then—

Katsuki caught her wrist.

He hadn’t even realized he moved. His hand was tight around the manager’s wrist, his expression blank but furious.

“I wouldn’t,” he said calmly, voice low and hard.

The manager froze.

Izuku’s eyes widened, but she didn’t look away.

“Don’t think you can hit her just because you lost an argument,” Katsuki muttered, letting go of the wrist but stepping slightly in front of Izuku.

“This is between me and my trainee—”

“No,” he cut her off. “This is about you forgetting your job. You’re supposed to help her grow, not tear her down just because you’re scared of how high she might climb without you.”

The room went dead silent.

The manager scoffed but backed away, muttering about “escalating this to the higher-ups.”

Katsuki didn’t care.

He turned around slowly, eyes finding Izuku’s.

She looked… stunned.

But there was something in her gaze that burned—something stronger than he’d ever seen in her before.

“I…” she started, voice breathless.

But Katsuki just smirked.

“I saw the whole thing,” he said. “You didn’t need me. I just didn’t want to let her screw it up for you.”

Izuku swallowed hard.

“I didn’t throw the water bottle,” she said quietly, a little sheepish now that the tension was fading.

“Damn shame,” Katsuki said, arms crossed. “Would’ve made it more dramatic.”

Izuku snorted, then suddenly started giggling—too loud, too much, the kind of laugh that only comes after standing at the edge of something terrifying and not falling off.

Katsuki looked at her again, this time softer.

“…Proud of you,” he muttered under his breath.

She blinked.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly, brushing past her toward the door. “Just… tell me if you wanna throw something next time. I’ll hand it to you.”

She laughed again.

But as she watched him walk away, Izuku felt it.

Something different in her chest. Something big.

She didn’t just survive this time.

She won.

And he’d been there to see it.

Chapter Text

The call came during her lunch break.

“Izuku Midoriya. Please report to the executive floor. Immediately.”

No emotion. No detail.

Just enough weight in the words to make others glance at her, then quickly look away.

She stood. Her throat was tight, her hands clammy.

But she didn’t waver.

She had rehearsed for this.

Not a dance. Not a song.

A fight. One that mattered.

The elevator ride up felt like hours.

She arrived at the office—a wide, cold conference room where two department heads, a compliance officer, and her manager were waiting.

Her new manager.

The one who criticized her daily.

Who talked about her body too much.

Who compared her to “prettier idols.

Who treated her confidence like rebellion.

Izuku entered calmly, back straight.

“You know why you’re here?” one of the department heads asked, tone stern.

“Yes,” she answered. “To explain myself.”

Before anyone else could speak, she pulled a small USB from her jacket.

“What’s this?” asked the compliance officer.

“Clips from the studio CCTV,” she said, placing it on the table. “Times when she mocked me, embarrassed me in front of others, insulted my voice, and tried to tell me how I should smile for male fans. This is three months of it.”

The manager's face turned pale.

Izuku didn’t flinch.

“I’ve been documenting it since the second week she took over,” she said. “Because I had a feeling.”

She turned to the heads, locking eyes.

“You remember the last manager? The one who harassed me physically?” Her voice didn’t tremble. “This is his wife.”

Gasps echoed.

The department heads exchanged stunned looks.

“I didn’t know at first,” Izuku continued. “Not until I saw a picture frame she carried with her one day. But then the way she talked to me made sense. The subtle digs. The way she tried to break me.”

“You’re sure about this?” the compliance officer asked.

“Yes.”

One of the executives stood, removing his glasses. “Izuku… I’m sorry. Truly. We didn’t know.”

“I know you didn’t,” she said softly. “That’s why I came prepared.”

There was a long silence.

But Izuku’s decision had already been made.

“I’m quitting.”

The room snapped back to life.

“What? Midoriya—”

“No,” she interrupted gently, but firmly. “I’ve thought about it.”

They looked stunned.

“You’re one of our top-tier debut trainees—”

“And that’s exactly why I’m leaving,” she said. “Because this isn’t the place that’s going to let me be who I need to be.”

She looked down at her hands for a moment, remembering.

Katsuki’s voice echoed in her chest.

You’re the one building your dream. They can guide you, not control you. Be free—and the right people will stand beside you.

Izuku looked up again. Her voice quiet, but stronger than ever.

“I don’t want to be molded anymore. I want to create. And I can’t do that if I stay here.”

The executives had nothing to say.

Only the rustle of papers and the weight of a dream being reclaimed filled the room.

She left that place.

Izuku sat alone in the empty practice room for one last time.

The mirrors didn’t feel oppressive tonight.

The floor didn’t feel like a battlefield.

It felt like a goodbye.

She had texted no one.

Not even him.

Katsuki.

Would he be angry? Would he think she gave up?

Her fingers hovered over his name in her contacts.

But she didn’t press send.

Because this… this was a choice she made not to run away — but to walk toward something new.

If she ever stood beside him again, she wanted to do it as someone equal — not someone broken he once saved.

He became her strength.

But now, she needed to become her own.

And one day… maybe soon… maybe not…

She would find him again.

And she’d tell him the truth:

That the first time she knew she had to be brave wasn’t when she stood up to her manager.

It was the moment he looked at her and believed she could.

Snow had begun to fall before the sun fully dipped, fine white flakes dotting the gray pavement in quiet silence.

Katsuki walked fast, hands deep in his coat pockets, breath coming out in soft clouds. His training had run late — some last-minute revisions, a stubborn coach, and his own refusal to mess up the final take.

But the only thing on his mind was the message.

"I’ll wait at the shed across the street, the one with the heater. I wanna see you. Just for a bit."

She hadn’t messaged him for days. Not since the news that she quit the company reached his group.

No details.

Just that she was gone.

Until today.

He saw her before she saw him — standing beneath the tiny structure, hopping lightly in place to warm her legs, her green beanie pulled low and a soft white puff of breath rising with every giggle she made while looking up at the snow.

Then her eyes spotted him.

And just like that, she lit up.

“Kacchan!!” Izuku called, breathless, as she jogged out toward him.

She didn’t hesitate.

The moment she was close enough, she flung her arms around him lightly and grinned.

“Good job today,” she said, all spark and affection.

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he unwrapped the scarf from his own neck and carefully draped it around hers. He tugged the ends snug, then reached up to adjust her beanie, tucking a few strands of damp hair away from her face.

Izuku blinked at him and chuckled.

“You always act like a big senior when we’re together,” she teased, “even though we’re the same age.”

Katsuki tsked under his breath and looked away.

“You learned how to fight back,” he muttered, “now you’re learning how to be noisy too.”

Izuku giggled again. “Only when it comes to you, though.”

He looked back at her.

And her smile… softened.

“I like you, Kacchan,” she said.

No stuttering.

No embarrassment.

Just clarity — pure and unshaken.

“Thank you,” she continued, her eyes now glassy. “For waking me up. For dragging me out of that nightmare I kept calling my dream. I don’t think I could’ve seen it if you hadn’t told me that being free is what lets us shine.”

Katsuki swallowed, quietly stunned.

Izuku hugged herself lightly and gave a small, bittersweet laugh. “I won’t be walking those hallways again. No more sneaking glances. No more vending machine drinks I didn’t ask for,” she smiled wistfully, “but I didn’t want to leave without saying it.”

Then she looked him straight in the eyes.

“I’m free now. So I get to say what I want, right?”

He stared at her — into that bravery, that softness, that girl who once trembled and now stood tall, even with snow falling on her lashes.

She giggled again and sniffed, rubbing her cold fingers together.

Katsuki exhaled through his nose.

“Come here,” he said.

He reached out and took one of her hands — pink and frozen from the cold — and rubbed it gently between his palms.

“I’ll buy you some gloves later,” he muttered. “But for now…”

He slipped her hand into his coat pocket, then took the other and tucked it in with it — his hands surrounding hers like a blanket.

Izuku looked down, eyes wide, heart stuttering.

And then she laughed — quietly, tenderly.

Their gazes met again.

They didn’t say I love you.

Not yet.

They didn’t have to.

Because this — this quiet warmth, this shared pocket of safety in a cold world — was enough.

And that night, with hands entwined in the space between them, they began.

Chapter Text

Dating in secret wasn’t new to Katsuki.

He’d seen his groupmates sneak out with disguised hoodies or fake names on dating apps. But what he shared with Izuku… was different.

It didn’t feel like hiding.

It felt like protecting something sacred.

1. Midnight Ramen and Shared Slurps

Their first unofficial date happened in a narrow alley ramen shop, barely big enough to seat six people. Katsuki picked the place — far from the company, tucked between laundry shops and shuttered tattoo parlors.

They sat shoulder-to-shoulder at the corner of the counter.

Izuku wore a soft cream mask and a red hoodie Katsuki lent her (too big, the sleeves swallowed her hands — he tried not to stare). Her beanie barely clung to her head after the wind knocked it loose earlier.

She looked at the menu like it was the most thrilling thing in the world.

“They have miso with extra garlic,” she whispered, eyes wide. “I love garlic.”

“Of course you do,” Katsuki muttered. “You little gremlin.”

She giggled.

Their food arrived quickly — steaming bowls, thick broth, soft-boiled eggs swimming in rich flavor.

Izuku was messy.

Slurped loudly.

Didn’t care.

Katsuki watched her from the corner of his eye, hiding a smile behind his chopsticks.

When she accidentally dropped some naruto onto the counter, she pouted dramatically.

Katsuki leaned over, scooped it up with his own chopsticks, and popped it into her mouth.

Her eyes widened.

“You’re feeding me now?”

“Don’t waste food,” he said.

But she could see the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

2. Whispering Under Scarves

The second time they met, it was freezing again — and this time, Katsuki came prepared.

He brought her gloves.

Not the kind from convenience stores — but thick, wool-lined ones, with the color she liked (moss green, with little gold thread details).

“Try those,” he said, handing them over like it was no big deal.

Izuku blinked. “You remembered the color I like?”

Katsuki rolled his eyes. “You wore that same beanie like five days in a row. You think I’m blind?”

She giggled and slipped them on.

They walked together through a quiet part of town, past bookstores and cafes long closed for the night.

They spoke quietly under the same scarf, wrapped together — whispering dreams, fears, dumb idol gossip, old childhood memories.

She confessed how she almost quit singing entirely.

He told her how angry he was at the world for making people like her prove they deserve to be who they are.

When the cold wind picked up, Izuku leaned closer.

“Your voice is warm,” she murmured.

Katsuki looked away, ears pink. “Tch. Dumb.”

But he didn’t move.

3. His Soft Side She Unearthed

Katsuki didn’t plan on showing his soft side.

But Izuku was quietly destructive in the way she pulled his real self out without asking.

Like the night she found the notebook in his bag — tucked beneath his lyric sheets.

It wasn’t just lyrics.

It was doodles.

Terrible ones.

Stick figures with angry faces.

Cats with spiky hair.

One badly drawn chibi version of his groupmate with flames around him labeled: “Shitty Hair screams too much.”

Izuku tried not to laugh.

She really did.

Katsuki caught her peeking and immediately lunged for the notebook.

“Give it back, nerd!”

“Wait—is this me?!” she squealed, pointing at a tiny stick figure with a scarf, labeled: ‘Naggy Girl (mine)’.

Katsuki looked like he was going to melt into the floor.

“That’s—shut up! It’s not—”

She smiled, soft and bright.

“It’s cute,” she said, hugging the notebook.

“You’re cute.”

Katsuki blinked at her.

Then looked away, cheeks red.

“…I’ll kill you if you say that out loud again.”

4. Touches That Didn’t Need to Go Further

Sometimes they didn’t do anything but hold each other.

She’d sit in his lap, arms around his shoulders, face buried in the curve of his neck.

He’d lay on her stomach while she read song lyrics aloud, softly tracing his fingers along his scalp.

They didn’t need to kiss.

They didn’t need to touch more than that.

Because for both of them — just being was enough.

Being held.

Being seen.

Being safe.

5. His Name in Her Phone

She changed his name in her contacts to:

“My Heat Pack 🔥❤️”

Katsuki only noticed when she asked him to call her to find her phone.

It popped up on her screen, bright and bold.

He stared.

“…Seriously?”

“You are my heat pack,” she said, proud. “Warm, grumpy, and I wanna take you everywhere.”

He stared harder.

Then reached for his phone, changed her contact name in his phone to:

“Nag Machine 🤬🐸”

Katsuki laughed so hard he almost dropped it.

“Really?! A frog?!”

“You nag like a frog. Ribbit ribbit.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re in love with me.”

“Shut up,” she said through laughter.

But she didn’t deny it.

And so they continued.

Ramen shop dates.

Late-night scarf walks.

Dumb text messages with ugly memes and half-hearted “good night” audios.

No fame. No music charts. No public spotlight.

Just them.

Falling.

In private.

And together.

The office didn’t have fancy floors or glistening banners.

It didn’t need them.

For the first time, Izuku felt free just walking through the front door.

No one stared like they were measuring her.

No one whispered when she passed by.

No one cared about her scandal or her past company.

All they saw was the name on her demo — and the fire in her eyes when she said:

“I’m ready to be me. Start me from zero if you have to — I’ll still climb higher than ever.”

The company was small. Just a few artists, a handful of vocal booths, a modest dance studio with creaky floors and real warmth.

But the manager they assigned her?

That was the surprise.

“I’m Uraraka Ochako,” the girl said with a bow, cheeks rosy, posture firm. “Rookie manager. And I requested to work with you.”

Izuku blinked. “You… requested me?”

Ochako nodded. “I saw your final showcase before you left your old company. You looked like someone fighting to break out of a cage. I want to help you fly.”

Izuku didn’t expect her eyes to sting that fast.

But they did.

They sat at a quiet booth in the nearby café after orientation — papers still unfiled, contracts barely signed — and Ochako, bless her, dove straight into it.

“So,” she said, slurping her strawberry soda, “what’s your dream?”

Izuku tilted her head. “You mean like… ultimate idol fantasy?”

“No,” Ochako replied seriously. “Your dream. Not the company’s. Not your fans’. Yours.”

That question hit harder than expected.

For a long second, Izuku just stared at the steam rising from her mug.

Then she smiled.

“…To sing without fear. To dance without hearing their voices in my head. To shine with the people I trust beside me.”

Ochako grinned. “Cool. Mine’s to make tons of money and buy a house.”

Izuku blinked, then burst out laughing. “You’re so real!”

“I’m broke,” Ochako shrugged. “But I’m passionate.”

“You know what?” Izuku said, eyes playful, “If we work hard and I blow up, I’ll buy you a villa.”

Ochako nearly choked on her soda. “What?!”

“A promise,” Izuku winked. “A real one.”

“Okay,” Ochako said, leaning forward like they were signing a pact, “then I promise to make you so big, people cry when you walk past.”

Izuku giggled, holding out her pinky.

And they locked it.

“Let’s build our own contract,” Izuku said suddenly, eyes gleaming.

Ochako tilted her head. “Huh?”

“One secret at a time,” Izuku whispered. “Every time we hit a milestone, we each reveal something. Real. Just us. Like a team handshake.”

Ochako grinned. “Okay, okay. Sounds fun. You go first.”

Izuku looked around the café, leaned in, and said in a conspiratorial tone:

“…I have a secret boyfriend.”

Ochako froze. “Wait. Really?!”

Izuku chuckled. “Yep.”

“You’re not joking.”

“Nope.”

“Someone from the industry?!”

“Maybe.”

Ochako slapped her hands to her face. “I’m going to die—wait! No! I’m your manager! I’m going to protect you! But also die.”

Izuku laughed harder, eyes crinkled in joy.

Ochako looked at her, then smiled gently.

“I won’t ask who. Not unless you want to tell me one day.”

“I will,” Izuku said softly. “If we reach the top together.”

Ochako nodded. “Then I’ll protect that secret like it’s my own.”

They left the café under sunset light — Ochako calling a cab, Izuku humming softly under her breath.

She didn’t feel like a product anymore.

Didn’t feel like a gamble or a risk.

She felt like an artist.

A girl with a voice.

And somewhere in the back of her mind, she imagined herself one day on a world stage, with her manager beside her, and Katsuki in the crowd — hidden, quiet, but always watching.

And she knew:

This wasn’t a comeback.

It was the beginning.

Chapter Text

“Izuku, are you sure about this?” Ochako asked, balancing a camera on a small tripod while Izuku did stretches on the studio floor.

Izuku grinned up at her, cheeks flushed from warming up.

“Absolutely. If we’re going to vlog, then we’re going all in. No fancy edits, no filters. I want people to see this. The process. The sweat. The weird dancing. You dropping the camera. Everything.”

Ochako groaned. “I did that one time—”

“And it was iconic,” Izuku giggled, standing and twirling, her green cropped top riding slightly above her ribs, revealing bruises from intense core training.

The studio lights buzzed faintly above. Behind the camera, their tiny crew — a stylist and also her dance coach named Mina, a shy audio tech named Shoto, and Ochako herself — were now unofficially part of the vlog team.

Izuku turned to them.

“You’re all in this with me,” she declared proudly. “I shine, you shine.”

“Don’t put that in the vlog,” Mina muttered while still smiling, “it’s cheesy.”

“I’m all about cheese now,” Izuku said, winking at the lens.

The first vlog was simple.

Clips of her laughing with the staff.

Falling on her butt during practice.

Singing with a raspy, morning voice that still hit every note.

A behind-the-scenes of her losing a bet to Shinsou and doing 100 jumping jacks in a frog headband.

It went live on a Thursday evening.

By Friday morning, it had a hundred thousand views.

By Sunday, over half a million.

“Who is this idol with no debut??”

“She feels so real??”

“That cover of ‘Haru no Yoru’ hit me in the chest and never left.”

“I want HER to debut. Not these fake, perfect people.”

It wasn’t just the vlog.

Izuku started uploading covers too — both dance and vocals. She choreographed a reinterpretation of a top boy group’s track, her style more raw and emotional. She sang one of Katsuki’s older group songs — a stripped piano version — and by the time she whispered the last note, most of the comments were crying emojis and marriage proposals.

Meanwhile…

Katsuki leaned against the wall of the dressing room after practice, drenched in sweat, phone in one hand, towel draped around his neck.

He wasn’t scrolling casually.

He was watching her.

Izuku on the screen — laughing at herself, pulling her shirt over her face after messing up a note, smacking her cheeks to hype herself up.

There she was.

His girl.

Not manufactured. Not choreographed by executives.

ust… herself.

She was becoming famous without a single glittering teaser or billboard.

His lips twitched upward.

“She’s insane,” he murmured. “Crazy, loud, annoying—”

But god, he was so proud.

The rest of his group came in behind him, loud and clumsy.

“Yo, Bakugo, you good?”

He quickly shut the screen off.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Just checking stuff.”

Kirishima squinted. “Was that Izuku-chan’s vlog?”

Katsuki glared at him. “Shut up.”

“You’re blushing.”

“Shut. Up.”

Later that night, alone in his dorm, Katsuki watched her newest upload in full screen.

She was sitting by a window with city lights behind her. Hair tied up, wearing a loose hoodie. She had a mic in her lap, a soft instrumental of her favorite childhood anime song playing in the background.

She sang it like a lullaby.

Warm.

Honest.

A little shaky.

But it made his chest ache.

And when the camera zoomed in at the end, she smiled and said, “Thank you for still believing in me. Even when I didn’t.”

Katsuki leaned back, hand resting over his heart.

His thumb hovered over the comment button.

But he didn’t type anything.

Not yet.

Because the plan was still in motion — and he couldn’t ruin the surprise.

The ring he was designing.

The song he was writing.

The one he’d perform with her, not just for her.

The world was falling in love with Izuku Midoriya.

And soon, they’d know exactly who she belonged to.

The backstage area buzzed with energy. Wires tangled beneath stage risers. Staff ran from one end to another, walkie-talkies in hand, nerves high. This wasn’t a national broadcast or sold-out arena — not yet.

But it was Izuku’s first crowd performance under her new label. A live showcase for rising artists in a modest mid-city venue that seated around two hundred.

And all two hundred tickets?

Gone in under ten minutes.

Half the buzz was from her vlogs, the other half from her viral covers — the girl who danced like she was fighting ghosts and sang like her soul lived in every lyric.

She stood near the mirror, dabbing lip balm on with trembling fingers. Dressed in a cropped black blazer over a glittery green bustier, her pants wide-legged and bold, she looked like the future.

Behind her, Ochako adjusted the mic pack on her waist and murmured, “You okay, superstar?”

Izuku smiled — trying.

“Excited… terrified… but mostly thrilled. Like I’m about to explode.”

“Good,” Ochako smirked. “Means you care.”

Just then, a knock came at the dressing room door.

A crew member peeked in.

“Uh… delivery? Flowers for Miss Midoriya?”

Ochako raised a brow.

“Now?”

“I’ll get it!”

Izuku chimed, already skipping toward the door.

She opened it — and there he was.

Head down.

Ball cap low.

A plain black mask over his face, dark cargo hoodie, holding a massive bouquet of green hydrangeas, white orchids, and baby’s breath.

Her favorite.

Izuku’s heart thumped once.

Twice.

She narrowed her eyes.

“…These are from him, right?” she asked the delivery guy.

The man nodded and held out the bouquet silently.

Izuku giggled like a girl reading a love letter.

She snatched the flowers with both hands, cradling them close and spinning back toward the room with a squeal.

“Ohhh, he remembers! Look, Ochako! The white orchids?! That’s from that one day we—well, anyway, he remembers! God, I could marry him just for these!”

The “delivery man” shifted slightly — hiding his grin beneath the mask.

“I swear,” Izuku said dramatically, “if Bakugo Katsuki doesn’t put a ring on my finger by the time I hit three million subs, I’m stealing his wallet and buying one myself!”

Behind her, the man chuckled.

A low, knowing sound that cut right through the room.

Izuku froze.

Her back straightened.

She slowly turned around — face heating, eyes wide.

“…No way.”

The man slowly raised his hands.

One lifted the mask down.

The other pulled his cap off, revealing ash-blond spikes, a cocky grin, and sharp, warm eyes.

“Hi,” Katsuki said simply.

Izuku screamed.

Not a horror scream.

A full-body, face-burning, jumping-in-place meltdown.

“Kacchan!!” she shouted, nearly throwing the bouquet into Ochako’s face before launching herself into his arms.

Katsuki caught her like he’d done it a hundred times — hands secure around her waist, holding her steady as she nearly melted into him, her head against his chest.

“You jerk! You were literally right in front of me! I was—ugh, I was blabbering!!”

“I noticed,” Katsuki smirked. “Good to know I rate just below flowers and kidnapping plans.”

Izuku smacked his chest lightly, face burning.

Katsuki leaned down, pressing his forehead to hers for a second.

“You look… unreal.”

Izuku’s breath caught.

She glanced away, lips twitching.

“Well, you look like a delivery guy from a dating sim.”

“Good.”

“Unfair.”

Ochako, still holding the mic tape in her hands, watched with a stunned look.

“…I can’t believe it. That’s actually Bakugo Katsuki.”

The Bakugo Katsuki.

The industry rumor — a trainee-turned-viral prodigy who hadn’t even debuted but was already known for slaying every instrument he touched. His keyboard covers went viral without ever showing his face. And now here he was, tucking strands of Izuku’s hair behind her ear like she wasn’t the Internet’s current obsession and he wasn’t Japan’s most anticipated debut.

Ochako dropped the tape.

“Did I just see Izuku Midoriya turn into a lovesick fan right in front of the nation’s future boyfriend?”

Katsuki glanced at her. “She’s already got the position, thanks.”

Izuku groaned and hid her face against his chest again.

Katsuki held her tighter, pressing a kiss against her temple before stepping back slightly.

“I came to see you shine,” he said seriously. “I’ll be at the back. Won’t get in the way.”

“You better get in my way later,” Izuku whispered, finger poking his chest. “After this, I’m kidnapping you for real.”

He smirked. “Promises, promises.”

With one last brush of his hand along her back, Katsuki slipped out the door, cap back on, like he was just another crew member blending into the venue.

But when Izuku turned back to the mirror…

There was fire in her eyes.

She stood taller.

Straighter.

Because he was here.

Watching her.

Supporting her.

Proud of her.

And she was ready to show him what he protected, what he believed in, and what he loved — was meant to be seen by the whole damn world.

Chapter Text

The lights dimmed.

A hush rolled over the crowd like a wave crashing to silence. The only sound left was the bass of hearts — beating fast, some in the crowd, some backstage.

Izuku stood centerstage, bathed in the soft glow of the spotlight.

Behind her, a faint haze curled from the fog machines. The screen above pulsed with green hues, then opened to display her name in silver:

MIDORIYA IZUKU
—Live Pre-Debut Showcase—

She inhaled slowly.

Out in the crowd, she knew he was there.

He said he’d be at the back. And though she couldn’t see his face, her soul could feel the gravity of his gaze.

He came to see me.

The music started — a slow piano at first, intimate, almost like a diary entry turned melody.

The mic was in her hand, fingers trembling slightly, but her voice?

Clear.

Whole.

Real.

"When I was lost, you were the road I found…
When I was hurt, you were the sound I clung to.
A name I never said out loud,
But whispered in every line I sang through.”

People didn’t cheer.

They listened.

Breath held.

Eyes wide.

Captivated.

Because Izuku didn’t perform like someone trying to impress.

She performed like someone with nothing to hide anymore.

An in the very back, Katsuki stood by the wall.

Mask on.

Cap low.

But his eyes never moved from her.

His hand rested over his heart.

Not because he meant to — it just did.

On instinct.

She was there, not as his girlfriend, not as a survivor, not even as a rising star.

She was just… Izuku.

And damn, she was shining.

Her body moved effortlessly across the stage, her vocals pouring like light through the darkness, and every single word sounded like it was written just for him.

Then, near the bridge, her voice softened.

Almost too soft.

But Katsuki heard it.

“Can you hear me now… Kacchan?”

His eyes widened.

It was faint.

Almost like a breath between lines.

But he caught it.

So did Ochako backstage, who nearly tripped over a stage light as she looked at the audio monitor.

“Did she just—?”

Izuku smiled.

The next beat dropped — stronger, rhythmic, empowering.

She danced.

Hard.

Sharp.

Fierce.

Each movement screamed independence.

Each lyric dripped with experience.

And her gaze?

It swept the crowd once…

…then stilled.

She found him.

Eyes locking from across the sea of people.

Even with a mask and cap, she knew.

Her lips twitched upward.

And Katsuki, who rarely smiled outside of practice rooms or private rooftops, let himself grin — soft, crooked, unmistakably proud.

She held that gaze as the final chorus soared.

“You gave me wings I never knew I had—
And now I fly for both of us.”

The crowd exploded when the song ended.

Some stood up.

Others cheered her name.

But Izuku didn’t bow just yet.

Instead, she whispered again into the mic — not for the crowd, not even for the cameras.

“I did it, Kacchan.”

Backstage, after her final encore, Izuku walked off, tears threatening to fall — not from sadness, but from overwhelming joy.

Ochako ran to hug her.

“You crushed it! You crushed it!! And the lyrics—did you write that bridge? You totally said his name, didn’t you?!”

Izuku only smiled.

“Maybe.”

She clutched the flowers tighter, stepping into the hallway, hoping he’d still be—

And there he was.

Leaning against the far wall, arms crossed, waiting in the quiet, dim corridor like her personal secret waiting to be found.

Izuku ran.

And Katsuki caught her — arms wrapped tight, forehead to forehead.

No words at first.

Just the rhythm of their breaths, syncing again.

Finally, Katsuki whispered against her temple:

“You didn’t just fly… you burned.”

Izuku pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes, cheeks glowing.

“Did you hear me?”

Katsuki smirked.

“Every word.”

Chapter Text

The moon hung like a spotlight above the private rooftop garden — a hidden space Izuku had begged her company’s heads to lend her for the night. And, as always, they agreed.

Not just because she was the company’s crown jewel now.

But because Izuku Midoriya asked with her whole heart.

She arrived first — wearing a soft green dress with gold accents, her hair loose and glossy from hours of nervous prep. The rooftop was decorated with string lights she put up herself (Ochako offered to help, but Izuku insisted she wanted it personal). A low table sat in the center, picnic style, covered in take-out boxes from the place Katsuki always craved after long rehearsals.

One year, she thought, setting down the last pair of chopsticks. One full year since I told him I liked him at that snowy station shed.

The wind teased her hair.

And then—

Footsteps.

Heavy.

Familiar.

Sure.

She turned around as Katsuki appeared from the stairwell — in all black, of course, but with a single green accessory clipped at his ear. His smirk softened the second their eyes met.

“Took you long enough,” Izuku said, hands on her hips.

Katsuki pulled her into a hug.

“Missed traffic on purpose.”

Izuku chuckled and leaned into him, nuzzling her face into the side of his neck. “I told the company about us,” she murmured. “No hiding. No games. They didn’t even flinch.”

Katsuki leaned back to look her in the eye.

“Really?”

“Really. I think they kind of knew already. One of the execs even smirked like they knew something I didn’t.”

Katsuki hummed.

“Maybe they did.”

Izuku blinked.

“Wait. What do you mean?”

He pulled a slim folder from the inside of his jacket and handed it to her.

She opened it.

Read the bold letters.

ARTIST TRANSFER AGREEMENT
—Bakugo Katsuki to join Midoriya Entertainment Co.—

Her mouth fell open.

“W–what?!”

Katsuki grinned. “Surprise.”

She blinked, once. Twice. “WHAT?!”

“Kirishima, Kaminari, and I are transferring over. Official as of today. We debut under your company in months.”

Izuku was speechless.

“You—why?!”

He stepped closer, brushing a finger under her chin. “Because I’m tired of cheering you from the dark. I want to build beside you. Shine beside you.”

Tears welled in her eyes. “You… signed under my company?”

“Our company now,” he corrected gently. “You trusted them enough to be you. I’ve seen what that means. I want the same.”

“But your previous label—”

“Didn’t deserve us anymore. Not the way yours does. Not the way you do.”

Izuku threw her arms around his neck.

“I can’t believe this. This is the best gift ever—”

“No, it’s not,” he said smugly. “That comes later.”

She pulled back.

“Kacchan—”

But he only kissed her forehead and gestured to the food.

“Eat first. I’ll let you cry about how awesome I am after dessert.”

They sat on the rooftop, legs tangled together, eating in soft laughter and teasing silence. Katsuki fed her the last bite of gyoza. She tried to sneak the spicy sauce on his dumpling. He pretended not to like it — but secretly did.

And through it all, their fingers stayed intertwined.

“I still can’t believe we made it,” Izuku said quietly.

Katsuki looked over. “We’re just getting started.”

She nodded.

“I know. But still… after everything. The hiding. The pressure. The fake smiles. Slowly, you always made it real for me.”

He looked down, then pulled something small from his pocket.

Izuku’s breath caught — until she realized it wasn’t a ring.

It was a small silver charm — a tiny mic with a green stone in the center.

“For your necklace,” he said casually. “To remind you who believed in your voice before anyone else.”

Izuku bit her lip, tears threatening again.

“And,” he added, smirking, “if we both survive this year without scandal, without punching anyone in the company, and without leaking our couple pics, then maybe…”

He trailed off.

She leaned forward, heart pounding. “Then maybe what?”

Katsuki shrugged. “Then maybe I’ll let you be the one to propose first.”

She laughed, full and bright. “Bold of you to assume I haven’t already planned it.”

“Oh?” he grinned.

“Oh,” she confirmed.

A news article was posted around 8 a.m. It wasn’t flashy or gossipy. Just a clean, well-written piece on an industry page that often covered behind-the-scenes artist stories.

✦ RISING VOICES: THE TRAINEES WHO FOUGHT TO STAY TRUE

Written by: Staff Writer, TOKYO SOUNDLINE

“When Midoriya Izuku walked away from her previous label, no one expected her to recover so quickly. But just a year later, her name trends with every vocal cover, and her debut stage is one of the most anticipated in the region.

Her quiet battle for creative freedom and personal agency has sparked a wave of similar sentiments across trainee circles. Whispers of her resilience and unshakeable will are now loud enough to shift the structure of this industry.

And she’s not the only one.

Just this week, Bakugo Katsuki — a name known among instrumentalists and fans alike — finalized his group transfer from Line-X Studio to Midoriya Entertainment. DYNAMIC, his upcoming group formed with long-time training partners Kirishima Eijiro and Kaminari Denki, is now slated to debut alongside the studio’s new lineup.

Is this coincidence? Or a continuation of what Midoriya Izuku first stood for?

One thing is certain — in an industry long shaped by rigid systems, these two are becoming the faces of a quiet, powerful rebellion: the right to shine their way.”

By noon, the article had spread across fan spaces, social media circles, and idol discussion threads.

@StarMuseForum:
✦ Izuku’s solo debut is coming, and now Katsuki’s group is debuting under the same label?? Bro what are they feeding those trainees??

@soundslikekacchan:
✦ People keep asking why Katsuki left Line-X. No hate to his old agency, but I respect the move. TNT is getting creative freedom as DYNAMIC. I’d do it too.

@vocalthread:
✦ Not to get emotional at 2pm, but Izuku Midoriya walking away from a company that didn’t value her just to come back stronger and inspire others to do the same… is everything.

@kaminari-watt:
✦ Just realized Izuku and Katsuki never collabed publicly before. WHAT IF THEY DROP SOMETHING TOGETHER SOON 😭😭

Izuku read the article while sitting in her dressing room.

The lights around her mirror glowed softly, and she still had glitter on her cheekbones from a magazine shoot earlier. Ochako walked in with a drink, stopped when she saw her expression, and peeked over her shoulder.

“…They’re saying you’re the reason Katsuki transferred,” she said, amused.

Izuku smiled gently.

“I didn’t expect that.”

“Well… they’re not wrong,” Ochako said, leaning on the wall. “You inspired him. And probably others, too.”

“I didn’t even say anything,” Izuku murmured.

“You didn’t have to. You moved in a way everyone else was too scared to. And it worked.”

Izuku traced her fingers across the tablet screen. The photo of her — singing during rehearsal — was placed beside the candid of Katsuki at the signing office.

No romantic angle. No rumors.

Just two powerful stories side by side.

Ochako tilted her head. “You okay?”

Izuku nodded. “Yeah. I’m happy. Just… it’s overwhelming. I wanted to be an artist, not a symbol.”

“Sometimes it happens together,” Ochako said, offering her a gentle smile. “You didn’t chase the spotlight. You chased truth. That’s what people see.”

Katsuki scrolled through the article silently as Kirishima and Kaminari bickered about who left the ramen lid off.

He ignored them.

His eyes lingered on Izuku’s part of the article. The words. The photo. The caption:

“She became the voice many trainees didn’t know they needed.”

He let the screen dim before placing his phone down.

“Proud?” Kaminari asked, popping his head in.

Katsuki didn’t answer. But the faint smirk tugging on his lips was enough.

Later that night, Izuku posted a teaser for her next vlog — a 12-second clip of her stretching in the dance studio, laughing at herself for slipping, then shooting a wink at the camera.

The caption?

“We’re almost there 🌟
Thank you for walking with me. Let’s shine together.”

Chapter Text

The arena was buzzing. Fans had lined up since dawn. The debut showcase of DYNAMIC, the breakout group from Midoriya Entertainment, was happening tonight—and the surprise announcement that Midoriya Izuku would perform her official debut single as the event’s closing act turned the already-hyped night into something legendary.

Backstage, the air felt electric.

Katsuki stood in front of the mirror with his DYNAMIC members — Kirishima adjusting his in-ear monitor, Kaminari nervously humming their chorus.

“Hey,” Kirishima said, looking over. “You think she’s nervous?”

Katsuki didn’t look up. “She’s fine.”

But his hands were tight around the mic.

Not because he doubted her — but because tonight, for the first time, they’d perform on the same stage. In the same spotlight. Separate acts. Same world.

He’d finally get to see her shine not from the back of a crowd…

…but as someone on the same level.

The lights dropped.

The crowd roared.

The intro played — hard bass, intricate synths, vocals layered over Katsuki’s signature guitar loop. Their voices cut through the noise, confident and hungry. The crowd responded with deafening cheers.

Their choreography was bold.

Controlled.

Passionate.

Katsuki’s stage presence was magnetic. Every camera angle found him. His expressions. His sharp footwork. The way his voice cut clean through the backing vocals during the bridge — he wasn’t just another idol.

He was a leader.

As DYNAMIC finished their final pose, bathed in crimson lighting, fans screamed so loud the staff had to boost the backing track for the transition.

On social media, clips exploded instantly:

@tnt_love_bomb:
✦ BAKUGO KATSUKI just body-slammed the whole industry. That bridge?! That gaze?! WHO gave him the right?!

@midori_heart:
✦ Can’t believe Izuku and DYNAMIC are under the same label. They better collab soon or I will riot 😭

Silence followed.

Then the spotlight hit center stage.

Izuku stood there, alone in a fitted black-green outfit with sheer sleeves, her mic lowered at her side, eyes closed. As the piano started, a wind effect moved through her hair, giving her a celestial silhouette.

The lyrics were vulnerable at first. A slow, aching build.

Then, the drop.

Her voice soared.

She danced — effortlessly, like a wave breaking over itself. Her eyes flicked directly into the camera, piercing and emotional, singing about freedom, rebirth, and belonging to no one but herself.

Katsuki watched from backstage.
His heart pounded. He knew every move. Every lyric.

But it still hit him like the first time.

“They told me I could never bloom without permission—
But I planted myself, and now I rain fire on their silence.”

Fans went wild.

By the final chorus, she stood on a rising platform, arms out, voice breaking with emotion as the lights behind her mimicked stars. She wasn’t just debuting.

She was declaring herself.

After the show, both DYNAMIC and Izuku returned to stage for a joint “Thank You” appearance. It was meant to be professional—bowing, waving, group hugs—but as they lined up for photos, the fans noticed things.

Katsuki and Izuku weren’t standing next to each other… at first.

But then Kirishima nudged Katsuki, who ended up beside her. He nodded awkwardly.

Izuku smiled back and whispered, “Good job.”

Katsuki responded by fixing a stray hair from her face — without thinking.

A camera caught it. And the crowd lost it.

@heartofidols:
✦ Did anyone see Bakugo brush Izuku’s hair away like some low-key drama prince scene 😭😭 IS THIS A SHIP?? ARE WE SHIPPING THEM NOW??

@tntupdates:
✦ Calling it now: Midoriya x Bakugo = MidoriBOOM. Or BOOMzuku. I don’t care. JUST. LOOK. AT. THEM.

Fan edits spread within hours — slow-motion versions of them glancing at each other, overlapping lyrics from both songs, fans analyzing the choreography for any hidden meaning.

@eagleeyefandom:
✦ Hear me out. Izuku’s hand movements in the bridge of “Shine Free” mirror Bakugo’s solo bridge moment in DYNAMIC’s song. COINCIDENCE OR COORDINATED SYMBOLISM?!

Midoriya Entertainment didn’t comment.

Neither did the artists.

But no denial fueled the flames harder.

And in a quiet hallway, long after the cameras were off and the staff were wrapping up…

Katsuki found her standing by the vending machine, sipping water.

“You were unreal,” he said softly.

Izuku looked up, eyes still sparkling.

“You too. I’ve never heard fans scream that loud.”

“Because I ripped the place in half.”

She snorted.

“You and your modesty.”

They stood in silence for a moment.

Then Izuku whispered, “They’re shipping us.”

Katsuki raised an eyebrow.

“Are they?”

“You didn’t see the #BOOMzuku tag trending?”

“…That’s awful.”

She giggled.

“It is. But kind of sweet, right?”

Katsuki smirked and leaned in.

“If only they knew the truth.”

She blushed, looked away quickly, but couldn’t stop smiling.

The entire building buzzed with afterglow.

Praises poured in from all directions — producers, directors, stylists, even rival companies were giving nods to the double debut that rocked the industry the night before.

Inside the main meeting room, executives and creatives gathered for a recap meeting. Ochako sat beside Izuku, smirking into her coffee as Katsuki walked in late — again — with Kirishima, Kaminari, and their manager, Iida, trailing behind.

He slumped into his seat across from Izuku and gave her a look that only she could read.

The silent "you still can’t out-sing me" type of look.

Izuku didn’t flinch.

She leaned back in her chair and replied with a sweet smile and lifted brow that said:

"But you were watching me the whole time."

The tension was playful.

The chemistry?

Palpable.

Even now.

That’s when one of the marketing heads clapped their hands.

“Okay, okay, okay. First of all—” he pointed between Izuku and DYNAMIC, “—we’ve got a firestorm online. You five made the charts, the trends, and every possible variation of shipping names.”

The staff chuckled.

“Boomzuku, Bakumido, DYNADeku—”

“Please stop,” Katsuki muttered, dragging a hand over his face.

“Oh, we will,” the exec grinned. “But not before we bring this up.”

He tapped his tablet, showing a mocked-up concept art:

A dual collaboration project — a stage special. Izuku Midoriya × DYNAMIC.

Everyone leaned forward.

Izuku blinked.

“A… collab? Already?”

Ochako perked up beside her.

“They’re offering it fast because of the timing. The fans are craving it. They’re literally begging for it.”

Kirishima smiled sheepishly.

“Honestly? I’d be down.”

Kaminari nodded.

“Yeah, working with Izuku-san sounds dope.”

Katsuki kept quiet, jaw tight.

The exec noticed.

“Bakugo?”

He grunted.

“We’ll make it work.”

“Great,” the head producer said. “Now, we do need to address the elephant in the room—”

Everyone tensed.

“—the shipping.”

Silence.

Izuku and Katsuki looked at each other for a flash of a second.

Both gave nothing away.

“We’re not here to ruin it. Quite the opposite,” the exec continued, grinning. “It’s working in our favor. Let the fans have their theories. They’re invested in the chemistry. But we won’t say anything unless you do.”

Izuku blinked.

“You mean—”

“We’ll never speak a word of dating or real relationships. Not unless you two give us the go.”

The room nodded.

Respectful.

Surprisingly warm.

“We just ask that, if you’re working together, keep it professional. The usual boundaries. Let the story live in the art.”

Ochako leaned over and whispered, “They’re basically shipping you too.”

Izuku blushed.

Katsuki didn’t move, but the tips of his ears turned red.

Izuku stood alone in the glass booth, headphones on, rerecording vocals for the collab teaser.

Through the glass, Katsuki watched her from the producer’s chair.

She hit the high note on the bridge.

Then again, with a harmony.

When she stepped out, slightly sweaty and flushed from the effort, Katsuki handed her water.

“You looked like you were flying in there,” he said, voice low.

“I was,” she replied, still breathless.

He looked at her. “Does this feel weird?”

She blinked. 

“Us? Performing together?”

“No. Hiding… in the middle of it.”

Izuku sighed, leaned back against the wall.

“A little. But it feels right too.”

He nodded.

“We’ve always made our own rules.”

“And we will,” she said softly.

They didn’t kiss.

Didn’t touch.

Just smiled at each other — a quiet agreement.

Let the world guess. Let them scream over crumbs.

Their truth was too solid to rattle.

@midoriya_updates:
✦ The new collab teaser for Izuku x DYNAMIC is everything. The chemistry, the eye contact, the way Katsuki passes her the mic like she’s royalty. ARE THEY ACTORS?? BECAUSE THAT WAS REAL.

@explosivesupporter:
✦ Bakugo Katsuki has never looked at ANYONE like that. I’m just saying.

@ochacollection (fan account):
✦ “Let the story live in the art.” — the company said in their recent blog. That’s poetic. That’s suspicious. That’s LOVE.

The next vlog Izuku posted was a simple one: her stretching before rehearsal with DYNAMIC, eating snacks with Kaminari, playfully bickering with Kirishima, and laughing silently as Katsuki tossed her a towel mid-dance with his usual deadpan face.

The fans zoomed in.

Slowed it down.

Made theories.

@dekunation:
✦ Y’all. He threw her a towel but also CHECKED to see if she caught it. That’s BOYFRIEND ENERGY 😭😭

But they said nothing.

No confirm.

No deny.

Only a new teaser trailer dropped the next day with a dramatic tagline:

“When passion meets freedom…
They burn together.”

Chapter Text

The sun was already dipping behind the studio towers when Izuku and her team took their water break. They'd been at it for hours — reworking choreography, recording their vocal harmonies, and finalizing transitions for the collab stage next week.

She was seated on the floor, legs stretched out, sipping cold water when her backup dancers — mostly rookies and trainees from different units — huddled up with snacks and started giggling.

“Did you hear that noise last night from the boys’ side?” one whispered dramatically.

“What noise?”

“Like… weird noises. Moaning.”

Izuku choked on her water.

“E-Eh?!”

“Probably DYNAMIC. Heard from tech staff that their dorm's TV was connected to some ‘non-training’ content. If you know what I mean.”

The girls burst out laughing.

One mockingly fanned her face.

“Boys and their night routines.”

Izuku’s cheeks turned scarlet.

She tried to play it cool, lips pressed tightly around her bottle, but her brain was already spiraling.

Did… Katsuki watch it too?

Did he laugh like the others? Was he curious? What kind of faces does he make if he’s watching those things?

Her thoughts were running far faster than her body could keep up with.

They were already one year and four months into their secret relationship — and not even one real kiss on the lips. Sure, they'd held hands, exchanged hugs, even rested forehead to forehead when emotional moments came in—but nothing beyond that.

She wasn’t frustrated. Just… curious.

Katsuki wasn’t cold.

He was just… guarded.

Respectful.

Sometimes too respectful.

She rubbed her cheeks as if that could erase the heat.

Ochako, sitting beside her, noticed immediately.

“Don’t spiral, princess.”

“I’m not,” Izuku lied.

Ochako narrowed her eyes.

“You’re picturing your boyfriend watching porn, aren’t you?”

“I—!”

“Caught.”

Meanwhile

In the boys’ dorm…

A scene straight out of every chaotic dorm cliché was unfolding.

Kirishima and Kaminari were slumped on bean bags, half-laughing and half-commentating on the video playing on someone’s tablet, which had a very obvious “18+” label. The screen was angled carefully to avoid the security cams, and the volume was low—but not low enough to mute Kaminari’s over-the-top commentary.

“Bro, no one actually does that with their legs—”

“This is like, Olympic-level flexibility!”

“Okay but like—what if they released an idol concept like this, huh? We’d be broke!”

Kirishima threw popcorn at him.

“Shut up!”

But in the corner of the room…

Katsuki Bakugo lay sprawled on the couch, arm across his face, towel covering his eyes, and earbuds plugged in. From the way his chest rose and fell in slow, even rhythm, it was clear he was napping—or at the very least, determined to be mentally unavailable.

The boys kept going, laughing like teens who just found out how incognito mode works.

“You think Bakugo’s watching with us in secret?” Kaminari joked, nudging a foot in Katsuki’s direction.

“Bro can’t even stand gum wrappers on the floor, you think he’ll watch budget acting with hotel lighting?”

Kirishima chuckled.

“Yeah, he’s probably dreaming about punching us into the carpet right now.”

Katsuki’s fingers twitched, but he didn’t move.

Alone in her dorm, Izuku curled up with her favorite plush and stared at the ceiling.

Her phone buzzed.

Kacchan:
“Don't overthink what the dancers said earlier.”

Izuku blinked.

Izuku:
“…You heard?”

Kacchan:
“You blush loud.”

Her cheeks warmed again.

Izuku:
“You weren’t watching with them?”

No reply for a second.

Then—

Kacchan:
“I was sleeping. Earbuds in. Towel over my face. I’m not like them.”

A pause.

Kacchan:
“Also. I haven’t kissed you yet because I don’t want our first kiss to feel like sneaking around.”

Izuku covered her mouth.

Kacchan:
“I want to kiss you when I can hold your hand in public too. Don’t settle for less.”

Her heart fluttered so painfully soft, she almost cried.

She typed back slowly.

Izuku:
“Then I’ll wait. Even if it takes another year.”

Kacchan:
“I hope you won’t have to.”

The hall was loud with rehearsal instructions, stage lights flickering, and fans echoing behind closed venue walls — Izuku Midoriya was finally on tour.

Her debut album was a chart-topper. Her showcase tour sold out faster than anyone predicted. Her schedule was brutal — back-to-back performances, fan meetings, interviews, social content…

But somehow, between all that, she always found a moment to check her phone.

Because every few days, without fail, something arrived.

A neatly packed bento with a note:

“Eat well, idiot. You pass out on stage and I’m breaking the mic stand.” – K

A tiny plush of a frog in a superhero cape:

“Said it looked dumb. Thought of you.”

A keychain that resembled one she gave him during training days, now personalized with her debut logo.

No note. Just him knowing she’d get it.

Izuku never asked how Katsuki managed it. She just knew he made time.

Even if they hadn’t seen each other in nearly a month.

Inside DYNAMIC’s rehearsal room, Katsuki stood in front of the mirrors, sweat-soaked shirt sticking to him as he repeated the same solo part for the third time.

“Take five!” their choreographer called out.

Kirishima collapsed onto the floor with a groan.

Kaminari fell beside him like a dead fish.

Katsuki?

Still moving.

But when his phone buzzed and a message popped up from Zuku 🐸💚, he paused mid-step.

Zuku:
Venue’s crowd looked like stars. Wish you could see it. Miss you, Kacchan.

He stared at the message for a moment. Then typed:

Kacchan:
You’re already a whole galaxy. They’re lucky to orbit you.

He cringed after sending it.

Kaminari peeked over his shoulder.

“Wait—was that a poem?”

“SHUT UP.”

Somewhere between her final tech check and costume fitting in the next city, Izuku’s team got a night off.

She didn’t waste it.

Hooded sweatshirt.

Mask.

Slippers.

And a very quiet ride in the elevator to a certain dorm floor.

The DYNAMIC boys were back from their radio appearance, and Kirishima nearly screamed when he opened the door and saw her.

“Izuku?! What the—?!”

She held a finger to her lips.

“Shhh! Surprise check-in.”

Kaminari whispered-yelled, “Katsuki’s gonna explode—HE’S IN THE SHOWER—"

Before they could stop her, Izuku darted in, carrying a small cake box in one hand and a letter folded like a paper star.

She placed both on Katsuki’s bed, straightened the wrinkled sheet, and stood back.

Then she turned to the others with a bright grin.

“Just here to remind you boys to eat, stretch, and not kill yourselves before release.”

Kirishima melted. “You’re too sweet, Izuku.”

“Don’t say that,” Katsuki’s voice growled from behind them.

The room turned.

Katsuki stood in the doorway, towel around his neck, hair damp, and shirtless.

His eyes locked on hers.

He didn’t say anything.

She didn’t either.

But the smile that bloomed between them said enough.

“I’ll go,” she whispered, brushing past him — letting her fingers lightly graze his as she passed.

He didn’t stop her.

But when the door closed, he walked straight to his bed, picked up the cake, opened the paper star, and stared at the short note inside:

For every day I can’t say “I love you” out loud, I’ll say it in the little things instead.

You’re doing so well. I see you, Kacchan.

He closed his eyes and exhaled like the world had let him breathe again.

Chapter Text

Izuku lay in her hotel bed, the room dark except for the glow of her phone. Her tour schedule was packed, her body exhausted from rehearsals — but her mind wouldn’t rest.

It started a few weeks ago, that conversation her dancers had about “boys being boys.” That dumb, teasing moment that sent her thoughts spinning.

She still remembered it vividly.

“The DYNAMIC boys totally watch stuff like that after training.”

She bit her lower lip, shifting in bed.

Stuff like that.

She'd never asked Katsuki if he did.

Never asked him… what kind of people he found attractive.

Never even kissed him on the lips.

And yet, here they were, almost two years into a secret relationship — intimate in the heart, careful in their hands. But the question refused to leave her alone.

So tonight, curiosity won.

Hands trembling slightly, she searched the phrase she’d heard whispered and half-laughed through in the studio. BDSM.

The results flooded in instantly.

Chains.

Ropes.

Hands tied.

Lips parted.

She stared, shocked.

A part of her wanted to close it.

But another part… couldn't stop looking.

It wasn’t the roughness that caught her. It was the way the people in the video seemed to trust each other. The deep eye contact. The tension. The slow, dangerous build of something that wasn't just about pleasure — but surrender.

Something primal and vulnerable at once.

Izuku blinked, suddenly aware of her flushed cheeks, her breath a little quicker than it had been before. She quickly shut her phone, face buried into her pillow.

“Wh–what am I doing…?” she mumbled into the sheets.

Her heart pounded in her ears.

She wasn’t sure if it was embarrassment… or awakening.

She turned on her side and looked at the ceiling.

Is this what desire feels like? That pull… that strange, aching curiosity?

She hugged her pillow tighter, eyes wide open.

Then she whispered to herself, half shy, half scared:

“I think I want to understand it… with him.”

Izuku never expected it to become a habit.

What started as a curious click weeks ago had now grown into a quiet, guilty ritual. After every rehearsal, after the cheers faded and her team dispersed for the night, she’d crawl into her hotel bed, slip on her earbuds, and scroll.

She called it “research” in her mind.

Not for anything professional — but for understanding.

Understanding herself.

The videos were nothing like she imagined. They weren’t all vulgar or crude. Some were intensely quiet. Some loud and raw. Some carefully choreographed with silk ropes and whispered rules. But all of them shared something that stuck to her like a film on her skin — tension.

A kind of power she’d never imagined herself wanting.

Izuku never pictured herself that way. She was soft. Earnest. She loved when Katsuki kissed her forehead with shaking hands, like she was something to be held gently. Like glass.

But these videos… these women weren’t glass.

They were fire being handled.

And that contrast, that idea — being something too wild to tame, or someone who asked to be tamed — sent shivers down her spine she couldn’t explain.

She knew it was silly. She buried those thoughts under makeup and set lists.

But when the lights dimmed at the DYANMIC concert, something unexpected happened.

Izuku stood quietly in the VIP balcony. Hidden in a mask and hoodie, surrounded by a few high-ups from her company, she watched Katsuki shine.

He wasn’t the same awkward teen who clumsily passed her drinks at vending machines anymore.

On stage, Katsuki Bakugo was a star.

Commanding.

Wild.

His movements were sharp, jaw clenched with every lyric, veins visible on his neck from the passion he poured into each note. The crowd chanted his name, waved banners with his face, screamed for him.

Izuku bit her lip.

Her heart pounded fast.

But not just from pride.

What would he look like with that same intensity… above her?

Her mind betrayed her.

Imagining his voice — but lower, growling in her ear. His hand — gripping her wrist. His eyes — narrow, dangerous.

Saying things she’d only ever heard whispered in the videos she now kept in a hidden folder.

She swallowed hard.

What is wrong with me?

How could she be thinking of these things now?

This was his moment.

His debut.

His dream.

And she — his girlfriend, the one who should be full of nothing but pride — was fantasizing about him with ropes and biting and dominance?

She clutched her chest, ashamed. Flushed. Her breath caught in her throat.

Kacchan’s too gentle for that.

He was careful. Tender. Always seeking her permission even before holding her waist.

So why do I want him to growl “Mine” and leave marks on my skin?

She shook her head. Pressed her hands to her face.

“Stop. Stop thinking like that,” she whispered to herself.

But as Katsuki moved across the stage — eyes sharp, sweat running down his jawline, breathless as he sang the final chorus — Izuku’s knees nearly buckled.

It wasn’t just the crowd that was breathless.
It was her.

And in that exact moment, Izuku realized:

She was falling into a craving she didn’t understand.
And the only person she trusted to ever explore it with… might be too kind to give it.

Ever since DYNAMIC’s concert, Izuku had been… strange.

Not in the way most people would notice. On stage, she was flawless — crisp in choreography, golden in vocals, smile always ready. She still sent her morning check-ins, still mailed random sweets to Katsuki’s dorm. Still left sticky notes in his locker when their paths crossed in the company hall.

But to Katsuki?

Something shifted.

At first, it was subtle.

She flinched when their hands accidentally touched.

Laughed a little too loud at his jokes, then turned and ran.

Even her texts were shorter now — never cold, just… cautious.

Katsuki stepped out of the studio, towel around his neck, hair damp from rehearsal. He spotted Izuku down the hall, chatting with her team.

He smiled.

But the second she saw him—really saw him—her eyes widened like a deer in headlights.

She spun on her heel.

“Izu—hey!”

“LATE! VOCAL COACH!” she yelled as an excuse and bolted down the hall.

He blinked.

“What the hell…”

Kirishima raised an eyebrow behind him.

“Bro, did you… say something to her?”

“No.”

“She’s been running from you like you're gonna propose or something.”

Katsuki grunted.

“She’s being weird. Like… red in the face weird. Then gone. Poof. Like I’ve got plague.”

Katsuki lay on his bed, scrolling through old photos on his phone. A blurry selfie Izuku took while hugging a plush frog. Another one where she pouted because her hair clip broke. A clip of her dancing — secretly taken from side stage.

He sighed.

“What the hell’s going on with you, Izuku…”

He wasn’t mad.

Just… frustrated.

He missed her.

Not the celebrity.

Not the performer.

But her — the one who could tease him with three words, the one who used to sneak up behind him and tickle his sides just to see him flinch. The girl who confessed to him in the snow, asking to hold his hand inside his jacket pocket.

Now? She looked like she was hiding something.

And he had no idea how to reach her without spooking her more.

Izuku sat curled on her bed, cheeks hot.

Again.

She couldn’t stop replaying it.

The way Katsuki walked down that hallway — shirt damp, hair sticking to his jaw, water bottle slung over his shoulder.

His voice — hoarse from yelling in rehearsal, low and rough.

And worse, when he called out her name, she nearly dropped everything and knelt right there like she’d seen in one of those damn videos.

“UGH. What is wrong with me?!”

She flopped onto her bed, covering her face with a pillow.

It wasn’t like she hadn’t always found Katsuki attractive — she did, from the beginning. His passion. His fire. The way he looked at her like she was his world.

But now, with all her newfound… tastes, her brain had flipped the switch on everything.

His tone? Filthy.

His sweat? Dangerous.

His gaze? Possessive.

And suddenly, her whole body would light up like a spark hit gasoline.

“He’s gonna think I’m broken,” she whispered into the pillow. “He’s going to find out I’m into weird stuff and run.”

Izuku lay awake that night, staring at the ceiling.

Just a little longer, she thought. Let me figure myself out first.

Meanwhile, Katsuki stared at the same ceiling, three floors below her.

If she wants space, I’ll give it. But damn… I miss her.

They loved each other deeply.

But sometimes, the loudest silences came from everything left unsaid.

Chapter Text

— Midoriya Entertainment's President's Birthday Celebration —

The lobby of the Midoriya Entertainment building was transformed tonight — warm golden lights danced across crystal centerpieces, soft jazz flowed through hidden speakers, and a red carpet lined the walkway up to the rooftop where a private garden dinner awaited. It wasn’t an industry show, just a rare night where every trainee, soloist, idol, staff, and executive gathered not as coworkers — but as family.

Izuku stood just by the entrance, fixing the collar of her soft green blouse as she waited.

“You look like you’re about to win another award,” came a familiar voice behind her.

She turned with a start — and there he was.

Katsuki, wearing a sleek dark turtleneck under a charcoal blazer. His hair was still messy, as always, but his eyes sparkled when they landed on her.

“You clean up nice, Kacchan,” she teased, heart skipping.

“Tch. Just here for the food,” he grunted, but she caught the way he glanced at her again and swallowed hard.

They entered together — though not arm in arm, still subtle as always. Their company knew how to read the air. No rumors, no teasing. Just respect.

Long tables stretched under fairy lights. The night breeze was crisp, carrying hints of lavender from the garden walls. Laughter and clinking glasses filled the air. Everyone was relaxed — even the senior idols looked like trainees again, some barefoot, others already tipsy.

At the head table sat a man in his mid-40s, glasses perched on the edge of his nose, laughter spilling from him like sunlight.

The President.

And beside him, his son, Shinsou, and beaming in her chair, was Izuku.

When she stood for the toast, the garden went quiet.

“I still remember the first time I walked into this building,” she began, holding her glass with slightly trembling hands. “I wasn’t even sure I belonged in the industry anymore.”

Some of the older idols nodded. They knew. They’d seen what she went through before transferring here.

“But someone here saw me. Not as a product. Not as a replaceable face. But as me.”

She turned toward the president, voice steadier now.

“You told me that my dream didn’t need to fit someone else’s mold. That I could shine as I am. You gave me space to breathe. You even named the company after me—”

The crowd cheered and laughed softly.

“—which I still think is way too much.”

A few glasses clinked playfully.

“But because of you, I’m not just Izuku Midoriya, the soloist. I’m someone who gets to believe in herself again. I’m someone who co-owns a company that makes sure no artist ever feels voiceless again.”

Silence followed — the kind that held weight.

Then: applause.

Thunderous, heartfelt applause.

Later, away from the crowds, Izuku leaned against the railing of the rooftop garden, eyes on the city skyline. The air was chilly but calming.

Katsuki joined her, two glasses in hand.

“You killed it,” he said, handing her one.

She smiled.

“I meant every word. Even to Shinsou who is also supporting me with his father.”

He leaned beside her, both silent for a moment. Then:

“Midoriya Company, huh? You’re really the sun now. Not even to his son's name.”

She chuckled.

“I’m just… lucky. And thankful.”

But Katsuki could see something in her eyes — distant. Like a weight still on her chest.

He bumped her shoulder gently.

“What’s going on in that chaotic brain of yours?”

Izuku blinked.

Thought about her secrets.

About her recent obsession.

About how proud she should feel tonight, but how restless her body still became when she thought of him differently now.

She forced a soft smile.

“Nothing, Kacchan. Just… grateful.”

He didn’t press her.

But his hand brushed hers gently under the railing, pinkies locking just for a second.

And even without words, he was there — standing beside her like he once promised.

The streets were quiet, lit with the soft glow of street lamps and the distant buzz of neon signs. The evening air still held the warmth of celebration. Katsuki, Kirishima, Kaminari, and Iida laughed as they entered the convenience store, arguing over which chips to bring and whether instant ramen or sandwiches counted as “party food.”

Outside, Izuku and Ochako sat on the small bench by the vending machines. They had taken off their coats, letting the soft breeze cool their flushed cheeks from the drinks earlier.

“That speech you gave tonight,” Ochako smiled, sipping from her canned coffee, “I think I cried twice.”

Izuku chuckled, resting her chin on her palm.

“You always cry. It’s not even a contest anymore.”

“Still! You meant every word. It hit everyone.”

Izuku smiled faintly, glancing up at the starless sky.

“I never thought I'd be here, Ochako. Not like this.”

“You worked your ass off to be here. Don’t forget that.”

“Still… I’m just so thankful.”

And then — a presence.

Heavy.

Sharp.

They hadn’t noticed the man walking up behind them until his shadow stretched over their feet.

Before either of them could react, a hand clamped over Izuku’s mouth, the cold edge of a knife pressed against her ribs.

Ochako froze.

“Don’t scream,” the man hissed, his voice like broken glass. “You remember me, don’t you, sweetheart?”

Izuku’s body went rigid.

She knew that voice.

“No…” Ochako whispered, rising slowly. “That can’t be—”

The man turned his head, eyes wild, face gaunt but recognizable.

Her former manager. From Line-X.

The one who touched her.

The one who threatened her.

The one who was supposed to rot in prison.

“Missed me?” he whispered cruelly in Izuku’s ear. “You ruined my life. I’ve got nothing left to lose.”

Izuku, her breath trembling, gently reached her hand to squeeze Ochako’s.

“It’s okay,” she whispered. “Ochako… just stay calm. Don’t move.”

“Izu—”

“I’ll go with him. I’ll be fine.”

She didn’t say it with fear. She said it with control. Quiet command.

Ochako’s eyes filled with panic, but Izuku gave her one last look.

A warning.

Stay.

And with that, the man jerked her up and pulled her away, moving swiftly down the sidewalk into a darkened side street.

Ochako was frozen for three full seconds.

Then her instincts kicked in.

The automatic doors slid open as Ochako burst into the store, breath heaving, panic all over her face.

“BAKUGO! IIDA! KIRI—IZUKU’S GONE!”

The boys stopped mid-step, Katsuki still holding a bag of chips in one hand.

“What?”

“S-Someone… someone took her! A man—he had a knife—he took her down the street—HE SAID NOTHING BUT HE—HE—”

Katsuki dropped the chips.

“What did he look like?!”

“I think—he looked like—Izuku’s old manager—the one—he—he shouldn’t be out—”

“Son of a—KAMINARI, STAY HERE! CALL THE COPS!” Katsuki barked, already sprinting out of the store.

“ALERT SECURITY! CHECK CCTV!” Iida ordered, pulling out his phone and running after him.

“OCHAKO, POINT—WHICH WAY?!”

She barely got her finger up before Katsuki was gone, wind behind his heels, rage in his veins.

The man yanked her arm as they moved, knife still close to her side.

“You think you’re better than me? All high and mighty now, huh?” he snarled.

Izuku didn’t speak.

Her eyes scanned every building, every flicker of light.

He pushed her harder, deeper into a quieter alley.

“You think I forgot how you looked when I touched you the first time?”

She turned.

Not fast.

Not reckless.

But slow.

Controlled.

Her voice was a low whisper:

“You’re wrong. I wasn’t scared of you. I was scared of the people who protected you.”

His grip tightened.

“You talk too much.”

“Then stop me,” she hissed.

And as he raised his hand—knife aimed—suddenly, something collided into him from the side like a crashing wave.

Bakugo Katsuki.

Chapter Text

— Next Morning Headlines

The world woke up not to a celebration post from Midoriya Company, but a string of headlines that sent shock and fury across the entertainment industry:

"Former Line-X Manager Found Assaulting Midoriya Izuku — Rescued by DYNAMIC’s Bakugo Katsuki."

"Police Officers Involved in Bribery: The Dark Side Behind a Star’s Trauma."

"‘How Did He Get Out?’ Public Outrage Explodes Over Justice System Failures."

"Bakugo Katsuki Called a 'Real Hero' After Stopping Knife-Wielding Attacker."

Line-X, once home to rising stars, now trended for all the wrong reasons. Former employees came forward with hushed stories of abuse swept under the rug. It turned out the same man who harassed Izuku had bribed his way into early release, helped by none other than his wife — the manager Izuku once endured after him.

The backlash was immediate. Boycotts, police investigations, and calls for accountability surged. But above all, one truth screamed louder than the rest:

Izuku survived again.

But not alone this time.

The city outside had no idea how quiet it was inside the condo unit where Izuku sat.

No news cameras.

No paparazzi.

Just a girl curled on the couch — wrapped in a blanket, shaking.

The balcony door was slightly open, letting in the softest wind. Her hair clung to her face. She hadn’t said a word since arriving home hours ago.

Ochako and Iida had stayed just long enough to make sure the police knew not to bother her. Kirishima and Kaminari left with bowed heads, too angry to joke, too heavy to speak.

Only Katsuki remained.

He sat on the floor in front of her — still in his hoodie from the night, sleeves rolled up to reveal the bruises on his knuckles. His eyes hadn’t left her once.

Izuku hugged her knees, hiding her face behind them.

“You were so calm when you faced him,” Katsuki said softly. “You didn’t even flinch.”

Izuku didn’t respond.

“But now…”

He trailed off.

The silence was thick.

Katsuki hated it — hated himself for not knowing what to say, hated the world for giving her pain in the first place. He reached forward but stopped short of touching her.

He sighed — quiet, hopeless, helpless.

That’s when she peeked through her knees.

Eyes red, cheeks wet.

And lifted her trembling hand toward him.

“Stay,” she whispered.

He moved immediately. Took her hand and kissed it. Then shifted up onto the couch, sliding his arms around her carefully.

She melted into him — finally sobbing into his chest, fists gripping his shirt.

“I thought I moved on,” she choked out. “I thought I was done with that chapter.”

“You are,” Katsuki murmured. “He came back. That doesn’t mean he gets to stay.”

“But the way he touched me, again… the smell of him, the way he whispered…” She gagged slightly, pressing harder into him. “It felt like I was back there again. And I hate that. I hate that I can be strong on stage now and then—like this, like nothing changed—”

“You’re not weak, Izuku,” Katsuki said firmly. “You didn’t freeze. You protected Ochako. You walked away with him so no one else would get hurt. That’s stronger than anyone I’ve ever met.”

She sniffled, trying to catch her breath.

“I don’t want to be strong alone anymore.”

Katsuki looked at her then, wiping the strands of hair from her face, holding her gently but like she might break if he didn’t.

“You won’t be,” he promised. “I’m staying. As long as it takes.”

They didn’t move from that couch for hours.

Izuku fell asleep eventually, head on his chest, one hand still locked in his. Katsuki rested his cheek on top of hers, watching her breathe. Each breath a little slower. A little steadier.

And in the soft morning light, despite everything, despite the storm still swirling outside…

There was peace.

Not because the world got quieter.

But because she wasn’t alone in the noise.

It was supposed to be over.

The man who haunted her was caught. Imprisoned. Silenced.

But truth has no brakes once the press gets a taste of pain and heroism in the same breath.

By the third day, articles went deeper.

A viral clip unearthed from old training footage.

A blurry fight in a Line-X practice room.
A young boy — blond, furious, fists swinging.
A girl crying in the corner.
A manager being dragged off.
And behind all of it: Katsuki Bakugo. Age 16. Already a fighter.

The clip flooded social media with hashtags:

#BakugoSavedHer
#ProtectIzuku
#LineXExposed

And with the clip came confessions.

Trainees — now performers, influencers, idols, even staff — came forward.

“He used to ‘test’ us during evaluations. I always thought it was normal—until he did worse to Izuku.”

“I watched her break, and I never said a word. We were scared. But Bakugo wasn’t.”

“He saved us all when he stood up for her. I owe him — and I owe her an apology.”

To the public, it looked like catharsis.

Healing.

To Izuku…

…it felt like betrayal wrapped in applause.

Now, the room was too quiet.

Izuku sat curled on the floor, knees to chest, staring at her TV with the sound off.

All the headlines.

All the faces of people smiling — proudly telling their stories.

Too late.

“Where were you?” she whispered.

She could see the face of one trainee in particular — one who shared a room with her during Line-X days. Someone who watched her cry herself to sleep and only now decided to post a vlog saying how "inspiring" she was.

“You let him… You watched.”

Her fists clenched.

The memory flooded back like bile: cold hands, fake promises, smiles from those who saw but chose silence.

The plastic water bottle on the table was the first to fly.

Then her laptop. The couch pillows. Her phone hit the wall but bounced back, screen still intact.

“I thought I forgave them. I thought I understood.”

She covered her ears.

“I hate that I felt weak. I HATE THAT THEY ONLY SEE ME NOW.”

Tears blurred her vision. Her chest tightened. It was like she was sixteen again, begging silently for someone to step in.

Only he did.

Kacchan.

Only he saw her without needing her to scream.

Her breath hitched. She was trembling, rocking back and forth.

“Kacchan…” she whispered, crawling across the floor, eyes frantic. “I need… Kacchan—please—”

She grabbed her phone, hands shaking as she dialed.

Katsuki stood in front of a long table, flanked by Iida and Kirishima. He was supposed to prepare a written statement.

Midoriya Company’s president leaned in, brows furrowed.

“Katsuki, we need to respond soon. You’ve become the face of this rescue. If we—”

His phone buzzed.

Katsuki pulled it out and froze.

Izuku.

Incoming call.

He didn’t even ask permission. Just left the room.

“I need five minutes,” he muttered.

“Kacchan…” Her voice was choked.

Walking fast down the hallway, Katsuki instantly answered the call.

“I’m here. Talk to me"

“They’re all talking. All of them. Like it’s something good.”

Katsuki could hear Izuku's trembling voice mixed of ansiouness and anger. "

They watched me suffer. They knew. Why now? Why say anything now?”

“I feel disgusting. I feel like a lie. Like I only matter when I’m strong—when I’m useful—when they can use my pain to look brave.”

Katsuki’s heart shattered.

“I can’t breathe, Kacchan.”

He stopped walking, shutting his eyes.

“I’m coming to you.”

“Please…” she sobbed. “Please come home.”

The door slammed open.

Izuku sat in the middle of the floor, arms around herself, red-eyed, face pale.

Katsuki dropped to his knees and gathered her into his chest.

No words.

Just his arms.

Her hands clung to his back like a lifeline.

“It’s okay. I got you,” he whispered. “I got you.”

She shook harder.

“Promise me something?” she asked, lips against his neck.

“Anything.”

“Don’t ever let them speak for me again.”

He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes.

“They won’t. I swear. This is your story. Not theirs.”

Chapter Text

Bright lights. A quiet studio.

Katsuki sat tall in his seat, lips pressed in a firm line. His hair was tied back slightly neater than usual, but the fire in his eyes never dimmed.

The host read the statement handed to her.

“We understand you were involved in protecting your co-star, Midoriya Izuku, from a recent threat connected to her past trauma while at Line-X.”

Katsuki shifted but nodded once.

“I was there.”

“Was your intention to become a voice for harassment victims in the industry? Many online are calling you a hero.”

He frowned.

“I didn’t do it to be a hero,” he answered, voice calm but intense. “I saw something wrong. I stopped it.”

He folded his hands.

“I don’t give a damn about clicks or applause. What I care about is justice. Not just for Izuku. But for any idol who just wants to shine without being afraid.”

He looked directly at the camera now, jaw tight.

“Protect your co-stars. Your juniors. Your staff. Your fans. If you’re in a position to help, do it. Not when it’s convenient — but when it’s hard.”

“Especially when no one else does.”

Katsuki let himself in with the spare key she gave him months ago.

The lights were low.

She was sitting on the edge of her bed in silence, wearing only one of his old hoodies, sleeves swallowed her hands. Her legs were bare, folded underneath her.

She didn’t look up.

“Kacchan…”

He walked in quietly, closing the door behind him.

“You saw the interview?”

“Yeah,” she whispered.

She stood, slow and shaky.

Then, like a wave crashing over the shore, she ran to him.

Her arms wrapped around his neck tightly, clinging to him as if he’d vanish.

“Please,” she begged. “Please just hold me.”

He did.

Instantly.

His arms encircled her, grounding her, his hand finding the back of her head to cradle it gently.

“I keep seeing him,” she choked. “In my dreams. In my thoughts. Even in the shadows. I try not to think about it, but I feel like he’s still holding me. I feel disgusting—”

“No,” Katsuki whispered, pressing his forehead to hers. “You’re not.”

“But I am,” she said, voice cracking. “And I can’t breathe unless you touch me. I need to feel something real. Something warm. You.”

She leaned back, her eyes glossy.

“Kacchan… If you can… I want to feel your hands. Please. I’ll take it. I’ll give you all of me if it makes this stop. Please—”

“Stop,” he interrupted gently, cupping her face. “Don’t give yourself to me like it’s something to fix this. You’re not broken.”

He brushed a tear from her cheek.

“But if you need me — if you really want me — I’m here. Not as a cure. But as someone who loves you.”

Her breath caught.

Her eyes widened.

And she kissed him.

Desperate.

Raw.

Real.

Katsuki kissed her back — not like a savior, not like a star, but like someone who wanted her.

Who respected her.

Their mouths moved slowly at first, then deeper, like everything unspoken between them was finally let out. Her hands tangled in his shirt. His gripped her hips gently, always waiting for any sign — any hesitation.

There was none.

“Stay,” she whispered against his lips. “Don’t go. Not tonight.”

“I wasn’t planning to,” he said softly, kissing her again. “Not ever.”

Katsuki’s hands trembled as he held Izuku’s face.

Her lips were swollen from their kiss. Her eyes still wet, pleading, shimmering in the low light of her bedroom.

“Izuku…” His voice cracked — low, restrained. “We’ve waited. I wanted us to wait. I didn’t want this to come from pain.”

But she shook her head.

“No,” she said, cupping his hand and pressing it to her cheek. “This isn’t pain. This is me choosing you.”

Her voice quivered, but her gaze never left his.

“This is me taking back everything they took from me. I don’t want to feel fear in my own skin anymore. I want to feel your hands on me. I want to feel what love really is, Kacchan.”

She took his hand and placed it over her heart.

“Let me choose. Let me give this to you.”

He froze — caught in the tear between what he promised and what her soul was screaming for.

Her body shook, and she pressed her forehead to his chest.

“Please,” she whispered. “Please, Kacchan. I trust you. Only you.”

That broke him.

He nodded slowly, pressing a kiss to her forehead first.

Then her temple.

Then her jawline.

His hands moved to her waist, slow and steady, as if tracing every inch to remind her: you’re safe now. I’m here.

And when he picked her up and laid her back onto the bed, it wasn’t hunger.

It was reverence.

As they undressed each other, it wasn’t to devour — it was to uncover, piece by piece, everything they’d hidden for two years and four months.

Their touches were gentle at first.

Then needy.

Then overwhelming.

There were no scripts. No practiced words.

Only soft gasps, whispering names, the brush of skin on skin. Her hands clinging to his shoulders. His lips trailing kisses down her collarbone like he was rewriting every memory someone else stained.

She cried again.

Not from fear.

But from finally feeling free.

And when Katsuki kissed her lips again, his own tears touched hers.

“You’re mine,” he whispered. “Not because I own you. But because you chose me.”

“I choose you every time,” she breathed, wrapping herself around him.

And they moved together — not perfect, not choreographed — but real.

Raw.

Human.

Healing.

Soft sunlight filtered through the curtains.

The air was warm, filled with the faint scent of clean sheets, skin, and Katsuki’s cologne lingering from the night before. A low hum of silence wrapped the room, broken only by the soft breath of two people laying close — tangled like ivy.

Izuku stirred first.

Her body ached.

Not from pain, but the remnants of surrender. Of being touched — held, kissed, claimed in the most honest way.

And when her eyes slowly opened, her gaze landed on Katsuki beside her, arm draped protectively over her waist. His face was turned toward her, expression peaceful in sleep — or maybe pretending.

And then it hit her.

They did it.

She blinked hard, her heart suddenly racing. Her hand slowly moved to her chest — then her neck — and finally the bruised spots on her waist, stomach, hips. The very marks she begged for. Traced and left behind like stars on skin.

“What have I done…”

Her breath hitched as quiet tears rolled sideways down her cheek.

It wasn’t regret.

It wasn’t fear.

It was the weight of it all.

Katsuki — her Kacchan — who promised to wait, who always held back, who never pushed… had given her everything because she asked.

Because she cried and broke and begged.

And he answered.

He gave, and gave, and gave.

“Shit…” she whispered, covering her face with both hands. Her cheeks flushed — not from heat, but humiliation.

She suddenly remembered it again.

The videos.

The nights she stayed up watching them, drawn to the intensity, the control, the hunger.

The way it stirred something primal in her.

And last night

—last night she didn’t even hold back.

She asked Katsuki to devour her, like those fantasy women in videos. To hurt her in the ways she thought were wrong to want.

And he did.

Because she asked.

Because he loved her.

“I’m such a mess…” she mumbled, trying to pull the blanket up to cover her red face, only to wince at the movement.

“You’re crying again.”

His voice — gravelly, low, half-awake — made her jolt.

Katsuki was now looking at her, sleep still clinging to his lashes. But his hand moved gently to brush away her tears.

“What is it now, dumbass?”

His words were rough, but his touch was impossibly tender.

Izuku couldn’t answer.

She just wagged her head quickly and tried to roll away.

But her body wouldn’t move properly — not after last night. Her hips trembled. Her thighs ached. Her neck was sore from being kissed so many times.

She bit her lip hard, struggling to keep it together.

“You’re sore?” Katsuki asked, voice softening more.

She nodded, lips sealed shut, fingers gripping the blanket.

“Izuku…” he called again, firmer.

No response.

So he moved closer — gently cupping the side of her face, forcing her to look at him.

Her tearful green eyes finally met his.

“You think I don’t know that look?” he whispered. “You’re thinking too much.”

Izuku let out a little hiccup and whispered, trembling—

“It’s not regret, I swear… I just—I watched things I didn’t understand before, Kacchan… and I thought I was just curious but I… I liked it. I liked you doing it. All of it.”

Her face burned red again.

“And now I feel like I used you.”

Katsuki stared at her for a moment.

Then exhaled sharply and leaned in, kissing her tear-stained cheek.

“You didn’t use me.”

Another kiss, this time near her jaw.

“You trusted me.”

And one more — just below her ear.

“I didn’t give you anything I didn’t want to give.”

His hands slid under the blanket, curling around her back to gently pull her into his chest.

“You don’t owe me guilt for wanting things. Or for needing me. You think I didn’t want you too? You think I didn’t lie in that bed for two years wondering how long I could hold back?”

Izuku’s tears returned, silent but soft.

“You’re not broken, Izuku,” he whispered into her hair. “You’re just finally free to ask for what you want.”

She pressed her face against his bare chest, breathing in the scent of him, letting the rise and fall of his heartbeat settle her storm.

“Then promise me, next time,” she said, voice still shaky, “you’ll tell me when it’s too much. Even if I beg.”

Katsuki smirked against her hair.

“You’ll always beg,” he murmured.

She hit his shoulder lightly, letting out a small, embarrassed laugh.

He kissed her forehead.

“But I’ll always listen. That’s the deal.”

Chapter Text

The morning after wasn’t awkward — surprisingly.

Instead, it was slow and sweet. Sunshine spilled through the window of the condo unit, curtains lazily swaying as soft music played from Katsuki’s phone resting by the stovetop.

He was shirtless, as usual when he cooked — sweatpants hanging low on his hips, revealing the lean dips of muscle trailing from his torso. The sizzle of bacon and the clink of pans should’ve been the main event, but for Izuku, there was only one show worth watching.

God, his back muscles... is this breakfast or my second round of sins?

Izuku sat on the kitchen counter, legs gently swinging as she bit into her banana — her sore thighs barely letting her move too wildly. The ache from the night before still throbbed deliciously between her legs, and each glance at Katsuki’s bare back sent shivers down her spine. She munched silently, trying to behave, but her eyes were anything but innocent.

He’s so casual… like he didn’t just ruin my ability to walk.

Katsuki, flipping an egg, spoke without looking at her.

“So… what video were you talking about earlier?”

Izuku froze mid-chew.

Oh no. Oh no no no—

“You watched what?” he added, tone still casual… but not really.

Izuku laughed awkwardly, gripping the banana like it could save her.

“Huh? Wh-What are you talking about, Kacchan?” she said with a nervous grin. “Ohhh, you know, just random stuff—”

He turned his head slightly, not even blinking.

“Izuku.”

That tone.

The tone.

Like when she almost tripped during stage rehearsal and he didn’t yell — just said her name like a warning bell.

“I’m waiting.”

Her soul left her body for a second.

“U-Uhhh… P-porn…?” she mumbled, looking away.

“What?”

“Porn, okay?! I watched porn!”

She shouted with her eyes squeezed shut, banana pointed forward like she was confessing in court.

“It was out of curiosity! I didn’t mean to—It just popped up, like BDSM and more, and then I-I clicked… and then I kept watching…”

Her voice got smaller.

“And then it kinda became a hobby?”

Dead silence.

She opened one eye slowly.

Katsuki was now facing her completely, holding a spatula in one hand and his other palm clamped over his mouth — not from laughter.

From shock.

Absolute, biblical, what-the-hell kind of realization.

He blinked once.

Then again.

“What the actual—Midoriya Izuku.”

She cringed as he dropped the spatula onto the counter with a loud clang. His hair was a mess, his abs were literally flexing from the tension in his shoulders, and his face cycled through ten emotions in five seconds.

“You mean to tell me,” he growled, walking toward her slowly, “that all those times you were red-faced and flinching away from me these past few weeks—”

“I wasn’t flinching! I was hiding! There’s a difference!”

“—you were secretly watching BDSM porn?! You—you— YOU!? My sunshine, sweet, crybaby Izuku!?”

She hugged her banana to her chest like it was a pillow.

“It’s educational!” she squeaked. “I didn’t know what a… uh… spreader bar was before!”

“What the fuck is a spreader bar!?"

She screamed and threw the banana peel at him, which he easily dodged.

“Stop yelling like it’s my fault for having a sexual awakening!”

He was pacing now.

Hands on hips.

Shirtless and distraught.

His brain short-circuiting.

“I thought you were avoiding me ‘cause I did something wrong… turns out you were… studying!??”

She nodded, tearfully dramatic.

“I just wanted to understand what it was like to want things. And then I realized I do want them. With you. And I got obsessed! And now you’re standing there shirtless, and I can’t even focus because I keep thinking of you—”

“DON’T finish that sentence!”

He covered his face again, groaning into his palm.

She peeked at him through her fingers, grinning.

“...You’re imagining it now, aren’t you?”

“Shut the hell up.”

“You are!”

“Shut up!!”

She giggled, leaning forward and poking his cheek.

“Kacchan. It's not like you're innocent either. You kept the lights on last night.”

He turned red.

Absolutely beet red.

“YOU were the one who said 'Kacchan, devour me now or I’ll lose my mind!'”

Izuku gasped and covered her mouth.

“That’s a sacred moment! Don’t quote me!”

They both froze, staring at each other.

Then, they burst into chaotic laughter — the kind that bent them over and made them snort, clutching their stomachs, wheezing like the idiots in love they were.

When the laughter faded, Katsuki stepped between her legs and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her in.

She leaned forward and buried her face in his shoulder.

“Still love me?” she whispered.

“Unfortunately,” he grunted, kissing her hair. “Even when you’re horny and weird.”

She smiled.

“Good. Because I’ve got a very long watchlist to discuss.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“NO.”

“You’ll thank me later.”

“You’re never touching my laptop again.”

“Already did.”

“WHAT—”

 3 years later... (back to the present)

The staff room buzzed faintly with activity—makeup brushes tapping palettes, stylists chatting softly about upcoming shoots. But one particular corner was oddly still.

Izuku Midoriya, now a top idol with a five-year career stacked high with awards, sat frozen in her chair. Lip gloss half-applied, legs crossed, eyes glazed over like she’d just traveled through time.

Ochako sighed.

Again.

With one hand holding Izuku’s schedule clipboard and the other snapping in front of her face, she muttered under her breath, “Don’t tell me you’ve blacked out mid-gloss again, Midoriya.”

Snap snap snap.

No response.

One final snap—loud and dramatic—finally did the trick.

Izuku blinked herself back to Earth and let out a sheepish laugh. “Oh—sorry! I spaced out for a second.”

“A second? Babe, I watched an entire intern refill their coffee, spill it, clean it, and refill it again while you just sat there grinning like a sleep-deprived pervert.”

Izuku giggled like she’d just been caught stealing snacks from a party. “I was just… remembering Katsuki.”

Ochako groaned, already mentally preparing for the next 10 minutes of oversharing.

“God, it’s been years, and you still look like a schoolgirl who just discovered abs.”

“No, I’m serious this time!” Izuku insisted, pushing a hand dramatically to her chest. “I was just wondering... what if we actually get married now? Like married-married. We’ve done everything else already.”

Ochako tilted her head, her tone deadly dry. “Everything?”

Izuku nodded sincerely.

“Even all the BDSM stuff?”

The idol didn’t hesitate.

“I mean, what’s left?! We’ve got paddles, cuffs, ropes, blindfolds, oil, even—"

“STOP.” Ochako raised a palm to heaven. “I’m not even religious and I’m about to perform an exorcism.”

Izuku burst out laughing, clinging to her chair as if the laughter physically knocked her sideways.

“Come on!” she whined. “You’ve been my manager for five years. You should be used to this by now.”

“I manage your career, not your kink journal,” Ochako deadpanned, then sighed heavily. “And yet somehow, I get paid to hear about both.”

Izuku beamed, tossing her a wink.

“That villa in Seaside Heights you bought last year—remind me who paid for the downpayment again?”

Ochako narrowed her eyes.

“That was blood money. Literal blood. From my nose every time you opened your mouth during interviews.”

“Pfft—bare with me, Chako. Keep pushing and I’ll buy you an island next.”

“An island of regret, maybe.”

The two burst into laughter, chaotic and loud enough that an intern nearly dropped a curling iron across the room.

Izuku leaned back in her chair, still grinning.

“Seriously, though… I think about it sometimes. Marriage. He’s everything. And we’ve already been through so much. I’m just wondering when it’ll feel like the right time.”

Ochako softened, just a little. She set down her clipboard, walking over and patting Izuku’s head.

“You’ll know. And Katsuki? He already acts like your husband anyway. Just without the tax benefits.”

Izuku laughed, pressing her hand over her heart.

“Okay, I’m definitely printing that on a t-shirt.”

“You’re unbearable.”

“But rich,” Izuku sang back, fluttering her lashes. “Thanks to this mouth.”

“STOP. TALKING.”

Chapter Text

The lights of the grand hall shimmered like constellations brought down to earth. Crystal chandeliers glittered above polished marble floors as camera flashes danced across the crowd of the entertainment world’s finest.

Tonight wasn't just any gala.

It was the 6th Anniversary of both Izuku Midoriya’s debut and the powerhouse group DYNAMIC—a joint celebration of excellence, perseverance, and the heart of the Midoriya Entertainment legacy.

And there she was.

Izuku, shimmering like an emerald flame on the red carpet, stunned the entire venue the moment she stepped onto the first step. The custom-designed dress clung to her form with majestic elegance—green like the forest in spring, intricately detailed with jewel-toned beadwork that shimmered with each step. The gown’s sweeping train and off-shoulder detail glowed under the lights as though stars themselves had laced into her fabric.

Gasps filled the venue.

Whispers of “Goddess” and “That’s Midoriya Izuku for you” echoed as she walked confidently, her head held high, the vision of someone who had earned every sparkle, every stare, every second of awe.

But what made hearts flutter most… was the look in her eyes.

Soft.

Strong.

And glowing with something even richer than fame—freedom.

Inside the grand ballroom, stars from every corner of the company gathered. Trainees, rising idols, established artists—everywhere Izuku and DYNAMIC had influenced, their legacy already carved deep into the bones of the agency.

A huge digital screen scrolled through their old concert posters, music videos, behind-the-scenes bloopers—reminders of the humble beginnings, of green-haired dreamers and wild blond boys with too much talent and even more passion.

Then came the speech.

The President, grey hair shining slightly under the lights, stepped onto the stage with shaking hands and watery eyes.

“Six years ago,” he began, voice already trembling, “I didn’t just discover talents… I found family.”

His gaze turned to Izuku, who stood not far from the stage, eyes already misting.

“I watched a young woman rise from ashes, redefine herself, and in doing so… built a path for so many to follow. And I watched a group of misfit boys grow into men, never forgetting where they came from, always lifting those around them.”

Applause thundered across the room.

As the President’s voice caught on emotion, Izuku stepped forward, breaking protocol as she climbed the stage in her heels and shining gown. Without hesitation, she wrapped her arms around the man.

“Thank you for being a father when I lost faith in everything else,” she whispered into the mic. “This company isn’t just where I work… it’s where I found myself. And all of you,”—she turned to the crowd of trainees, idols, and staff—“are proof that dreams don’t die when they’re protected. They flourish.”

The ballroom swelled with applause, cheers, and tears.

Later in the evening, just as the red carpet had cooled from Izuku’s entrance, a second wave of frenzy hit the front steps—

DYNAMIC had arrived.

Kirishima in sharp crimson. Kaminari with his signature bold yellow accents.Their manager also came behind, Iida, in clean, tailored monochromes.

And then came Bakugo Katsuki.

Dressed in a sleek black tux with emerald green embroidery woven subtly into the lapels—a silent nod to the woman who walked before him. He walked in with his usual sharp stare, but his eyes discreetly scanned the crowd until he found her—

Izuku, mid-laugh with Ochako and a junior artist.

Their eyes met.

Just for a moment.

And that was enough.

Izuku’s lips curled into a soft, secret smile.

Katsuki’s stare softened.

They passed each other like strangers in the public eye—but their hearts knew every rhythm the other beat.

As the gala danced on—performances, speeches, and toasts—it became clear:

Izuku Midoriya and DYNAMIC weren’t just stars anymore.

They were legends in the making.

Juniors swarmed them with admiration. Some called Izuku “President-nim,” others “Sensei.” She humbly waved it off but made sure every trainee was greeted, remembered, and encouraged. Katsuki, ever the blunt one, gave sharp critiques that strangely always landed as motivation.

There was laughter.

There were tears.

But above all, there was pride.

Later, as the night neared its end, and the final song played over the speakers, Izuku found herself standing by the grand window facing the skyline—her reflection catching beside the stars.

A quiet presence joined her.

She didn’t need to turn.

“Kacchan,” she whispered.

He chuckled. “So much for staying low-key tonight, huh?”

She smiled, still looking out.

“You looked good,” he said low, hands in pockets.

“I wore your color.”

“I noticed.”

There was a beat of silence, one only they understood.

Izuku whispered, “You think it’ll ever be okay to show them?”

Katsuki’s eyes burned gently as he said, “They already know. Just waiting for us to say it first.”

And with that, the stars outside shined a little brighter.

The official cameras had long stopped rolling.

Spotlights dimmed just slightly. The press had been escorted out. Media crews packed their gear, and the ballroom gradually became a private haven—left only for the heart of Midoriya Entertainment.

Only the ones who mattered remained.

The staff who stuck with them since the first uncertain steps, the trainees who cried under the same mirrored rooms, the team who bled behind the stage, and the President, who watched them all grow into the legends they were becoming.

The music shifted.

A soft classical waltz filled the air, and the lights turned a gentle gold hue. The room seemed to hold its breath when Katsuki Bakugo walked to the center floor and reached out a hand.

Everyone watched, stunned, enchanted.

Izuku Midoriya—elegant in her emerald dress, glowing like a mythical queen—smiled without hesitation and walked into the light. She took his hand, and in that moment, the air itself whispered, finally.

No announcements.

No fanfare.

Just two souls moving together with the familiarity of eight years of love.

They began to dance.

Katsuki’s hand gripped her waist with protective steadiness while her hand rested lightly on his chest. Their movements were slow, intentional, every spin and step laced with their history—like the universe choreographed this moment across their years of stolen glances, gentle encouragements, unspoken support, and all the dreams shared in silence.

They weren’t just dancing.

They were showing what real partnership looked like—the kind that stood against traumas, survived the darkest corners of the industry, and still bloomed under pressure.

At the side of the room, Uraraka held her phone close, eyes blurry with tears.

“They’re finally doing it,” she whispered, voice cracking.

Beside her, Iida sniffled discreetly, pretending to clear his throat while capturing the moment from another angle.

“It’s a proper confession without a single word.”

They watched as the couple spun gently in their own world.

Even Kirishima had gone quiet, his usual booming cheers replaced with a grin so big it threatened to split his face. Kaminari sniffled dramatically and clutched Sero’s shoulder, one of their co-idols in company.

“Bro… I knew it. All those side-eyes during training! They were from Disney world.”

The song neared its end.

Katsuki spun Izuku once more before pulling her close, their noses nearly brushing. They held that final note as if it were a kiss—so close, yet still respectfully private.

Then, with practiced grace, they stepped back and bowed to each other.

The ballroom erupted in applause.

But then…

Izuku turned to face the crowd. Katsuki stood beside her, their fingers brushing but not yet held. The applause quieted.

Their eyes found their President, who stood tall at the back of the room—hands clasped, eyes already shimmering. He gave a single, firm nod.

Permission.

And that was all they needed.

Izuku inhaled deeply. Katsuki, silent but ready.

They reached out—finally holding each other’s hand in front of everyone.

Izuku spoke first, her voice steady but gentle:

“We’ve waited eight years to say this out loud...”

A gasp rippled through the room.

“Eight years of hiding in practice rooms, of sending secret food deliveries, of supporting each other in silence.”

Katsuki stepped in, voice low but sincere:

“We didn’t keep it from you because we didn’t trust you… We just wanted to be sure. Of us. Of everything.”

They turned to their juniors, the wide-eyed trainees who were holding their mouths, some already teary.

“But now we’re sure,” Izuku said, looking at Katsuki.

“And we trust you—our family—to keep this with us.”

Silence.

Then one voice screamed:

“I FREAKING KNEW IT!”

Another:

“YOU GUYS WERE ENDGAME THIS WHOLE TIME!”

And then—

Applause.

Cheers.

Tears.

A rush of trainees ran up, surrounding them with hugs, laughter, even sobbing.

Some had been fans since their first year. Others had joined years later, inspired by their passion and energy. All of them had shipped them—even through all the secrecy.

One junior clutched Izuku’s hand while crying.

“You were the reason I stayed during my lowest days. Now this? You’re showing us it’s okay to hope for everything, even love!”

Izuku wiped her tears with a laugh, while Katsuki awkwardly patted crying backs, trying not to cry himself. But the red at the tips of his ears gave him away.

Ochako leaned on Iida’s shoulder, shaking her head. “And they said love stories don’t happen in this industry…”

Iida adjusted his glasses with a soft smile.

“They proved otherwise. As always.”

That night, no press releases were written.

No scandals were published.

No leaks appeared on forums.

Because the only people who knew… knew how sacred it was.

The relationship of Izuku Midoriya and Katsuki Bakugo wasn’t just romantic.

It was a legacy of trust, respect, and resilience.

And now, for the first time, it wasn’t just theirs to carry.

They had a family who would carry it with them.

The celebration had ended hours ago.

Below them, the city still shimmered in lights and distant echoes of car horns and life—but up here, the rooftop of Midoriya Entertainment, there was only the hush of wind and the soft humming buzz of silence shared between two people who knew each other like home.

Izuku stood by the railing, barefoot now, heels long forgotten. The glittering folds of her emerald dress shimmered under the rooftop lights like living vines, like stardust woven into satin. She leaned on her elbows, the cool breeze tousling her curled hair gently. Her eyes were closed, simply soaking in the quiet after such an emotional night.

Behind her, Katsuki watched.

Not just her beauty or her glow—but everything she was: her strength, her chaos, her laughter, her broken pieces and her power to build something from it.

"You look like you just stepped out of a fantasy."

His voice came out hoarse.

Izuku chuckled and turned, playfully raising an eyebrow.

“Was that a compliment, Mr. I-Won’t-Let-My-Girlfriend-Wear-Anything-With-A-Slit?”

Katsuki rolled his eyes, stepping closer and wrapping his arms around her waist from behind. His chin dropped to her shoulder, and for a moment they swayed—no music, just memory.

“I used to tell myself…” he began, voice quieter now, rough with the weight of thought. “That I’d wait. That I’d let you take the world first before I took your hand. That your name should be shouted because of your own worth, not because someone found out you’re mine.”

Izuku didn’t say anything, just gently rubbed his arms encircling her, listening.

“I didn’t want them to say you chose me over your dream. That you’re selfish for being in love. That you faked your single status to sell your image."

He looked down and sighed.

“I thought I was doing the right thing… by staying in the dark with you.”

He pulled back slightly, enough to turn her gently so they were face to face.

“But after that pillow talk—after you literally pouted on top of me and asked why the hell I still haven’t put a ring on your damn finger…” he snorted, shaking his head fondly, “...I realized something.”

His hands slid down to her waist.

“I’ve been selfish in hiding you. But I’ve also been selfless in not claiming you—and I’m tired of pretending that keeping us a secret is noble.”

Izuku’s eyes widened. Her lips parted slightly, heart hammering.

“Because damn it, I want the world to know you’re mine. I want to wake up beside my wife and not hide that from anyone. I want to brag that my chaotic, banana-munching, horny fantasy-queen of a girlfriend is gonna be my Mrs. Bakugo.”

Izuku let out a small noise that sounded like a surprised gasp-laugh. Her eyes sparkled, suddenly glassy.

Katsuki stepped back.

From his inside pocket, he pulled out a small velvet box.

“It’s not a show ring. No cameras. No fans. No staff. Just me… finally growing some balls and asking the love of my life to be my wife.”

He dropped to one knee. A little awkwardly, because damn it was cold on the tiles and his heart was pounding, but he didn’t care.

Izuku clapped her hands over her mouth. She was already crying. But laughing too.

“Midoriya Izuku,” Katsuki smirked despite his chest almost imploding, “also known as ‘nag machine’, 'pervert sweetheart', ‘banana hoarder’, and the woman who saved me without even trying—will you marry me?”

Izuku blinked down at him. And then, with zero hesitation, she dropped down to her knees too.

Still crying, still laughing, she tackled him into a hug.

“YES! YES, you idiot! I’ve been waiting for YEARS!”

They fell back gently onto the rooftop floor, Izuku sniffling against his chest as Katsuki held her tightly.

“And you really remembered the banana, huh,” she mumbled against him.

“You talked about it all morning while covering your porn addiction,” he teased, voice muffled in her hair.

“It’s research!!” she barked, swatting his shoulder.

He just chuckled, burying his nose into her neck.

“Let’s not reveal that we’re dating…” Katsuki whispered against her ear. “Let’s reveal that we’re about to get married.”

Izuku lifted her head, shocked again, and just looked at him.

“You’re serious?”

“Eight years of hiding. Let’s start our ninth as fiancés. Not idols dating. Not stars in love. Just us.”

Izuku let out a watery breath.

“You’re really going to make me cry again, Kacchan…”

“I’ll make you cry more later tonight,” he winked, “...Mrs. Bakugo.”

They laughed. Kissed.

Above them, the stars had no idea what just happened. But for the world they built, for the people who saw them not as idols but as survivors, lovers, and leaders—it was a love story that made dreams feel possible.

And they weren’t hiding anymore.

Not their love.

Not their future.

Not who they were meant to be.

Together.

Chapter Text

The sunlight slipped through the sheer curtains, painting soft gold across the bed where Izuku stirred awake, her body draped in warm sheets and even warmer memories.

She blinked against the light, her eyes landing instantly on the figure beside her—Bakugo Katsuki, deep in sleep, breath steady, arm thrown over the pillow where she’d been a moment ago. His hair was an absolute mess, blond spikes scattered across his forehead, and his face was relaxed in the kind of peace he rarely let anyone see.

Izuku smiled.

She sat up slowly, the sheet slipping down to reveal her bare back as she stretched her arms wide with a little hum. Muscles ached. Her entire body was sore. But none of it mattered.

Not when her left hand sparkled with a new weight.

She held her hand up, turning it gently to admire the silver band wrapped around her finger.

Their engagement ring.

Her heart danced again just looking at it.

Giggling quietly, she slipped off the bed and tiptoed toward the window, phone in hand. The city skyline framed her as she raised her ring hand in front of the glass and snapped a photo, the glow of the sunrise making it shimmer like something out of a dream.

“Tch… how much do you enjoy walking around naked like that in front of me, huh?”

The voice from behind made her jump slightly. She turned around, still laughing, to see Katsuki leaning up on one elbow, eyes half-lidded, lips smirking.

“What a day to start as fiancés,” he added, voice still husky from sleep. “Can’t believe the trembling trainee I met is now… a vulgar woman who takes ring selfies without her clothes.”

“Be proud,” Izuku fired back, hands on hips as she grinned. “You saw me at my lowest, now look—brightest and boldest. Growth, baby.”

Katsuki groaned and threw the covers off as he sat up.

“You’re really gonna be like this every day as my wife?”

“I was being romantic,” she teased, stepping backwards slowly, still nude and totally unashamed. “But if it’s spoiled wife energy you’re worried about…”

She winked, laughing.

“Come and get me, fiancé. Lift your ass out of bed and give me my morning kisses now.”

Katsuki shook his head, grinning despite himself.

“Shit,” he muttered, swinging his legs off the bed. “Looks like a spoiled wife is about to bloom, alright.”

He walked toward her, shirtless, steps slow and deliberate.

Izuku giggled but didn’t run—just waited with open arms. And when he reached her, they fell into each other naturally.

Her arms slid around his shoulders. His hands settled low on her back. They kissed—light at first, teasing.

Then it deepened.

Not out of lust—but love. Out of eight years of silence, waiting, yearning, and finally getting to exist without secrets between them.

Izuku pulled back slightly, noses brushing. Her eyes searched his face, still giddy and a little teary.

“I love you,” she whispered, resting her forehead to his.

“I know,” Katsuki smirked. “I love you too, dumbass.”

They chuckled together, rocking gently in place, as the day began around them—not just as lovers, not just as idols—but as two people finally walking hand in hand into a future they carved out of pain, patience, and passion.

It started with a single post.

A candid photo posted on Midoriya Izuku’s official social media account, no caption—just a soft-focus shot of her hand held up against the morning sun, fingers laced with another’s, the unmistakable glint of a diamond ring on her fourth finger. The green sparkle of her nail polish matched the skyline behind her, elegant and serene… but the message was deafening.

And then it happened.

Within ten minutes, her post had surpassed a million likes.

Within twenty, DYNAMIC’s leader Bakugo Katsuki followed with a matching post—a photo of their hands intertwined, both of them in soft pajamas, with her ring fully on display and the words:

“She’s been my world for 9 years. Now she’ll be my wife.”

Screens lit up nationwide.

Anchors gasped, some unable to hide their delight as clips of the couple’s past performances played. Concert snippets, award shows, shared galas—all the little glances, the backstage touches that fans had once speculated on… now reframed under the truth.

“We’re bringing you this just in—yes, it’s real! Midoriya Izuku and Bakugo Katsuki are ENGAGED! The couple, who managed to keep their relationship private for nearly a decade, just announced their engagement this morning through a pair of Instagram posts that are already breaking global records…”

Old interviews began playing with new context—that one time Izuku blushed when asked about her ideal type, or when Katsuki once dodged a dating question with a low chuckle and “you wouldn’t believe it if I told you.”

Even across Tokyo, massive LED screens flashed their names. Shibuya Crossing, usually flooded with advertisements, now shimmered with soft transitions of their engagement photos.

One billboard played a subtle montage: Izuku’s early training videos, her viral dance covers, Katsuki’s passionate solo on guitar during DYNAMIC’s debut stage, their subtle glances when standing near each other in award shows—and finally, the newest photo of them, standing hand-in-hand in formalwear, her ring catching the light.

Crowds on the street paused. People pointed, screamed, laughed, even cried.

#IZUKATSUEngaged
#BakugoFiancéConfirmed
#QueenIzukuKingKatsuki
#9YearsAndStillBurning

The hashtags trended worldwide within minutes.

Fandoms that had quietly (or not-so-quietly) shipped them for years were in complete meltdown. Threads popped up with timelines dating back to their trainee days, sleuths pointing out matching accessories, private vacations, and even coordinated performances that now read as love letters on stage.

And the newly revealed couple?

They didn’t back down.

They flooded their official accounts with private photos from the past—sweet snaps from backstage, blurry selfies, their first vacation (with Izuku hiding behind sunglasses), a polaroid of Katsuki asleep with a note taped to his forehead saying “my future husband”.

Each post broke the internet.

A joint statement was released shortly after the posts went viral:

“We are beyond proud to celebrate the engagement of our artists, Midoriya Izuku and Bakugo Katsuki. For nearly nine years, they chose to grow together privately as artists and as people. With deep respect for their journey, we stand beside them now as they share this beautiful milestone with the world. Let this be proof that love, when nurtured with patience and trust, will always find its way.”

Even the new President Shinsou, the famously stoic new head of Midoriya Entertainment, appeared in a press video—visibly emotional, smiling faintly as he offered his congratulations:

“They’ve been family to this company since the start. Watching them grow, fight, cry, shine… I can’t think of a more deserving couple. May the next chapter bring them peace and joy.”

Uraraka Ochako, Izuku’s longtime manager, posted:

“I’ve kept your secrets, bandaged your breakdowns, and bought your weird wedding planner notebooks. Now I’m crying in a staff room because you did it. My girls and boys are getting married 😭💍”

Kirishima Eijirou shared a story with Katsuki in his suit:

“This man said he’ll never be soft. Look at him now. SIMPING AND ENGAGED. PROUD OF YOU, BRO.”

DYNAMIC's official account posted a chaotic group pic from the rehearsal hall:

“Yeah, we knew. Yeah, we cried. Yeah, we fought over who gets to be best man. TNT to IZUKATSU forever 🤟🔥💚”

And while the world screamed with joy, the newly engaged couple… kept things simple.

In a quiet follow-up post later that night, Izuku uploaded one final photo:

A soft, out-of-focus picture of Katsuki kissing her forehead while she looked up at him, grinning.

Her caption read:

“To the boy who protected me when I was afraid, who walked beside me when I grew, and who now stands with me as I build a future—thank you for choosing me, Kacchan. I’ll marry you a thousand times over.”

Katsuki reposted it with just one comment:

“I waited almost nine years to tell the world you’re mine. Let them hear it now. My fiancée. My forever.”

The internet is officially broken—again.

Just when fans were finally recovering from the shock and celebration of Midoriya Izuku and Bakugo Katsuki's engagement, the power couple decided to surprise the world with something even more heart-stopping:

📸 A wedding photo album.

No warning.

No press conference.

Just a simple, caption-less carousel post uploaded by both Izuku and Katsuki on their verified social media accounts—featuring nine breathtaking, joy-filled photos that now live rent-free in every fan’s heart.

The shoot, taken under soft daylight and framed by lush greenery, revealed a perfect blend of elegance, raw emotion, and playfulness.

• Izuku looked ethereal in a classic off-shoulder white gown, simple yet regal, with pearls at her neck and gloves that added just enough flair to remind everyone she’s still a queen.

• Katsuki, in a tailored black tux, stood tall and proud beside her, matching her glow with a rare, boyish smile that fans rarely see on stage.

• Their playful chemistry shone brightly—laughing, spinning, piggybacking, even sneaking kisses behind veils.

• One close-up where Izuku gently covered Katsuki’s eyes while smiling next to him has already become an iconic internet meme, dubbed:

  “When you marry the man who watched you bloom from a whisper to a wildfire.”

#IZUKATSUWedding
#MrsBakugo
#TheWeddingOfTheCentury
#TheyMarriedInPrivateButShoutedInLove

Within hours, their post became the most-shared content of the week, even surpassing chart-topping idols and major political headlines. Comments poured in from fans, fellow idols, actors, and industry insiders.

• “I feel like I raised them. 😭”

• “THE WAY HE’S LOOKING AT HER. I’M SOBBING IN PUBLIC.”

• “Izuku said ‘he lifted me when I was down’ and then literally lifted her in the pics?! Cinematic masterpiece.”

• “They were never idols to me—they were soulmates hiding in plain sight.”

• Uraraka Ochako (Izuku’s manager):

  “You think I’m crying in my bedroom? WRONG. I’m sobbing in their living room with cake in my hand. THEY DID IT.”

• Kirishima Eijirou (DYNAMIC):

  “I now believe in slow-burn romance. Katsuki Bakugo you romantic tsundere, I’m proud of you man.”

• President Shinsou (Midoriya Ent.):

  “They protected their love like they protected their dreams. That’s all we ever hoped for.”

• Billboard Japan:
  “Midoriya Izuku & Bakugo Katsuki Tie the Knot in Secret Ceremony – Fans Celebrate Their Love Story of Nearly a Decade”

• Tokyo Entertainment Weekly:
  “Private Wedding, Public Joy: Japan’s Most Beloved Couple Finally Say ‘I Do’”

• The Idol Chronicle:
  “From Trainees to Legends: Izuku and Katsuki Celebrate Love Beyond the Stage”

Sources confirmed that the wedding happened one week ago at a private countryside estate, attended only by close friends, family, and a handful of longtime staff—those who witnessed their journey from day one.

It was described as intimate, tearful, and filled with laughter. Izuku reportedly walked down the aisle barefoot after tripping out of her heels, and Katsuki was caught crying during his vows—something the world has never seen.

Ochako later teased on her private story:

“You don’t know chaos until you’ve seen Izuku try to hide her tears by dabbing them on Katsuki’s tie mid-vows.”

Later that night, a follow-up photo was shared on Izuku’s stories:
A blurry picture of the two of them in casual clothes, dancing barefoot under fairy lights.

The caption simply read:

“We met as dreamers. We lived as partners. Now we love as soulmates.”

And Katsuki reposted it with just one word:

“Mine.”