moonycriesdies - Tumblr blog

moonycriesdies · 21 days ago

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Ground Control To Ground Zero

Ship: BKDK

Rating: Mature

Main tags: Pro heroes, Survivor's guilt, grief, slow romance, canon divergence, Izuku loses OFA, addict Bakugo

Ao3 link: Chapter 1

Part 1- part 2- part 3

⭒✧ In an unstable and fickle mind ⭒✧

Stupid Deku. Stupid juice. Stupid villains. Stupid civilians. Stupid dumb city. Stupid fucking job.

Katsuki’s thoughts spiraled in a loop as he stalked through the debris-littered street. His muscles were tense, coiled like springs that had been overused and stretched to their limits. Every step sent a dull ache rippling through his body, his head pounding relentlessly. His tongue felt like sandpaper, dry and bitter. The metallic taste of smoke lingered in his mouth, a reminder of all the explosions he'd set off today. He reeked of sweat, charred asphalt, and dried vomit. No doubt he looked like shit too, but who cared? Certainly not him.

And yet here he was, dealing with the fifth damn villain in less than two hours. Five. Were they multiplying or something? For some reason, every low-life with a grudge against society had decided today was the perfect day to crawl out from under their rancid pebbles and piss him off. Out of all the days in the week—scratch that, it wasn’t like he had many sober days to compare it to anymore. These days, waking up feeling like his body hadn’t been run through a meat grinder was rare enough to call a miracle. At least he dragged his ass into work every day; that was more than most people managed.

The villain in front of him was a piece of work too. Her quirk was a nightmare to deal with, turning people to stone if they made eye contact with her eyes or her hair. And her hair? It wasn’t even hair—it was a writhing mass of snakes that slithered and hissed as though each strand had a mind of its own. The slimy shitheads moved independently, curling around her shoulders or snapping at anyone who got too close.

“Busted-ass Medusa knock-off,” Katsuki muttered under his breath, his voice dripping with derision. “Figures.”

But unlike her, he didn’t need to rely on sight to take anyone down. He could fight blind if he had to, not that he wanted to prove it today. Adjusting his stance, he aimed carefully, relying on his instincts and years of training rather than his eyes. His palm sparked with a violent crackle of energy as he charged up an AP Shot.

“Take this, you scaly bitch,” he growled through gritted teeth before releasing the blast.

The explosion hit its mark dead-on, sending the villain sprawling backward into a pile of rubble. Her snake-hair writhed weakly before going limp, and she lay motionless on the ground.

Katsuki exhaled sharply, his chest rising and falling with exertion. His arm throbbed from the recoil of the blast, an ache that ran deep into his joints. He flexed his fingers out of habit, trying to shake off the sting.

“Done,” he muttered to himself before turning away from her unconscious form. Another one down. He didn’t bother sticking around for cleanup, that was someone else’s problem now.

He scanned the jumbled streets for Deku. Of course, the nerd was already ahead of him, coordinating civilians and organizing damage control like the overachiever he always was. Katsuki’s lip curled slightly in annoyance—and maybe envy too—but he didn’t dwell on it long.

Back at the agency, Katsuki peeled off his sweat-soaked costume in the locker room with a grunt of discomfort. His body practically screamed in protest as he shrugged out of the heavy gear, each movement reminding him just how much punishment he’d taken today, how much of it he had inflicted on himself.

The sound of running water filled the room as Deku stepped out from under one of the showers, a towel draped loosely around his neck and damp hair sticking to his forehead in messy strands. Droplets trailed down his neck and onto his collarbones before disappearing beneath his shirt.

“Do you want to grab food?” Deku’s voice broke through Katsuki’s thoughts like an annoying little bell ringing in his ear.

“Nah,” Katsuki replied curtly as he yanked on a clean shirt. “I’ve got plans.”

“Oh?” Deku tilted his head slightly, curiosity lighting up his emerald eyes like he was hearing about some secret adventure. “What kind of plans?”

Katsuki tried very hard not to look at him, at the way those wide eyes stayed fixed on him, waiting for some thrilling reveal, or at the way water still clung stubbornly to Deku’s skin like dew on grass in the early morning.

“Drinking,” Katsuki said flatly as he shoved his feet into a pair of sneakers.

“Alone?” Deku asked after a beat, frowning slightly.

“Yeah.”

“You don’t really have plans then,” Deku pointed out matter-of-factly.

“I just told you what they were,” Katsuki snapped back.

“But you could drink with me instead,” Deku suggested brightly. “At a restaurant or something.”

“And why would I do that?” Katsuki shot him an incredulous glare.

“To have fun?” Deku offered with an awkward shrug that somehow made him look even more earnest.

“You lost me at ‘to.’”

“Come on, Kacchan!” Deku groaned dramatically, throwing up his hands in exasperation. “We haven’t gone out in weeks!”

“And I’ll make sure to thank every single god out there for that blessing tonight.”

Deku huffed but didn’t back down. Instead, he leaned forward slightly, fixing Katsuki with an almost pleading expression that made Katsuki’s gut twist uncomfortably.

“I’ll write all of today’s reports,” Deku offered suddenly, desperation creeping into his tone like he knew this was probably going to be a losing battle.

“This week’s,” Katsuki countered immediately without even thinking about it.

“Kacchan!” Deku spluttered indignantly before narrowing his eyes suspiciously at him. “Don’t tell me you haven’t written any reports this week!”

“Then I won’t tell you,” Katsuki replied smugly as he grabbed his jacket and slung it over one shoulder.

Deku groaned loudly and dragged a hand down his face before muttering something under his breath about Mirko killing them both when she found out.

“Fine,” Deku said finally after a long pause filled with tense silence. “Does that mean you’re coming with me?”

“Yeah,” Katsuki grumbled reluctantly as they headed toward the door together. “Guess you’ll be working while you eat.”

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moonycriesdies · 21 days ago

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GROUND CONTROL TO GROUND ZERO

Ship: Bkdk

Rating: Mature

Main tags: Grief, survivor’s guilt, slow romance, canon divergent, pro heroes, hurt/comfort, happy ending, Izuku loses OFA

Platforms: ao3 and tumblr (I’ll post every day)

Total: around 60k

Part 1-part 2-part 3

SUMMARY

“Not again.”

Yet again.

It was the fourth time this week Katsuki had stumbled into the agency like this, hungover, disheveled, and pissy. Izuku tried to ignore how it stung. Katsuki wasn’t exactly sunshine and rainbows on a good day. But this? This wasn’t him, or at least, not the Katsuki Izuku thought he knew.

At first, it had been almost surreal to see him like this; slouched over his desk, hair even messier than usual, red-rimmed eyes glaring at empty space. Katsuki Bakugo, the same guy who used to scoff at people who indulged in anything remotely unhealthy, now reeked faintly of alcohol and acrid sweat.

Katsuki struggles with grief and guilt, drowning himself in liquor. Only Izuku is determined not to let that happen, even if it means giving him his last breath.

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moonycriesdies · 25 days ago

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Ground Control To Ground Zero

Ship: BKDK

Rating: Mature

Main tags: Survivor’s guilt, slow romance, canon divergence, Izuku loses OFA, addict Bakugo

Ao3 link: Chapter 1

Intro- Part 1- part 2

Far above the moon

“Not again.”

Yet again.

The contrast was jarring.

This was the guy who used to go to bed at precisely 8 p.m., who meticulously meal-prepped every Sunday to ensure his diet was “optimal for performance.” He never skipped a workout, always cleaned his apartment until it sparkled, and sneered at anyone who lit up a cigarette within a mile radius of him.

Izuku had known him since they were kids, knew him better than anyone else in the world, or so he liked to believe, and Katsuki had never been interested in substances. Ever. Not even as a rebellious teenager when everyone else experimented just for the hell of it. Katsuki didn’t need that kind of escape; he had his fists, his ambition, his unrelenting drive to be the best. That had always been enough for him.

Until now.

Izuku frowned, staring at Katsuki’s slumped form. His forehead rested against the desk like it was too much effort to hold his head up anymore. The sight he made was pitiful. Izuku wanted to question him, to ask what was going on inside that thick skull of his, but he already knew how that would go. Katsuki didn’t talk about feelings; he bottled them up until they either exploded or ate him alive from the inside out as he let them consume him.

Still, Izuku couldn’t just leave him like this, not today. Normally, he might have let Katsuki sleep it off, knowing that waking him would only lead to a fight neither of them had the energy for. But today wasn’t normal. They had a big zone to patrol, a critical one, and Izuku couldn’t do it alone. He needed Katsuki at least semi-functional, which meant he didn’t have the luxury of being gentle about this.

“Kacchan,” Izuku called softly at first, careful not to touch him because he knew better than to cross that line. Katsuki hated being touched, even more when he was asleep or vulnerable. So Izuku kept his distance and tried again, a little louder this time. “Ground Zero! Wake up!”

No response. Just a muffled groan as Katsuki shifted slightly but didn’t lift his head from the desk. Izuku sighed and glanced down at his phone, debating whether to give him another minute or escalate things immediately.

He chose escalation.

Pulling up an obnoxiously loud alarm sound on his phone, Izuku cranked the volume to max and hit play. The blaring noise shattered the quiet of the office, and sure enough, Katsuki jolted upright with a start, blinking blearily, probably trying to figure out where he was and why everything hurt so much.

“Drink this,” Izuku said quickly, shoving a homemade green juice toward him before Katsuki could fully process what was happening.

Katsuki stared at it like it was poison. “No.”

“Kacchan—”

“I said no.” His voice was gravelly, rough from whatever damage he’d inflicted on himself last night.

Izuku clenched his jaw but refused to back down. “Drink it anyway.”

“Don’t wanna,” Katsuki muttered petulantly, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms like a stubborn child refusing their vegetables.

Izuku’s patience was wearing thin now. “I’ll force it down your throat if I have to.”

“That’s no way to talk to a co-worker,” Katsuki let out a low grunt that might’ve been a laugh, or just another groan of misery, as he shifted again in his chair. His cheek squished against the desk once more as if giving up entirely on staying upright.

“Don’t get smart with me,” Izuku snapped, shoving the juice closer until it nearly tipped over onto Katsuki’s papers. “Just drink it already!”

“No.”

“I don’t care if you don’t want to! You’ll feel better if you do!”

“And I give even less of a fuck about feeling better,” Katsuki growled, though there was something sluggish in the way he said it.

Izuku ran a hand through his hair in frustration before leaning forward on the desk so they were eye-to-eye—or at least as close as they could get with Katsuki glaring up from under half-lidded eyes.

“Fine,” Izuku said finally, straightening up and crossing his arms over his chest in mock surrender. “Then don’t complain when I carry you out of here like this.”

That got a reaction, a faint spark of life flickering behind Katsuki’s tired eyes as he sneered up at Izuku.

“Try it, Deku,” he challenged, voice dangerously low despite the exhaustion weighing him down.

Izuku hesitated for half a second before realizing that if he actually tried to wrestle Katsuki out of here by force, or even just sling him over his shoulder, it would end in absolute disaster. The office would probably be reduced to rubble within minutes, and then neither of them would be patrolling anything today.

Instead, Izuku tried another tactic.

“You look stupid right now,” he said flatly.

Katsuki raised an eyebrow, not quite taking the bait but not ignoring it either. “…Has my hair turned green?” he deadpanned.

The corner of Izuku’s mouth twitched despite himself, he hated how Katsuki could still make him want to laugh even when he was being insufferable.

“No,” Izuku replied dryly. “You’re about to turn mine white though.”

Katsuki kicked out lazily with one foot, not hard enough to actually connect with Izuku but enough to make his point: Leave me alone.

Izuku sighed again but refused to give up just yet.

“Drink half,” he offered finally, softening his tone ever so slightly in an attempt to meet Katsuki halfway.

Katsuki didn’t answer right away, just closed his eyes like he was pretending not to hear—but after a long pause, he muttered grudgingly, “…Half.”

Relief flooded through Izuku so suddenly it almost made him dizzy. “I can live with that.”

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moonycriesdies · 28 days ago

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Denki: So now I’m cursed, again.

Kirishima: What did you touch?

Denki: The glowy thing.

Katsuki: Why the fuck?

Rogue: It was glowing! What was I supposed to do—not touch it?

#boku no hero academia #bnha #mha #denki kaminari #kirishima eijirou #mha fluff #denkiri #kiribaku #incorrect mha quotes #mha incorrect quotes #incorrect quotes #mha kirishima #bakugo katuski #my hero academia

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moonycriesdies · 28 days ago

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James: We’re going OUT.

Regulus: I went outside once. The sun touched me. Never again.

#marauders #marauders era #the marauders #regulus black #james potter #jegulus #marauders incorrect quotes #incorrect jegulus quotes #dead gay wizards #regulus is so done #james fleamont potter

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moonycriesdies · 28 days ago

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Izuku: I would gladly throw myself into danger for you.

Katsuki: You tried to pet a raccoon because you thought it ‘looked lonely.’ Sit down.

#izuku midoriya #boku no hero academia #bnha #mha #bkdk incorrect quotes #incorrect mha quotes #mha bakugou #Bakugo Katsuki #bkdk #dkbk #Bakugo is done #incorrect quotes

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moonycriesdies · 1 month ago

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GUT ME IN AND OUT

Ch.9. You bury me [BKDK]

You don’t own me.

Katsuki squeezed his eyes shut tightly, trying to block out the memory of Izuku’s voice—trying not to picture those beryl eyes filled with defiance and sadness all at once. What was Izuku hiding from him? What could possibly be so important—so sacred—that he had to guard it even from him?

Would he find anything if he searched? If he tore Izuku apart piece by piece—ripped through muscle and sinew and bone until there was nothing left but raw tissue and viscera—would he find whatever it was Izuku was hiding? The thought wasn’t gentle; it wasn’t tempered by love or softened by tenderness. It was violent and desperate, full of clawing hands and gnashing teeth. He imagined digging into Izuku’s chest with bare fingers, prying apart ribs slick with blood, pushing away the mess of organs to reach whatever lay hidden within. Would it be warm and glowing ichor? Or would it be cold and lifeless—a shriveled thing not worth saving?

Which part of him was the truest? Which part of him was tangible enough to hold onto? Katsuki wanted to know, needed to know, which part of Izuku would let him in without hesitation, without fear or shame or doubt.

If only he could crack open Izuku’s skull and peel back the layers of gray matter one by one until he found whatever twisted thoughts lay buried inside.

The grotesque fantasy clawed at his sanity, leaving him breathless with its intensity. But even as it consumed him, another fear crept in—a quieter, more insidious terror; What if there was nothing there at all?

What if Izuku had erased himself completely—emptied himself out until there was nothing left for Katsuki to find? What if this thing Katsuki was chasing didn’t exist anymore or worse… what if it never had?

What if Izuku had been right not to trust him?

But despite everything—despite all the unguiculated doubts that bit and ripped at his insides like indented gnashers, despite the self-loathing that foamed in his gut like oil of vitriol—one truth remained.

He needed Izuku.

No. It wasn’t just a need. It was a visceral, incontrollable exigency. Like oxygen to his lungs, like blood in his veins—without him, he’d wither. He’d choke. He’d collapse under the weight of his absence. The thought of it was unbearable, not because it suggested weakness, but because it suggested incompleteness. Katsuki had always prided himself on being whole, but Izuku had exposed that lie. He wasn’t whole, not without him.

He needed Izuku.

He needed to stare into those willow eyes that gleamed with inexhaustible fucking hope even when they shouldn’t have. Even when they looked at him. Katsuki needed his laugh echoeing faintly in his ears, idyllic and breathy, like a garden catching the first rain of spring. He needed to feel the way those stupid lashes would flutter against his skin when they were too close.

He needed Izuku.

He needed to feel Izuku’s pulse beneath his fingertips—He needed to press their foreheads together until the distinctions between them blurred into nothingness, until it wasn’t “Katsuki” and “Izuku” but something greater, indivisible and eternal. One being instead of two shattered halves trying to piece themselves back together alone. He needed to feel their breaths mingle in shared silence, their heartbeats syncing in a rhythm that felt older than time itself.

He needed Izuku.

He needed him like a star required hydrogen and helium. He needed him like soil and water and sunlight. It was intrinsic, and it kept him alive when everything else tried to yank his roots. But it wasn’t just need anymore, was it? No, this was greater. Darker.

He wanted him—wanted Izuku in ways that felt like they were tearing him apart from the inside out. He wanted to hold his hands and feel those rough fingers tighten around his own like they were trying to scar him, like they were trying to leave an imprint on his soul. Katsuki wanted proof—tangible, undeniable proof—that Izuku had touched him in ways no one else ever could.

He wanted more than touch. He wanted immersion. To bury himself in everything that made Izuku who he was—the quiet hum of his focus when he studied late into the night, the way he chewed on his pen cap when lost in thought, the way he tilted his head slightly when listening intently, absorbing every word. Katsuki wanted to inhale every fleeting moment until it filled every hollow space inside him.

And it didn’t stop there.

Because this wasn’t just about wanting—no, this was more. He desired Izuku with a ferocity that scared the hell out of him. It was an ache so profound it felt like his ribs might crack under the pressure. He craved Izuku with a desperation that made his stomach churn and his head spin, like a famished man insatiable for more.

Katsuki desired Izuku with a desperation that defied logic or morality or restraint. It made him reckless in thought, if not yet in action—or maybe both.

Desire demanded sacrifice, and Katsuki knew without hesitation what he would give. Mina had asked once—the stupid train dilemma: ten thousand kids or the person you cared about most? The answer had come easily, almost cruelly so. Ten thousand lives could burn for all he cared if it meant sparing his. Protecting him. Keeping him.

He would raze cities to rubble and rend flesh from bone. He would turn forests to ash, and tear apart the very heavens if it meant keeping Izuku safe. Protecting him. Holding onto him. Katsuki would gladly shoulder the weight of an unthinkable sin if it meant preserving that singular, irreplaceable fragment of heaven he had found in Izuku. There was no price too steep, no act too monstrous when weighed against the light Izuku carried within him. A light so blinding it left Katsuki scorched and breathless.

His admiration for Izuku bordered on worship, and maybe it had always been that way; maybe he had always looked at Izuku like he was something holy, something more than human.

Admiration wasn’t supposed to hurt like this, though; it wasn’t supposed to feel like swallowing sand with every breath you took near someone who shone too brightly for the world around them.

Izuku made it hurt. He made everything hurt. The kindness that softened his edges also left him vulnerable in a world that thrived on cruelty. The selflessness that inspired awe also put him in danger time and time again. And the bravery—the reckless, maddening bravery—filled Katsuki with a terror so deep it felt like drowning.

How could someone be so good? How could someone care so deeply, so completely? And how could Katsuki love that goodness while hating what it cost? How could he revere someone so deeply while wishing they were just a little less themselves if only to keep them safe?

So yes, Katsuki would kill innocents, rip apart families, and devour the very notion of morality itself if it meant sharing even a sliver more of Izuku’s life. If it meant being allowed closer to that impossible brightness for just a moment longer. He would consume anything, everything, to preserve what they had, what they could have.

His admiration for Izuku was pestilential, excruciating.

Izuku mesmerized him—every ambitious look, every veracious smile carved itself into Katsuki’s soul.

It wasn't just the big things about Izuku that gripped him, though those were certainly enough to bring him to his knees. It was the tiny, insignificant details—the kind of things no one else seemed to notice but somehow consumed Katsuki entirely.

The way Izuku would doodle on his hands turning it into an entire ritual that Katsuki couldn’t stop watching, no matter how much he berated himself for it. Izuku’s fingers would glide across his own skin with a sort of absentminded precision, like they had always been meant to draw constellations across the canvas of his calloused palms. The ink bled into the grooves of his knuckles and the lines of his palms, creating galaxies that seemed to pulse with life each time Izuku’s pen hovered over them.

Sometimes, Katsuki caught him pausing mid-doodle, his brows furrowing as though deciding if the starburst he’d just added needed another line or if it was perfect as it was.

Katsuki’s throat would tighten in those moments—how did someone make even indecision look so damn captivating? And when Izuku noticed him staring and gave a sheepish laugh, holding up his ink-stained hand like he’d been caught red-handed, Katsuki could only grunt and look away, pretending his heart wasn’t beating like a war drum in his chest.

And then there was the humming. Gods, the humming. It wasn’t loud or obnoxious; it was soft, almost like Izuku didn’t even realize he was doing it. Katsuki would find himself straining to catch the faint melody whenever Izuku ran his fingers through Katsuki’s spiky hair, the strands slipping between his digits effortlessly. Sometimes it was a tune from a song they both knew, something they’d listened to together on lazy afternoons when neither of them felt like speaking. Other times, it was something entirely new, melodies that seemed born from whatever mood struck Izuku in that moment.

Along with Izuku’s hands, the way they fidgeted with everything and nothing at all whenever he was nervous or lost in thought. His fingers would find Katsuki’s sleeve more often than not, tugging gently at the fabric as though grounding himself in its texture. It always started small, a hesitant brush against Katsuki’s wrist before those sturdy fingers latched on completely, twisting and untwisting the hem of his shirt in an unconscious rhythm that drove Katsuki absolutely insane.

It wasn’t just these things—it wasn’t just one thing—it was everything. The tap of Izuku’s feet against the floor when he got impatient during long lectures; the way his hips swayed ever so slightly when they walked side by side; the smart-ass comments that always left Katsuki scrambling for a comeback because fuck him, how did Izuku get so clever?

It was in the way he talked about magical creatures like they were old friends instead of distant curiosities, how he’d spend hours researching ways to help them even when no one had asked him to. It was in the way he guided lost first-years back to their common rooms with patience and a smile that had them looking up at him like he was their hero.

it was in the grating, maddening details that Katsuki found himself drowning, unable—and unwilling—to swim his way out.

It was in the way he always left books scattered everywhere—on chairs, under tables, precariously stacked on the edge of shelves where they threatened to topple at any moment. Katsuki had tripped over more than one in his time. “Do you ever clean up after yourself?” he’d barked one evening after nearly breaking his neck on a thick tome about magical fauna. "Why should I?" came the reply, breezy and unconcerned as he lounged in front of the fire, legs sprawled out. "You’re the one who keeps picking them up. Feels like you’ve got it covered." Katsuki had wanted to strangle him—and yet somehow, even then, he couldn’t stop staring at how the light from the flames flickered over his skin, warm and golden.

It was in his sarcasm—biting and relentless—because he couldn’t seem to say anything without a layer of irony. “Do you ever not have a smartass answer for everything?” Katsuki had asked one day, exasperated after being met with yet another snarky retort. He’d shrugged nonchalantly, lips quirking into that infuriating half-smile that made Katsuki feel the butterflies come alive once more. “Will you ever have something clever to ask?” And Katsuki hated how much fun it actually was—hated how much he looked forward to every verbal sparring match, how they left him feeling alive in a way nothing else ever did.

It was in the way he was. All of him.

It was in his stubbornness—the way he would dig his heels in on the smallest, stupidest things. The way he insisted that jelly absolutely belonged on ice cream despite Katsuki’s vehement protests to the contrary.

“You’re just uncultured,” he’d said once during an argument about it, guiding a big spoon of his mixture into his mouth with an exaggerated flourish. “And you’re disgusting,” Katsuki had shot back, but there was no heat behind it—not when he could see the faint trace of sauce clinging to the corner of his mouth, not when his tongue darted out to lick it away without thinking.

It was in every scar and burn marring his skin, marks that told stories Katsuki didn’t know yet but desperately wanted to.

It was in the moments of quiet vulnerability. Like when Katsuki caught him staring out of a window one rainy afternoon, expression unreadable as raindrops traced paths down the glass. “You okay?” Katsuki had asked softly, hesitant to break whatever spell held him there. He’d blinked then turned to look at him with eyes that seemed older than they should have been—eyes that knew too much pain for someone so young. “Yeah,” he’d said after a long pause, forcing a small smile that didn’t quite reach those haunted eyes. “Just thinking.” And Katsuki hadn’t known what to say because what could you possibly say to someone whose sadness felt so vast it could swallow you whole?

But it wasn’t just sadness.

It was anger that simmered from above the skies; resentment directed at a world that had been cruel and unforgiving; hatred sharp enough to cut through the lower mantle.

It truly was everything.

He was devoted to him, utterly and hopelessly so. Yearning for him as the sacred hum beneath his skin reverberated the memory of his touch.

Reverent and pious.

Katsuki fucking worshipped him in ways that felt both sacred and impious.

It was…

Love

Fuck.

Fuck FUCK FUCK FUCK—

It wasn’t gentle or clean or fucking poetic. There were no soft symphonies, no lingering gazes under a silvery moonlight, no metaphors about hearts fluttering like trapped birds. No, it wasn’t anything like the saccharine nonsense those idiots in school tried to pass off as love, with their hollow sonnets and flowery prose.

This was something else entirely, something crude and uneven. It was shambolic. It ached like an old wound refusing to heal, compelling him forward even as it threatened to ruin him. It was corrupt in ways that twisted his intestines into impossible into knots, leaving him desperate, insatiable, for more. For him.

God, he hated it. Hated how it wolfed him. Hated how it owned him. And yet, he hankered for the way it set his veins on fire, the way it made his pulse hammer against his ribs.

It was everything—too much and never enough all at once.

It was nothing—a void that devoured every shred of reason he tried to cling to.

It was everywhere—infecting every corner of his mind with the sound of his voice, the curve of his smirk, the fucking smell of him.

And yet somehow, impossibly, it was nowhere—just out of reach no matter how hard he clawed for it, no matter how many walls he tore down trying to grasp it.

It was more.

It was less.

It was love.

Real love—the kind that ripped you apart from the inside out and didn’t bother putting you back together again. The kind that didn’t give a single fuck about mercy or reason or self-preservation. It ingurgitated you whole, left you in tatters, and still had the gall to demand more. It left you bleeding on the floor with nothing but the taste of salt and iron in your mouth, and yet you begged for it because somehow—somehow—you couldn’t fucking live without it.

Katsuki loved him so much it hurt.

It wept.

It bled.

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