Chapter Text
Izuku Midoriya had perfected the art of being unseen.
At eighteen, in his final year at U.A. High, he existed in the negative space of the social hierarchy. He sat in the back row of classrooms, ate lunch in the library, and walked home alone through routes that avoided the main campus thoroughfares. His glasses were too big for his face, his hair an untamable forest of green curls, his shoulders perpetually hunched as if trying to fold himself into nothingness.
He was smart– brilliant, actually, with a 4.0 GPA and perfect SAT scores– but intelligence meant little in the ecosystem of senior year. Not when weighed against athleticism, against charisma, against the particular brand of magnetic confidence that made certain people glow like neon while others faded into wallpaper.
Izuku didn't mind being invisible. Invisibility was safe. Invisibility meant no one asked questions about why he never changed in the locker room, why he always wore loose sweatpants instead of jeans, why he sometimes disappeared for twenty minutes during lunch with his face flushed and his breath coming in shallow gasps.
Invisibility meant no one knew his secret.
He'd been born different. Anatomically anomalous. The doctors had called it a "rare developmental variation"– male in every chromosomal and hormonal sense, with the deep voice and the Adam's apple and the narrow hips, but with one specific, impossible difference between his legs. A cunt. Pink, wet, hungry, and utterly secret. He'd learned early to hide it, to bind himself with specially made compression shorts, to never let anyone close enough to guess.
Until Katsuki Bakugo.
Katsuki was everything Izuku wasn't. Six-foot-two, built like a sculpture, with ash-blond hair and eyes the color of burning embers. He was the captain of the baseball team, the star of the track team, the boy who'd been offered full scholarships to three Division I schools before winter break of junior year. He walked through the halls like he owned them, and in a sense, he did.
They called him a sex god. It wasn't just his face, though that was sharp enough to cut glass. It was the way he moved– loose-hipped and confident, like he knew exactly how much space he occupied and dared anyone to challenge it. It was the rumors: that he'd slept with half the cheer squad, that he knew exactly how to use his hands, that he had a cock that could ruin you and the skill to make you beg for it.
Izuku had heard the whispers. He'd seen the girls– and boys– lingering by Katsuki's locker, hoping for a smile, a wink, a moment of his attention. He'd watched from his invisible corner as Katsuki accepted propositions with the casual ease of someone who'd never been told no.
Izuku wanted him. God, he wanted him. Wanted those large hands and that cruel mouth and that legendary cock. Wanted to be seen by him, touched by him, ruined by him.
But Izuku was invisible. And Katsuki Bakugo didn't notice ghosts.
It happened on a Tuesday in October.
Izuku was rushing to fifth period, his backpack heavy with textbooks, his mind preoccupied with the vibrator egg currently nestled inside him. He'd gotten reckless– he'd put it in that morning, the remote tucked in his pocket, set to the lowest setting. Just enough to keep him on edge, to make the day bearable, to feed the hunger that gnawed at him constantly.
He wasn't watching where he was going. He turned the corner by the chemistry lab and collided with a wall of muscle and heat.
The impact knocked the air from his lungs. He stumbled backward, his glasses sliding down his nose, and felt strong hands catch his elbows before he could fall.
"Watch where you're going, nerd," Katsuki Bakugo said.
Izuku looked up– up, up, into those famous eyes– and felt his knees go weak. Not from fear. From proximity. From the smell of Katsuki's cologne, something dark and spicy, mixed with clean sweat and the faint chemical tang of the hair gel he used.
"I'm sorry," Izuku whispered. "I didn't see–"
The vibrator chose that moment to shift. It hit a spot inside him– his spot, the one that made his vision blur– and Izuku couldn't stop the sound that escaped his throat. A high, breathy, unmistakable moan.
He clamped his mouth shut, horror flooding his face. Katsuki was staring at him, those sharp eyes narrowing, a strange expression crossing his features. Confusion. Curiosity. Something else Izuku couldn't name.
"Did you just–" Katsuki started.
"Sorry!" Izuku gasped, pulling away, adjusting his backpack. "I'm sorry, I have to go–"
He fled, his face burning, certain that Katsuki would forget the encounter within minutes. Certain that his invisibility would reassert itself like a protective cloak.
It didn't.
Katsuki couldn't stop thinking about the sound.
That moan. That sweet, desperate, accidentally erotic noise that the green-haired nerd had made when they collided. It played on repeat in Katsuki's mind, disrupting his focus during practice, intruding on his thoughts during class.
He started watching him. Really watching.
The nerd– Midoriya, he learned from the roster, Izuku Midoriya– was in three of his classes. Katsuki had never noticed before. Now he couldn't stop noticing.
And what he noticed was... strange.
Izuku sat in the back corner of every room, but he never sat still. He shifted constantly, his hips rolling in subtle circles, pressing down into his seat. During lectures, he would bite his lip, his eyes glazing over, his breath hitching in a way that Katsuki was starting to recognize.
Arousal. The boy was aroused. Constantly, visibly, desperately aroused.
In English lit, Katsuki watched Izuku's hand disappear beneath his desk, watched his arm move in tiny, controlled motions. Watched his eyelashes flutter, watched his cheeks flush pink, watched him stifle a gasp when Mr. Aizawa turned to write on the board.
In calculus, Izuku kept his legs pressed tightly together, his thighs clenching rhythmically. When the bell rang, he stayed seated for a full minute, his head bowed, his chest heaving, before standing with trembling legs and shuffling out.
Katsuki started paying attention to other things. The way Izuku never changed for gym, always claiming stomach aches or migraines to get out of it. The way he wore those baggy sweatpants every single day, the fabric hanging loose around his hips, hiding everything.
The way that sometimes, when Izuku walked past him in the hall, Katsuki could hear a faint buzzing sound.
It was Thursday when Katsuki decided to follow him. He told his friends he had to take a leak, peeled off from the group heading to the cafeteria, and tracked the green curls through the crowded hallway.
Izuku didn't go to the bathroom. He didn't go to the library. He slipped out the side door, the one that led to the athletic fields, and hurried across the grass toward the bleachers.
The old bleachers. The ones they only used for home games, currently empty and shadowed, the space beneath them a hollow cave of darkness and discarded equipment.
Katsuki hung back, watching from behind the equipment shed as Izuku ducked beneath the metal framework. He waited for a count of sixty, then followed.
The space beneath was dim, lit only by strips of sunlight filtering through the seats above. Katsuki's eyes adjusted slowly, and then–
Oh.
Oh, fuck.
Izuku was leaning against a support beam, his sweatpants pushed down to his ankles, his legs spread wide. He was touching himself, his hand moving frantically between his legs, but... but that wasn't a cock. That wasn't anything Katsuki had ever seen on a boy.
It was pink. Puffy, glistening, swollen with arousal. A cunt. A perfect, wet, desperate cunt, with a small hooded clit peeking out from the top, begging for attention.
And inside... inside, Katsuki could see something vibrating. A flash of pink plastic, a thin cord trailing out. A remote-controlled egg, buried deep in that impossible hole, making the flesh around it flutter and clench.
"Please," Izuku whimpered to himself, his head thrown back, his glasses askew. "Please, please, I need–"
He wasn't just fingering himself. He was fucking himself, three fingers buried to the knuckle, his hips jerking, his free hand pinching his own nipple through his shirt. He was making sounds– whimpers and gasps and those same high moans that had haunted Katsuki's dreams for three days.
Katsuki was hard instantly, painfully, his cock straining against his jeans. He reached down, palming himself, watching as Izuku's pace increased, as his back arched, as his whole body began to shake.
"Oh god, oh god, I'm gonna–"
Izuku came.
It wasn't a normal orgasm. It was a gush, a fountain, liquid spurting from that pink cunt in rhythmic pulses, soaking his fingers, his thighs, the dirt beneath him. He kept fucking himself through it, his cries echoing in the confined space, his body convulsing with wave after wave of pleasure.
Katsuki came in his pants like a teenager, biting his own wrist to keep from groaning, his hips jerking as he painted his boxers with cum.
When he looked up again, Izuku was slumped against the beam, his chest heaving, his face blissed out and wrecked. He pulled the vibrator out slowly– Katsuki watched it emerge, glistening, watched Izuku's hole clench around nothing– and tucked it into his backpack. He cleaned himself with a tissue, pulled up his pants, and stumbled out the other side, completely unaware that he'd had an audience.
Katsuki stayed in the shadows for ten minutes, trying to process what he'd just seen. Trying to reconcile the invisible nerd with the most erotic thing he'd ever witnessed.
He couldn't.
But he knew one thing: he needed more. He needed to touch that. Taste that. Fuck that.
Katsuki Bakugo had found his new obsession.