Chapter 2: Mating Plans Interrupted by Justice
The rain tapped a nervous rhythm against the window, a gray backdrop to the warm cocoon of Katsuki’s childhood comforter. Izuku had his face buried in the junction of Katsuki’s neck and shoulder, breathing slowly, the aftershocks of pleasure still humming through his veins like a low electrical current. His dragon was a content, sleeping beast in his chest.
Katsuki’s hand was a heavy, warm weight on the back of his head, fingers tangled in his messy green hair. Not pulling, just holding.
“Seven weeks is a long time to be around my old hag,” Katsuki muttered to the ceiling, but there was no heat in it. His thumb absently stroked Izuku’s scalp.
“I like your mom,” Izuku murmured, his voice muffled against skin.
“She likes you too much. It’s annoying.” Katsuki’s other hand slid under the oversized sweater Izuku had pulled back on, palm warm against the small of his back. “My room, though. Soundproofed. Bigger bed. No shitty roommate across the hall blasting shitty music.”
“No broken lamp,” Izuku added, a faint smile in his voice.
“We’ll break something else.” Katsuki’s tone was all lazy, dark promise. “A week. Maybe two. Just… mating. No classes. No people. I’m gonna knot you so deep and so often your dragon forgets how to be anything but full.”
Izuku shivered, a full-body tremor of anticipation. His own hand, resting on Katsuki’s stomach, clenched slightly in the fabric of his shirt. “What if… what if it happens? For real?”
Katsuki was silent for a moment. The rain filled the space. Then he turned his head, his nose brushing Izuku’s temple. “Then we deal with it. My spawn. My problem. Our problem.” He said it like it was simple. An engineering equation with a solution he’d already calculated. “You scared?”
“A little,” Izuku admitted. “Mostly… not.”
“Good.” Katsuki kissed his forehead, a firm, dry press. “Don’t be.”
A sudden, sharp THUD from the common room downstairs shattered the quiet. It was followed by a high-pitched, warbling whine that was distinctly draconic in its distress, even through the floor.
Izuku jerked. “Was that—?”
“Fucking extras,” Katsuki groaned, already throwing the comforter off. He was up in a fluid motion, snatching a pair of sweats from the floor. “Can’t have five minutes of peace in this damn dorm.”
Curiosity warred with the desire to stay in their bubble. Izuku won, scrambling off the bed and pulling Katsuki’s discarded hoodie over his own sweater, doubling his layers, hiding his shape. He followed Katsuki out of their room and down the short, brightly lit hallway toward the common area.
The scene in the common room was absurdly still, like a tableau.
Momo Yaoyorozu stood by the large sofa, her posture perfectly straight, her dark hair slightly mussed. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright with a mixture of outrage and frosty satisfaction. Beside her, Shoto Todoroki leaned against the wall, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a roll of industrial-strength duct tape. His expression was neutral, but the air around his left side shimmered with a faint, crystalline cold.
The source of the whine was in the center of the main wall.
Minor Mineta was stuck there, thoroughly and completely. The thick silver tape bound him in a haphazard criss-cross from shoulders to ankles, pinning his arms to his sides. Only his head was free, his large eyes wide with panic and indignation. He squirmed, making a sticky peeling sound against the plaster.
“Let me down! This is illegal! I’ll report you! I was just offering a friendly, consensual hug!”
“Your hand was on my rear,” Momo stated, her voice crisp. “It was not consensual.”
“A misunderstanding! A slip!”
Shoto’s cool gaze didn’t waver. “It slipped. Twice. In different directions.” He glanced at Momo. “I thought containment was the logical first step.”
Katsuki stopped in the doorway. He took it in: the tape, Mineta’s flailing, Momo’s stiff dignity, Shoto’s detached efficiency. A slow, incredulous grin spread across his face. It started as a twitch at the corner of his mouth, then erupted into a full, loud bark of laughter. He doubled over, slapping his thigh.
“Holy shit! Look at the little pervert! Taped up like a damn parcel!”
Izuku hovered behind him, peeking around his shoulder. He saw Mineta’s predicament and felt a flush of secondhand embarrassment, but also a sharp pulse of approval. He’d never liked how Mineta looked at people. “Is he… breathing okay?” he asked softly.
“Who cares?” Katsuki wheezed, wiping a tear from his eye. He straightened up, his laughter dying into a predatory chuckle. He strode into the room, his bare feet slapping against the linoleum. He stopped in front of the trapped dragon, tilting his head. “Tape, huh, Icy-Hot? Not bad. But you’re an amateur.”
Shoto raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
Katsuki snatched the roll from his hand. “You gotta secure the liability.” With a violent, swift rip, he tore off a new strip. It screamed as it peeled from the roll. Before Mineta could protest, Katsuki slapped it directly over his mouth, mummifying his lower face. The high-pitched whining ceased, replaced by frantic, muffled mmph-mmph sounds.
“There,” Katsuki said, stepping back to admire his handiwork. “Now it’s art.”
Izuku winced but didn’t protest. He moved to stand closer to Momo. “Are you alright?”
Momo let out a slow breath, her shoulders relaxing a fraction. “Yes. Thank you, Izuku. And thank you, Shoto. Your intervention was… swift.”
Shoto gave a minimal nod. “He was a pest. The solution was obvious.”
Katsuki was still grinning, his hands on his hips as he surveyed the taped-up dragon on the wall. “How long we leaving him?”
“The adhesive is quite strong,” Momo mused, a thoughtful glint in her eye. “Perhaps until he learns the meaning of personal space.”
“A week should do it,” Shoto said flatly.
Mineta’s muffled cries grew more desperate.
The front door of the dorm swung open, bringing in a gust of wet, cold air and two more figures. Ochaco Uraraka, her cheeks pink from the chill, and Eijiro Kirishima, shaking rain from his spiky red hair, stopped short.
“Whoa!” Kirishima grinned, his sharp teeth on full display. “Taping practice? Looks manly, Bakugo!”
“It’s a public service,” Katsuki grunted.
Ochaco’s eyes went from the wall to Momo’s face. Understanding dawned. Her normally cheerful expression hardened. “Mineta again?” She floated a nearby pen off the coffee table without touching it, a subtle show of her gravity quirk. “Want me to stick him to the ceiling instead?”
Mineta’s eyes bulged.
“The wall is sufficient,” Momo said, a small, grateful smile touching her lips. “But thank you.”
The group fell into a loose circle around the trapped dragon, an impromptu gathering. Izuku felt the dynamic shift from tense to something lighter, almost festive in its shared annoyance. This was their strange, messy pack. Katsuki bumped his shoulder against Izuku’s, a silent see?
“So,” Kirishima said, plopping onto the sofa. “What’s everyone doing for Christmas break? My folks are dragging me to some hot spring up north. All-natural, no electronics. Gonna be so unmanly relaxing.”
Ochaco sighed. “Working double shifts at the delivery warehouse. Gotta pay for next semester’s books.”
Shoto looked vaguely troubled. “My father has scheduled ‘family bonding exercises.’ They involve a lot of shouting.”
Everyone turned to Katsuki and Izuku. Katsuki’s arm slid around Izuku’s shoulders, pulling him tight against his side, a blatant, possessive display. Izuku sank into the touch, his earlier worries soothed by the solid warmth.
“We’ll be at my place,” Katsuki announced, his voice carrying a grating pride. “Doing fuck-all. It’s gonna be great.”
Kirishima’s grin widened. “A whole break with just you two? Dude, your place is gonna smell so intensely of mate by the end, it’ll be uninhabitable.”
“Good,” Katsuki shot back, his chin tilting up. “Means no one else will bother us.”
Ochaco giggled. “Just try to remember to eat actual food, okay Izuku?”
Izuku felt his face heat up. “We will!”
The conversation drifted, filled with easy insults and light plans. Izuku listened, anchored by the weight of Katsuki’s arm. He watched Mineta’s struggles grow weaker, more pathetic. He felt a collective, unspoken agreement in the room—a line had been drawn, and they were all on the same side of it.
After twenty minutes, Momo sighed. “I suppose we should let him down. The wall paint is beginning to strain.”
“Tch. Fine.” Katsuki sounded genuinely disappointed. He stepped forward and, with no ceremony, grabbed the edge of the tape over Mineta’s mouth. He yanked.
“GYAAAAAH! MY FACE FUR!”
“Shut up,” Katsuki said, already working on the other strips, tearing them off with brutal efficiency. Mineta stumbled free, rubbing his sore arms and glaring at everyone.
“You’re all monsters! I’m telling the dorm supervisor!”
“Tell them,” Shoto said, his voice dropping a dangerous few degrees. A tiny, precise flame ignited on his right fingertip. “And next time, I won’t use tape.”
Mineta paled, squeaked, and scuttled out of the common room, shooting a last, terrified glance over his shoulder.
The room exhaled. Laughter bubbled up again, easier this time. Ochaco started making tea using the common kitchenette, and Kirishima launched into a story about his last failed rock-climbing adventure.
Katsuki pulled Izuku back toward the hallway, away from the noise. In the dim passage, he crowded Izuku against the wall, not aggressively, but closely. His hands found Izuku’s hips under the layers of fabric, his forehead leaning against Izuku’s.
“See?” he murmured, his breath warm. “One week. No extras. No interruptions. Just us. I’m already sick of sharing the air you breathe with these idiots.”
Izuku’s heart swelled. He lifted his hands, curling them into the soft fabric of Katsuki’s shirt. “One week,” he whispered back, a promise and a prayer.
From the common room, Ochaco’s laugh rang out, bright and clear. The rain continued its gentle patter against the windows. But here, in the semi-dark of the hallway, with Katsuki’s intense gaze pinning him more effectively than any tape, the world had already narrowed down to a single, impending point on a calendar.
Christmas break. Theirs.
Katsuki’s mouth crashed down on his, a searing, possessive kiss that tasted like impatience and fire. Izuku kissed him back, pouring every ounce of his own longing into it. When they broke apart, both were breathing heavily.
“Come on,” Katsuki grunted, taking his hand. “We’re going back to the room. I need to remind you what you’re waiting for.”
He led him down the hall, away from the light and the chatter. The door to their room clicked shut, a definitive sound. Inside, the nest awaited, and the countdown to seven weeks of freedom had never felt so agonizingly, deliciously slow.
Inside, the nest awaited, and the countdown to seven weeks of freedom had never felt so agonizingly, deliciously slow. The door clicked shut, sealing them in their own world of tangled sheets and shared breath. Katsuki didn’t bother with the light. He just pushed Izuku back against the door, his hands already rucking up the layers of hoodie and sweater, seeking skin.
“Need you,” he growled, the words raw against Izuku’s throat. “Now.”
“Kacchan, wait,” Izuku breathed, but his own hands were pulling Katsuki closer. “The chair.”
Katsuki stilled, then huffed a hot, understanding laugh against his collarbone. “Right. The chair.” It was part of it. A rule within their rules. He pulled back, his eyes gleaming crimson in the dark, and guided Izuku to the worn desk chair by the window. He sat, the old wood creaking under his weight. “Come here.”
Izuku went, his movements fluid. He settled himself sideways in Katsuki’s lap, his legs dangling over the armrest, his back pressed against Katsuki’s chest. Katsuki’s arms encircled him, one hand splaying possessively over his stomach, the other coming up to cup his jaw, tilting his head back. They stayed like that for a long moment, Katsuki nuzzling into the green hair, just breathing each other in. The frantic energy from the hallway bled away, replaced by a thicker, deeper current.
“This,” Katsuki murmured, his lips moving against Izuku’s temple. “This is what I want for seven weeks. You in my lap. Nowhere else.”
Izuku hummed, melting into the hold. He let his head loll back onto Katsuki’s shoulder, exposing the line of his throat. A silent offering. Outside, the common room’s muffled chaos was a distant planet. Here was the center of everything.
The doorknob rattled.
It was a faint, fumbling sound. Then a hesitant knock.
Katsuki’s entire body went rigid. A low, warning rumble started in his chest, a sound more dragon than human. “Go. Away.”
“Bakugo? Midoriya?” It was Mineta’s voice, thin and wheedling through the wood. “I, uh… I think I left my tablet in there? During the study session last week? Can I just grab it real quick?”
“It’s not here,” Katsuki snarled, his arms tightening around Izuku.
“It’ll just take a second! I promise!”
Izuku felt the explosion building under his skin. “Kacchan, just let him look. It’s easier.”
“No.” The refusal was absolute. But the knocking persisted, a pathetic, insistent tap-tap-tap. Katsuki’s snarl deepened. With a violent curse, he shifted Izuku off his lap and stood, storming toward the door. “I’m gonna murder that grape and mail him back to his parents in a juice box.”
He yanked the door open. Mineta stood there, looking up with a simpering smile that died instantly at the sight of Katsuki’s expression. His eyes, however, didn’t stay on Katsuki’s face. They darted past him, into the room, and landed on Izuku.
Izuku was still in the chair, bathed in the slanted grey light from the window. The oversized hoodie had slipped off one shoulder during their moment. The collar of the sweater beneath was stretched, exposing the sharp line of a collarbone and a faint, red mark from earlier. He was flushed, his lips parted, his green hair a messy halo. He was, in every sense, undressed in the aftermath of intimacy.
Mineta’s gaze traveled. It was a quick, hungry slide down Izuku’s form, lingering where the sweater clung to the curve of his chest before being swallowed by the baggy fabric. It was a look that undressed him all over again.
The air in the room changed.
It wasn’t Katsuki who moved first. A wave of cold, so sharp it burned the lungs, washed down the hallway from the common room entrance. Shoto Todoroki was there, leaning in the doorway, a bag of frozen grapes in his hand. He had been quietly eating them, observing. His heterochromatic eyes were fixed on Mineta, and the temperature dropped another ten degrees.
“You,” Shoto said, his voice flat as a frozen lake. “You looked at him.”
Mineta squeaked, tearing his eyes away from Izuku. “I didn’t! I was just looking for my—”
“You looked at my classmate with undisguised lechery.” Shoto took a step forward. A thin layer of frost crackled across the linoleum, racing toward Mineta’s feet. “After you laid hands on my mate. You have a problem with understanding boundaries.”
Katsuki was vibrating with a silent, lethal fury. He hadn’t missed the look. He’d seen it all. He stepped out into the hallway, closing the door behind him with a soft, final click, shielding Izuku from view. “You got a death wish, Grape Boi?” His voice was dangerously quiet. “You really thought Icy-Hot wouldn’t do anything after you touched his mate? And then you come to my door and look at mine like that?”
“It was an accident!” Mineta backpedaled, hitting the opposite wall. “I swear!”
“He eats a lot of grapes,” Shoto observed calmly, looking at the bag in his hand. He held one up, a perfect green orb now coated in a shell of ice. “Perhaps he’d like to be one.”
Katsuki’s grin was all teeth. “Yeah. A squashed one.”
What happened next was a blur of coordinated, terrifying efficiency. Shoto didn’t use his fire. He used the cold. A precise jet of frost shot from his left hand, flash-freezing Mineta’s feet to the floor. Mineta yelped, trapped. Katsuki moved, a burst of explosive speed. He didn’t punch. He grabbed the roll of duct tape still sitting on the common room table.
“You like looking?” Katsuki snarled, tearing off a strip with his teeth. “Let’s give you something to really look at.”
The tape went over Mineta’s eyes first, a thick, unyielding band. Then another, and another, criss-crossing his head until not a sliver of his face was visible, a silver mummy’s wrap. Mineta’s muffled screams were pathetic things. Shoto watched, then stepped forward. He took the bag of frozen grapes.
With methodical precision, he began stuffing them through the gaping, screaming hole of Mineta’s taped-shut mouth. One after another. They were hard as marbles.
“A snack,” Shoto stated, his voice devoid of all humor. “For your journey.”
Katsuki finished by wrapping Mineta’s entire torso, pinning his arms, leaving him a blind, gagging, grape-stuffed statue frozen to the hallway floor. He stepped back, breathing heavily, not from exertion but from pure, unadulterated rage. He looked at Shoto. A flicker of something like respect passed between them.
“Keep him there till he thaws,” Katsuki said, turning his back on the squirming figure.
“At least an hour,” Shoto agreed, picking up his now-empty bag.
Katsuki shoved open the door to his room and slammed it shut. Izuku was standing now, hugging himself, having heard everything. His eyes were wide.
“Is he—”
“He’s fine,” Katsuki cut him off, his voice rough. He crossed the room in two strides. His hands came up to frame Izuku’s face, his thumbs stroking over his cheekbones. “He’s alive. Which is more than he deserves.” He searched Izuku’s face, his own anger softening into something more anxious. “Did you see him? Looking at you?”
Izuku nodded, a small, ashamed motion. “I felt it.”
A muscle in Katsuki’s jaw jumped. He pulled Izuku into a crushing embrace, tucking the green head under his chin. “No one looks at you. No one. I should burn his eyes out of his skull.”
“Shoto already… dealt with it,” Izuku whispered into his chest, the chill of the hallway still clinging to Katsuki’s shirt.
“Not enough.” Katsuki pulled back, his eyes blazing. “Seven weeks. We’re leaving the second finals are done. I’m not letting you out of my sight in this damn dorm again.” He guided Izuku back to the chair, sitting down and pulling him into his lap once more, this time cradling him fully, arms wrapped around him like armor. “You’re staying right here. In this chair. Where I put you.”
Izuku didn’t argue. He curled into the shelter of Katsuki’s body, his own heart slowing to match the furious, protective rhythm of the alpha’s beneath his ear. The last of the tension bled from his shoulders. Outside, a faint, rhythmic thump-thump-thump echoed from the hallway—the sound of a frozen, tape-muffled dragon trying to hop in place.
Katsuki ignored it. He pressed his lips to Izuku’s hair. “Mine,” he whispered, the word a vow sealed in fire and ice.