Chapter Text
Izuku is bored.
You'd think that with all the comings and goings of the Heroics Course—especially at UA—he'd appreciate the slower days sprinkled throughout the semester. They gave him time to breathe. Time to catch up with Yagi-san over tea. Time to reorganize his ever-growing collection of quirk observation notebooks.
But after the... explosive start of the school year and all the events that followed—all within his first year, mind you—it's a tiny bit difficult to relax when you have the threat of a possible apocalypse looming over you, and you're the only one who can save Japan from its potential demise.
No pressure or anything.
So he really couldn't be blamed for waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Joint Training with Class 1-B had wrapped up about a month ago. Their quirks were so cool that he still wanted to sit down and talk to every single one of them. Monoma's Copy alone deserved at least thirty pages of notes.
Maybe next time.
Preferably, when the continued existence of Japanese society wasn't hanging by a thread.
But it's just a bit confusing that nothing big happened right after.
Normally, there was always something waiting around the corner. It didn't even have to be life-threatening. Sometimes it was just his friends coming up with another terrible idea.
There was the time, shortly after the dorms were established, when Kaminari and Ashido declared a prank war that somehow escalated into a month-long campaign of psychological warfare. Half the class became accomplices. The other half became collateral damage. Aizawa gave up asking who started it sometime during week two.
Izuku wasn't one to hold grudges.
But.
Come on, Mineta-kun.
That’s my limited edition Bronze Age All Might figure.
Do you know how hard it was to win that auction? It had so many manufacturing defects that collectors started calling it "historically significant."
Let go of it before I demonstrate why Oklahoma Smash has "Smash" in the name.
Then there was the—supposedly—relaxing coffee trip with Iida, Uraraka, Todoroki, Tsuyu, and Kaminari. They'd found a cozy little café tucked away near Hontori. It sold hero-themed pastries and tiny acrylic standees of local sidekicks. The owner insisted on drawing little hero chibis in the foam art of every latte.
It had been perfect. Naturally, a villain chose that exact moment to attempt an armed robbery three blocks away. The fight itself lasted seven minutes. The paperwork lasted four days. Recovery Girl had declared them physically healthy. Mentally, they had all been checked out until the following Monday.
Then there was the time Kacchan and his friends accidentally uncovered a human trafficking operation while chasing down what he insisted was "a suspicious idiot." It turned out the suspicious idiot had been suspicious for entirely different reasons. The resulting highway pursuit featured Kacchan using explosions as an acceptable substitute for traffic laws, Kirishima hanging onto the side of a truck with alarming enthusiasm, and Sero somehow webbing together three separate vehicles without causing a pileup.
It was… It’s better not to talk about it.
Then there was the—you get the idea.
Something was always happening around Class 1-A, and everybody knew it. The faculty certainly did.
It was why Aizawa had eventually distributed tracking bracelets to all of them.
Officially, they were emergency location devices.
Unofficially, they existed because enough students had been kidnapped, wandered into villain incidents, or somehow ended up in entirely different prefectures that the staff collectively decided enough was enough.
So, to conclude this completely unnecessary and long-winded rant, Izuku is bored.
And that was a problem.
Because boredom makes him do things that he normally wouldn't. Like actively looking for villain fights as a child, participating in said villain fights as a heroics student, or prodding the Kacchan-shaped bear until it explodes as a childish heroics student.
Which explained why he was currently sitting cross-legged on his bed at two in the morning, running on purely adrenaline and a dangerously active brain.
It had started innocently enough.
Blackwhip had incredible versatility, but he'd begun wondering if studying practical rope techniques could improve its precision. Search and rescue professionals use specialized knots all the time. He could probably even mimic rope weaves to improve Blackwhip's durability.
One search became five.
Five became twenty.
Rescue knots became climbing knots.
Climbing knots became decorative ropework.
Decorative ropework became traditional Japanese binding techniques.
Traditional Japanese binding techniques became...
Well.
The internet certainly had opinions.
Lots of opinions.
Five hours later, he leaned back to his pillows.
Sleep-deprived, slightly annoyed, and painfully aware that he'd somehow gone from researching rope weaves and rescue knots to browsing BDSM porn.
Izuku woke up... reasonably well-rested.
Which, for someone who had somehow convinced himself that two hours of sleep counted as "well-rested," was about as glowing an endorsement as he could honestly give.
His morning exercise alarm?
Missed.
His breakfast alarm?
Also missed.
It took the final emergency alarm, shrieking at maximum volume from his nightstand, to drag him back into consciousness. He shot upright with a groan, his head pounding with every heartbeat like his skull was hosting the world's most aggressive drum solo.
"...Mmph..."
His eyes drifted to the clock.
"..."
The dorm echoed with a distinctly undignified yelp.
What followed could only be described as organized panic.
Need to wear uniform.
Pants.
Wrong shirt? Correct shirt.
Blazer? Blazer.
Brush teeth.
Almost forget tie.
Find shoes.
Where were his shoes?
He bolted out the door while still stuffing notebooks into his bag, green lightning crackling around his legs as Full Cowling carried him across campus in a blur. This wasn't the first time he'd overslept—experience suggested it wouldn't be the last.
He slid into the classroom with seconds to spare, breathing hard but technically on time. Aizawa merely glanced at him from inside his sleeping bag.
"...Cutting it close."
"Sorry!"
"Sit down."
Success… Technically.
Unfortunately, the universe wasn't finished with him.
Lunch arrived, along with Iida.
"Midoriya-kun," he began, already gesturing with the precision of a public service announcement, "maintaining a consistent sleep schedule is vital for one's physical and mental well-being. Chronic sleep deprivation reduces reaction time, impairs judgment, and negatively affects long-term health!"
Izuku nodded, mostly because moving his head required less effort than forming words.
"I know..."
"You should also refrain from remaining awake until unreasonable hours."
"I know..."
"It is important to establish healthy habits."
"I know..."
Under normal circumstances, Izuku would have explained. He would have apologized, promised to do better, maybe even produced a notebook with color-coded sleep hygiene research. Today, however, his brain could only cycle through three thoughts: food, sleep, and please stop talking.
He’d never say the last one, though. Iida meant well. They all meant well.
"Midoriya?" Todoroki asked, leaning over. "Are you alright?"
The question spread through the table like a ripple. Kirishima frowned. Uraraka's chopsticks paused halfway to her mouth. Even Kacchan, passing by with his own tray, slowed enough to deliver a critical once-over.
"...The hell happened to your face?"
Izuku managed something between a smile and a grimace. "Just tired. Really, really tired."
He meant to reassure them. Instead, Uraraka's expression softened into that particular brand of worry that meant she'd be checking on him for the next week. Kirishima offered a protein bar he definitely couldn't eat. Todoroki looked like he was calculating whether this qualified as a medical emergency.
Izuku appreciated the concern. He did.
He would have appreciated it even more if his body didn't currently feel like collapsing face-first into his lunch tray and remaining unconscious until graduation.
By some miracle, or perhaps because Kami-sama had finally decided he'd suffered enough for one day, they didn't have Heroics practicals nor exercises scheduled.
His relief lasted exactly twelve seconds.
Then he remembered he'd completely slept through his morning run.
There went his afternoon.
By the time he'd finished making up for it after classes, every muscle in his body protested the decision. He trudged back toward Heights Alliance, exhausted, drenched in sweat, legs heavy, operating almost entirely on habit.
All he wanted was a shower. Then eight uninterrupted hours of sleep. Maybe ten. If civilization could postpone collapsing until tomorrow morning, he'd greatly appreciate it.
Left foot. Right foot. Good. Lift your arm. Open the door. Excellent work, muscles. Kitchen. Fridge. Sports drink. Drink.
His brain had apparently delegated every higher function to a clipboard somewhere in the back of his mind.
He vaguely registered voices drifting from the common room. Someone laughed, everyone else groaned, and Kaminari seemed to be talking far louder than anyone else.
Normal.
He pulled a chilled sports drink from the refrigerator, cracked it open, and drained nearly the whole bottle in one go. Life slowly returned to his body. His headache eased from "construction site" to "mild inconvenience."
The world regained color.
"...respect the privacy of our peers, Kaminari-san," Yaoyorozu-san said, sounding as though this conversation had already lasted far longer than she'd hoped.
"I know..." Kaminari replied, genuinely crestfallen.
A beat passed.
"...But aren't any of you curious?"
"There it is," Jirō sighed.
"Kaminari," Yaoyorozu began patiently, "there are simply some things one should not speculate about."
"But everybody speculates!"
"Everybody absolutely does not."
"They absolutely do."
"They absolutely should not."
Kirishima scratched his cheek.
"I mean... why d'you even wanna know, bro? It's not like it'd change anything."
"It might!"
"How?"
"I dunno yet. I'll figure that part out after I collect enough data."
Sero snorted.
"So your plan is to gather completely made-up information, then draw equally made-up conclusions."
"...When you say it like that, it sounds bad."
"Because it is bad."
"And even if you did a dogeza and pledged your undying loyalty to me, Jamming-Whey," Jirō added, pointing an accusing finger at him, "I still wouldn't tell you anything."
"You wound me."
"Good, I was aiming for your ego."
At that point, Izuku's curiosity finally overpowered his exhaustion.
He wandered into the common room.
Yaoyorozu and Jirō occupied the loveseat, both wearing matching expressions of long-suffering patience. Kaminari and Kirishima sat on the rug in front of the television. Sero lounged comfortably on an ottoman near them. Uraraka and Tsuyu shared one end of the sofa with textbooks open on their laps, only half paying attention. At the opposite end, Tokoyami had somehow fallen asleep with his head resting on Shōji's lap. Shōji looked perfectly content to remain a very sturdy pillow.
Kaminari looked up, his face immediately lit with energy. "Mido-bro!" He waved both arms. "Just the guy I needed! C'mere!"
...It was kind of adorable how excited he looked.
Izuku glanced toward the girls for context. Yaoyorozu gave him an apologetic smile. Jirō rubbed her temple. Uraraka waved. And Tsuyu simply gave him a look that said, Good luck, kero.
That explained enough.
He settled onto the ottoman beside Sero, who looked him over. "You good, bro?"
Izuku nodded. "I’m okay. Just... really need sleep."
Kaminari scooted across the rug until he was practically in Izuku's personal space, eyes sparkling with excitement.
"Mido-bro."
"...Yes?"
"I need an unbiased opinion."
"Okay…?"
"I wanna know what you think everyone's into."
Izuku blinked.
"Oh."
"...Yeah, that's about what they all said."
Silence settled over the room.
Then Uraraka closed her textbook with a soft thump.
"I told you he'd react like a normal person."
"I am also reacting normally," Kaminari protested. "I'm just curious!"
"Kaminari," Yaoyorozu said, "people's private preferences are exactly that. Private."
"I'm not asking them! I'm asking for guesses!"
"That somehow feels worse," Sero muttered.
Kirishima shrugged.
"I mean... if we're talking about dating habits or types, that's one thing."
"See?" Kaminari pointed triumphantly.
"That's not what you asked," Jirō replied.
"...Details."
Izuku watched the conversation unfold with barely veiled exhaustion. This was not at all what he wanted to walk into, but this was definitely something Kaminari would bring up.
This... this had to be a coincidence, right?
His brain immediately spiraled. Kaminari had definitely walked in on his research session earlier. The shibari. The BDSM porn. The incredibly specific rope-tying diagrams that had nothing to do with Blackwhip, no matter how he tried to justify it. What if Kaminari had put it together? What if this was all an elaborate trap to see him flustered, to watch him squirm—
No. No, that was ridiculous.
Paranoid.
Completely absurd.
Though he does need to say something before the silence stretched into something even more awkward than it already was.
Even so, why would he even answer that? Why in the seven hells would he voluntarily discuss his friends' kinks? He should walk away. He should walk away.
Then again...
A mischievous little voice piped up from the back of his mind—when was the last time anything interesting happened that he actually started? Villain attacks didn't count. Those found him. He was always responding to someone else's mess.
This? This would be his.
Somewhere in the rational part of his brain, there should have been alarm bells ringing. There should have been a warning. A reminder.
Something.
But unfortunately, that part of his brain had already checked out hours ago, booked a flight to Hawaii, and was currently somewhere on a beach doing the hula without a single concern in the world.
"Um..." he replied eventually.
Kaminari's eyes sparked back to life, accompanied by that pleading puppy-dog expression that Izuku had absolutely no defense against. He glanced toward the girls, silently begging for rescue.
They looked intrigued.
He was doomed.
"…What did you want to know, specifically?"
Kaminari's face lit up even more, if such a thing were possible. "Anything! Anything at all! I know you write about us in your notebooks, so I was wondering if you noticed something about us, is all!"
Izuku blinked. In all the months he'd been analyzing his classmates, cataloging their quirks and habits and fighting styles, it was rare for someone to take genuine interest in his observations. He’d be a fool to reject them now.
"Um, okay. Well..." He paused, mind racing through possible approaches, diplomatic strategies, ways to frame this that wouldn't permanently damage his social standing. "Kirishima-kun!"
The redhead jolted, nearly spilling his drink. "Me?"
"Yeah, do you mind if I talk about what I think your... preferences are?"
Kirishima's face flushed a color that nearly matched his hair. He hesitated, glanced around at their increasingly invested audience, then shrugged with forced casualness. "Uh, sure, bro! Um, go ahead."
"Right." Izuku straightened, slipping into the familiar comfort of academic analysis. He had a quest now—he would see it through. "So, activating your quirk triggers a localized epidermal transformation. Your dermis experiences rapid calcification while the epidermis develops a crystalline structure resembling igneous rock formations—specifically something between basalt and granite in terms of density and fracture patterns."
He ticked points off on his fingers, warming to the subject.
"This hardened state provides multiple defensive advantages: deflection of penetrating trauma, distribution of concussive force across a wider surface area, and increased resistance to laceration. Now, here's where it gets interesting. I've observed that even when you're not actively using your quirk, you demonstrate unusually high pain tolerance and reduced sensitivity to minor impacts."
Kirishima stared, caught somewhere between impressed and baffled. "Right on the money, bro! But uh..." He scratched his neck, blush deepening. "How does this relate to my, um... thing?"
"I'm establishing the physiological foundation first. Context is crucial." Izuku pressed on, barely pausing. "Based on your quirk's mechanics and your demonstrated sensory profile, I've extrapolated that your nociceptor threshold sits significantly above baseline human average. Stimuli that would register as painful for most people—say, below seven hundred newtons of force—barely register for you. Your nervous system essentially filters out low-level discomfort."
He finally took a breath, connecting the dots.
"Therefore, to achieve equivalent sensory input, you would require more intense stimulation. Rough handling, hair pulling—the follicular roots extend into the hypodermis, which I suspect doesn't harden to the same degree as your epidermis during quirk activation—Skin abrasion, pressure-based techniques, and potentially even controlled biting. You'd likely find impact play particularly satisfying given your quirk's association with blunt force."
Kirishima made a small, strangled noise.
Izuku barreled forward.
"Furthermore, behavioral analysis suggests additional dimensions. You demonstrate consistent patterns of protective behavior, emotional attunement to others' needs, and immediate post-conflict reassurance. You check on people after training, you offer support unprompted, you prioritize others' comfort." He tilted his head, considering. "This indicates probable service-oriented tendencies. You'd also likely derive satisfaction from giving intense sensation as well as receiving it, from maintaining control of your partner's experience while ensuring their well-being. Service top, possibly soft dominant. Especially evident in your interactions with—"
"AGH!" Kirishima's shriek cut him off, his face now the approximate color of a ripe tomato. He swayed slightly in his seat on the floor.
Izuku froze.
Oh no.
Had he miscalculated the social parameters? Overstepped the boundaries of acceptable discourse? He'd been so focused on the analysis, on the fascinating puzzle of it all, that he'd forgotten there were people attached to these observations, with feelings and embarrassment thresholds and—
"Midoriya," Kaminari stage-whispered, eyes gleaming with delighted horror. "I think you broke him."
"Uh..." he replied, again. Seems like he'd be doing that a lot today.
Yaoyorozu's eyes had gone wide, her hand frozen halfway to her face where she'd been absently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Midoriya-kun," she breathed, sounding genuinely astounded. "That was... that was remarkably thorough. I don't think I've ever heard someone apply quirk analysis to such, ah, personal matters before."
Jirō leaned back against the loveseat, an eyebrow arched high. "You mean you've never wondered what makes people tick in the bedroom, Yaomomo?"
"Jirō!" Yaoyorozu's cheeks flushed pink. "I simply meant his methodology was impressive! The way he connected Kirishima's quirk mechanics to his, um, preferences..."
"Preferences," Jirō repeated, grinning now. "That's one way to put it."
"Kero," Tsuyu piped up from the sofa, finger on her lip, her textbook completely forgotten in her lap. "I always knew Kirishima was caring, but I never realized he was that attentive. The way he checks on everyone after training..."
"Right?" Sero chimed in from his ottoman, a lazy grin spreading across his face. "Dude's basically a walking comfort blanket. You stub your toe, and he's there with ice. You fail a test, he's got motivational speeches for days."
"And he remembers birthdays," Uraraka added, smiling gently. "I never expected you to talk about this stuff, Deku-kun. Let alone know so much about everyone."
Shōji's additional hands made a gesture of agreement from where he sat, still serving as Tokoyami's pillow. "You've always been observant, Midoriya. Though I admit this application is... unexpected."
"Unexpected," Kirishima wheezed from the floor, still resembling a tomato. "He just dissected my entire personality, and you guys are calling it unexpected?"
"Well," Kaminari said, eyes gleaming with renewed determination, "if he got all that from Kirishima, imagine what he knows about the rest of us!"
Izuku felt the sudden, overwhelming urge to flee the country, though that urge died mere seconds after, because who was he kidding? He was being praised for his analysis, his friends were interested, he's no longer bored, and they actually want more!
If he had the energy, he'd be vibrating with glee by now.
Instead, he looked toward the room in general. "Um, so, can I get permission from everyone here to talk about their kinks?"
Kaminari shot up so fast he nearly headbutted his chin. "Yes! Absolutely! One hundred percent!"
"Sure, why not?" Sero drawled, still sprawled on his ottoman. "I've got nothing to hide."
Uraraka shrugged, a small smile playing at her lips. "If it'll be as interesting as Kirishima's, I'm in."
"Kero," Tsuyu agreed, closing her textbook with a decisive snap. "This is better than studying anyway."
Shōji's hands signed something that might have been consent, or possibly just commentary on Tokoyami's peaceful snoring. Either way, he nodded.
Yaoyorozu hesitated, fingers worrying at the edge of her sleeve. "I suppose... as long as it's handled with appropriate discretion..."
"Come on, Yaomomo," Jirō groaned, flopping dramatically against the back of the loveseat. "Live a little."
"I am living! I'm simply being cautious about who analyzes my—" she lowered her voice to a whisper, "—my romantic preferences."
"Midoriya's not gonna judge you," Jirō said, then paused. "Well, he might scientifically categorize you, but that's basically a compliment from him."
Yaoyorozu opened her mouth, closed it, then sighed. "Fine. But if this ends up in his notebooks, I want editorial oversight."
"Deal," Izuku said, perhaps too quickly.
Jirō's eye twitched. "Wait, you actually write this stuff down?"
"I—no—I mean—" Izuku flailed, caught. "It's just observations! For reference! In case I need to—"
"Uh-huh." Jirō's ears had gone fully red now, but she waved a hand dismissively. "Whatever. Do your worst, Green. Just know I'm watching you."
"Right," he said, rolling his shoulders back. "I probably won’t go into as much detail as Kirishima-kun’s, but who's next?"
What followed was... honestly, he didn't know how to describe it.
What do you even call a situation where people willingly give their consent to talk about their own, probably private, kinks? Group therapy? A really weird study session? A disaster waiting to happen?
He didn't know, but he definitely wasn't stopping now.
Sero went first, mostly because he'd thrown his hand up first like they were in class.
"Okay, Sero-san," Izuku began, rubbing his temples. "This might sound boring, but bondage is definitely high up on your list. Your quirk literally shoots tape. You've at least thought about it."
Sero's grin didn't falter, but something flickered in his eyes. "Man, you really just went there."
"You're also fairly carefree," Izuku continued, gaining momentum. "You like things easy, low-stress. So having someone else do the work for you, take control, make the decisions... that probably appeals to you."
"Who doesn't like that?" Sero laughed, though his ears had gone pink. "Fine, yeah. You got me. Pillow prince and bondage connoisseur. Happy?"
"Ecstatic," Izuku deadpanned, and was startled to realize he actually kind of was.
Uraraka was next, and she looked surprisingly nervous for someone who'd just agreed to this.
"You're... vanilla," Izuku said, and immediately held up his hands at her offended noise. "I don't mean that badly! You just like things straightforward. The emotional connection matters more than the... accessories."
She softened slightly, though her cheeks stayed rosy. "Okay, that's... fair."
"But you also like being pampered," he added, gentler now. "Spoiled, even. Though you'd deny it at first, probably feel guilty about it. You'd refuse gifts, insist you don't need anything, but you'd accept them eventually. And you'd love every second."
Uraraka's eyes went wide, then suspiciously shiny. "That's... that's really specific, Deku."
"Your upbringing," he said simply. "You grew up without a lot. Now that you have more, you want to feel taken care of, but you don't know how to ask for it. You want someone to insist."
She looked away, sniffing slightly. "Okay, now you're just being mean."
"Am I wrong?"
"...No."
Tsuyu was almost disappointingly easy.
"Waterworks," Izuku said immediately. "Obviously. Your quirk and your comfort with it, the way you talk about swimming like most people talk about breathing."
"Kero," she agreed, completely unbothered. "That's correct."
"Also bondage. Specifically with your tongue."
Her eyes actually widened, just slightly. "That's... also correct. How did you know?"
"Tsu-san, your tongue can extend up to twenty meters, grip with significant force, and you're extremely precise with it. It would be weirder if you hadn't considered the possibilities."
"Hm." She tilted her head, considering. "I suppose that makes sense."
Izuku stared at her. "You're not even embarrassed."
"Why would I be? You asked, I answered. Kero."
Shōji was trickier, mostly because Tokoyami had shifted in his sleep and nearly rolled off his lap, causing a brief interruption while everyone collectively held their breath.
"You're probably more vanilla than people expect," Izuku said once things settled. "Traditional, straightforward. But with... additions."
"Additions," Shōji repeated, his extra hands signing what might have been amusement.
"Fisting. Multiple penetration. Things that require extra... appendages." Izuku gestured vaguely at Shōji's shoulders. "Also, gags, probably. Toys. Things that let you control the sensory input without needing to rely on sound or sight." He paused, considering, then added with a slight tilt of his head, "And I'd guess you probably like to manhandle someone. Use your strength and move them where you want them. You're gentle by nature, but I think you'd enjoy being able to just... position someone. Make them feel small."
Shōji's expression didn't change, but several of his hands stilled. "I don't know about fisting."
"But?"
"But if my partner wanted to try it," he said carefully, "I wouldn't oppose it."
The room went very quiet.
"That's... very open-minded of you," Yaoyorozu managed.
"I'm a very open-minded pillow," Shōji replied, adjusting Tokoyami's head slightly.
Jirō was vibrating with barely suppressed mortification by the time Izuku turned to her.
"Don't," she warned.
"Vibrations," he said.
"Midoriya."
"Your quirk makes you sensitive to sound waves, but you’re specifically attuned to frequencies and resonances. Physical vibrations at around a hundred decibels equivalent would probably—" He stopped, reconsidering. "You know what, I'm not explaining the physics. You have vibrators. Probably several. You use them a lot."
Jirō's face had gone through red and straight into something resembling a ripe eggplant. "I will poke your eyes out," she whispered. "I will poke them out and use them as marbles."
"So… I shouldn't tell anyone?"
"If you tell anyone, I will play the drums specifically to give you permanent hearing damage."
Izuku nodded, filing this away. "Noted. Moving on."
Yaoyorozu was next, and she looked like she regretted every decision that had led her to this loveseat.
"Food play?" Izuku tried. "Whipped cream, chocolate, temperature play with hot and cold items. You can create anything, so the possibilities are—"
"Absolutely not," Yaoyorozu interrupted, looking horrified. "That's... that's unsanitary. And wasteful. And my mother would die of shame."
"Right, the high-class upbringing." Izuku nodded, unsurprised. "You probably find the idea of playing with food repulsive."
"Exactly."
"So probably more vanilla, then. Traditional, romantic, the kind of thing you'd read in—"
"I am not vanilla!" Yaoyorozu protested, then immediately looked embarrassed by her own volume.
Izuku paused, something clicking. "Your romance novels. The ones you read during study breaks. They're not just romance, are they? They're... inventive."
Yaoyorozu's face was doing something complicated.
"Toys," Izuku breathed, having his eureka moment. "You can create anything. Any material, any shape, any size. You've probably thought about the possibilities. Custom designs. Things that don't exist on the market. Things that would be impossible to explain if anyone found them."
"I create useful items," Yaoyorozu said stiffly. "For hero work."
"And?"
A very long pause.
"...And occasionally other things," she admitted, barely audible. "For personal use."
Kaminari made a noise like a dying teakettle.
Izuku tilted his head, another thought occurring. "Actually, there's something else. Because of your upbringing, you were raised to value experiences and thoughtfulness over material things, no? You spoil your friends constantly, but it's never just money, is it? You carefully choose your gifts and plan your outings thoroughly. Probably so you could show that you pay attention."
Yaoyorozu blinked, caught off guard. "I... yes? I suppose?"
"You'd do the same with a partner then," Izuku continued, warming to the theory. "You'd give them meaningful gifts—custom experiences that are tailored to them. The kind of attention that makes someone feel valued." He shrugged. "Probably extends to the bedroom, too. You'd want to provide and overwhelm them with consideration, to make sure they never forget who took care of them."
He tapped his chin thoughtfully.
"I think you'd enjoy both sides of it. Being the person who steps in, helps, and makes someone feel safe. The dependable person everyone can rely on." Izuku smiled slightly. "But I also think you'd appreciate having someone do the same for you. Being allowed to let someone else take the lead sometimes, to be cared for instead of always being the one responsible."
Yaoyorozu's mouth opened, closed, then opened again. "That's... that's actually..." She swallowed, looking oddly vulnerable. "Yes. That's exactly... how did you know?"
"Pattern recognition," Izuku said, and smiled, genuinely pleased. "You're very consistent, Yaoyorozu-san. It's one of your strengths."
There was a beat before Yaoyorozu's cheeks flamed. Quickly, she Created a fan, instantly using it to hide her flush.
"Wow..." Yaoyorozu breathed, out of wonder or embarrassment, she didn't know which—probably both. "Midoriya-kun, you seem to have thought of this a lot, no?" she asked, amused.
Izuku flushed, waving his arms in frantic denial. "Well! Not this specifically! But—" He breathed, trying to calm down, "—we're always in close proximity, right? It's a bit hard not to notice things about you guys."
"Really?" Sero drawled from his ottoman, sounding deeply skeptical. "Hard not to notice our kinks?"
"That's not—" Izuku spluttered. "I meant general patterns! Habits! Not the... the..."
"The spicy stuff?" Uraraka supplied helpfully.
"Uraraka-san!"
"Well, is it hard?" Tsuyu asked, tilting her head with genuine curiosity. "Noticing things about people?"
"I mean, it really isn't once you get the hang of it!" Izuku fidgeted in his seat, hands moving restlessly. "Anyone can do this if you just put in the time to, y'know, observe things. Everyone does it, at least subconsciously. I know Kacchan does this a lot—he just keeps it to himself and doesn't obsess over it as I do."
"Probably for the best," Jirō muttered. "Bakugō analyzing people's sex lives sounds like a horror movie."
“What? No—”
"Who was the hardest, then?" Kaminari asked, leaning forward with renewed interest. "To figure out, I mean."
Izuku blinked, grateful for the subject change. "Probably Shōji-kun? We never really interact much, and it is a bit hard to gauge things from people who mostly keep to themselves. Same thing with Tokoyami-kun, actually. It's probably why the both of you hang around so much, right? Similar temperaments?"
Shōji's extra hands made a gesture of acknowledgment. "We do appreciate the quiet."
"Then the next would be Yaoyorozu-san, for similar reasons. Sero-san, Tsu-san, and Jirō-san are fairly easy to infer from their quirks. I know Uraraka-san's because we hang around a lot. And Kirishima-kun..." Izuku paused, considering. "Kirishima-kun wears his heart on his sleeve and expresses himself easily, so it really isn't a challenge with him."
Kirishima made a small, wounded noise from the floor.
"Did you just call him easy?" Sero asked, grinning.
"I did not—" Izuku started.
"Midoriya's calling you easy, bro," Kaminari stage-whispered, nudging Kirishima's shoulder.
"I am not easy!"
"You're literally the most emotionally available person in this room," Jirō pointed out.
"That's not—" Kirishima's face was doing that thing again, flushing nearly as red as his hair. "Being open is good! Healthy!"
"Easy," Sero repeated, savoring the word.
Kirishima buried his face in his hands and groaned.
Kaminari laughed in delight, but stopped as he realized something.
"Wait! You haven't done me yet, Mido-bro!" Kaminari pouted, which was a cute thing, all things considered.
Izuku blushed at the wording, but powered through regardless. "It's not that I forgot about you, Kaminari-kun! I was gonna get to you after Yaoyorozu-san. I just got sidetracked."
Kaminari at least looked appeased by the explanation. "Well?" He did that puppy stare again, which wouldn't be good for Izuku's health.
"Uh, well..." He paused, trying to find the right words for this admittedly more complicated task. "I saved you for last purely because yours is a little more difficult."
Kaminari tilted his head. "Eh?"
Izuku sighed. "Well... It's just you're very similar to Kacchan—"
"What?!" Kaminari screamed, mortified.
"Oh, this is gonna be good," Sero muttered, sitting up straighter.
"Please tell me you have notes," Jirō said, leaning forward. "I wanna see his face when you explain."
"I didn't mean your kinks, Kaminari! His is—"
Hold on, if he thought about it like that, they really weren't that far apart, all things considered—
No.
Just, no.
"Bro?"
"What I meant was, if I’m right, then you have baggage tied to it. Is it okay if I talk about it?"
Kaminari looked put off for a bit, but curiosity overpowered him regardless, and eventually nodded.
"Okay, so," Izuku began, slipping into lecture mode without quite meaning to. "As I said, you're similar to Kacchan. You both operate with a superiority-inferiority complex tied to your quirk. You don't like being underestimated because you know exactly how much voltage you can push before it becomes lethal, and you have the fine motor control on your amperage to keep it there. That precision comes from experience, I assume?"
Kaminari pales at the question.
"You don't have to answer!" Izuku waved his hands frantically. "But all I know is that you take pride in your quirk and in your control, which also makes it difficult to accept whenever you short-circuit yourself."
Kaminari sighed, shoulders dropping. "Yeah, it does..."
"Sparky..." Jirō muttered, actually sounding sympathetic for once.
"Uh, this is great and all," Kaminari said, rallying, "but how does this relate to my kink?"
"Ah, I was getting there." Izuku smiled apologetically. "You're also a fan of posturing. I recall Uraraka-san telling me that you hit on her earlier in the school year. She said you were trying so hard to act suave, but completely failed at it."
"Uraraka!" Kaminari whipped his head around indignantly.
"Sorry!" Uraraka grinned, not at all sorry.
The rest of them laughed, and even Tokoyami stirred slightly before settling back against Shōji.
"What I'm trying to get at," Izuku continued, fully invested in his own theory, "is that with all the confidence you project, you’d probably try to maintain that same image in a relationship. You’d act like you’re the one in control, trying to take charge and play the confident one."
He paused, tapping his chin.
"But knowing you, that confidence would probably only last so long before you let your guard down and end up submitting in the end."
"Now hold on—" Kaminari stared at him, mortified.
"Furthermore, you're also a fan of praise. I recall Kacchan giving you a compliment that you were doing better in math, and now you try your best to study just so Kacchan will praise you more."
"Wait, wait, wait—" Kaminari panicked, a furious blush creeping up his face.
"To conclude, you're submissive at your core, even though you posture as dominant. You have a praise kink, and degradation is a hard pass for you."
Kaminari stood up, immediately going confrontational despite the red on his cheeks. "Midoriya!"
"I also recall you looking at dog collars when we went on that trip to Cenova," Izuku added, smiling mischievously. "I asked if you had pets or anything, and I remember you looking very flustered while you denied it."
"I was looking at—" Kaminari spluttered, "—at gift options! For my cousin! Who has a dog!"
"Your cousin," Jirō repeated flatly.
"Yes!"
"The cousin you've never mentioned," Sero added helpfully.
"Who definitely exists," Uraraka chimed in, grinning.
Kaminari's mouth opened, closed, then opened again. "She's... new. Recently acquired. Through... family... things."
"Kero," Tsuyu said, and somehow it sounded deeply skeptical.
Izuku pressed on, his smile widening. "It wasn't until recently that it clicked to me that you were window shopping for yourself."
The silence that followed was profound. Kaminari's face had achieved a shade of red previously unknown to science.
"Window shopping," Kirishima echoed, starting to grin.
"For himself," Yaoyorozu clarified, fan fluttering rapidly.
"Denki," Jirō said, leaning back with immense satisfaction. "You absolute disaster."
"I was looking at gift options!" Kaminari tried, voice cracking slightly. "For my cousin! The one with the dog!"
"The cousin who definitely exists," Sero added, not bothering to hide his grin.
"I—I never told you guys ‘cause she's new!"
"…Through family things," Uraraka supplied helpfully.
Kaminari's hands were flailing now, his blush spreading down his neck. "I don't even—why would I—this is ridiculous!"
"Yeah, sure," Jirō said, completely unconvinced as she examined her nails. "Because nothing says ‘not suspicious’ like panicking, making up a cousin, and knowing way too damn much about leather collars."
"They were nylon!"
"Even worse," Sero laughed. "Dude, just admit it. You want someone to leash ya."
"I don’t—I wouldn’t—Midoriya started this!" Kaminari jabbed a finger at Izuku, who was watching with the fascinated horror of a man who had definitely not thought this through. "This is his fault! He's putting ideas in your heads!"
"Pretty sure the collar was already in your head, Sparky," Jirō said. "He just connected the dots."
"Traitor! You're all traitors!" Kaminari's voice had gone high and strained, his whole body radiating defensive embarrassment. "I'm not—I don't—I like being in charge! I'm a fun, confident guy! I make the first move! I flirt! I—"
"Window shop for yourself," Yaoyorozu whispered, morbidly interested.
"SHUT UP!" Kaminari's hands were in his hair now, pulling at the blond strands. "I hate this! I hate all of you! I'm going to—I'm going to short-circuit the entire building, and—and then you'll all be sorry!"
Sparks crackled at his fingertips. The air smelled faintly of ozone.
"Whoa, hey—" Sero held up his hands. "It was just a joke, man."
"Kaminari, please," Yaoyorozu started. "No one thinks—"
"Denki."
Izuku's voice cut through the noise, low and sharp. Kaminari froze, sparks still sputtering at his hands.
"Heel."
The room went quiet.
The sparks guttered out as Kaminari's jaw clacked shut with an audible click, his eyes going wide as saucers. He looked at Izuku with something between shock and confusion, his body obeying before his mind had fully caught up to what was happening.
Izuku smiled serenely, the expression at odds with the command he'd just issued. "Good job, Denki. Now, would you be a good boy and kneel in front of me?"
His voice was innocent, almost sweet, like he was asking for help with homework or offering a snack. The contrast made the moment feel almost obscene.
Everyone in the room held their breath as Kaminari sank to his knees. Izuku's legs spread just slightly, making room for the boy between them.
He put his right hand on Kaminari's cheek, thumb stroking along the bone with something like tenderness. "There you are," he murmured, soft praises falling from his lips like water. "Such a good boy when you stop fighting. So pretty when you're quiet. Look at you, Denki. Just look how well you listen when you actually try."
Kaminari's eyes glittered, a wet shine that threatened to spill over. He made a small sound, almost a keen, leaning into Izuku's touch like a plant seeking sunlight.
"That's it," Izuku whispered, leaning closer. "You want to be good for me, don't you? You want to show me what a sweet boy you can be when you stop pretending."
Kaminari nodded, the movement small and desperate.
Izuku's thumb drifted lower, prying Kaminari's jaw open with gentle insistence. He dragged the digit across Kaminari's teeth, feeling the give of his cheek from the inside, before resting it on his tongue. "Such a good mouth," he breathed. "So warm. So, so eager… You'd let me do anything right now, wouldn't you? Just to hear me say you're doing well."
Kaminari started to look increasingly wrecked, saliva beginning to drip from the corner of his mouth, his eyes dilated and his breathing heavy. But all he could focus on was Izuku and his words, his world narrowing to the boy above him.
"You're doing so well already," Izuku continued, voice dropping to a whisper that only Kaminari could hear. "Just breathe for me. Calm down. Be my good boy and let all that anger go. You don't need it here. You don't need to pretend. Just be soft for me. Be good."
Kaminari made a small sound, something between a whimper and a sigh, and Izuku's finger stroked his cheek in reward.
"Such a good boy when you listen," Izuku murmured, smiling. "So pretty when you're quiet for me."
Then Izuku's other hand moved, fingers threading into Kaminari's hair, caressing it gently, before yanking downward, tilting his face up to meet his gaze. Izuku leaned down, hovering just above Kaminari's mouth, their breath intermingling in the small space between them.
"But you were bad before, weren't you?” Izuku whispered, and there was steel beneath the softness now. "Lashing out at your friends like that. Screaming at them when they were only teasing. You won't get your treats if you keep being bad, Denki. No one will tell you what a perfect boy you are anymore. Do you understand?"
Kaminari nodded with frantic haste, eager to please, desperate to be good.
"You'll be calm now," Izuku commanded softly. "You'll be sweet. You'll apologize properly later and mean it. Because you're my good boy now, aren't you? And good boys don't hurt their friends."
Another nod, tears threatening at the corners of Kaminari's eyes.
"Your friends would be hurt if you screamed at them like that again," Izuku reminded him, thumb stroking slowly against his tongue. "You wouldn’t want to hurt them now, do you?"
A shake of the head, small and constrained by Izuku's grip.
"Good boy."
It was then that Izuku's gaze snapped up, and he remembered that he had an audience.
Yaoyorozu had her fan up, blocking her face entirely except for her eyes, which were very wide and very fixed on the scene before her. Jirō sat beside her—quirk limp, her mouth hanging open in the most impressive fish impression anyone had ever seen. Sero had inched so far back on his ottoman that he was in danger of tipping off entirely. Tsuyu and Uraraka had somehow migrated together, clutching each other with white-knuckled grips. Kirishima looked close to passing out, his face doing something complicated between aroused and terrified. Shōji had gone eerily still, all his hands frozen mid-gesture, while Tokoyami was staring with eyes so wide they threatened to eclipse his entire face.
Oh, Izuku thought morosely, he messed up.
"What..." Tokoyami's voice was rough, unused. "What manner of dark ritual did we just witness?"
That's Izuku's cue as his hands flinched away from Kaminari's head and instantly went to his feet. Adrenaline started pumping in his veins as energy he didn't have forced him to run away.
"Oh no," he stammered, backing toward the stairs, "I'm so sorry, that was—I didn't mean to—I don't know what that was, I'm really sorry, I should go, goodnight everyone, I'm sorry, please forget that happened, goodnight, I'm leaving now, goodnight—"
He wasn't sure if he actually said all of that or if some of it just echoed in his head as he fled, but he definitely caught Uraraka's bewildered "Deku?" and Jirō's "What the fuck" before he ran frantically up through the staircase.
He didn't stop until he reached his room, and even then, he kept moving, pacing in tight circles, pressing his palms against his eyes, and trying to convince himself that the entire evening had been some elaborate stress-induced hallucination.
It hadn't been. He knew it hadn't.
But he was absolutely going to pretend it had.
Was it too late to join my brain in Hawaii?