"All Truth, No Dare" (One Shot)

I shared this little story on social media over the weekend, but I wanted to post it here as well—even though I’m not the best writer 😄 Sometimes the ideas I come up with are just too elaborate to draw, so I usually end up writing them down and hardly ever share them 🫣

If you’d rather read it on AO3 or leave some love there, here’s the link : All Truth, No Dare

Otherwise, enjoy!

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By the time Katsuki’s pulse finally—fucking finally—calms down, he can still feel that tingling on his lips and the lingering taste of strawberry punch from Izuku’s mouth.

Sticky, sweet, and, in Katsuki’s opinion, way too overwhelming for a first kiss.

He wonders if it’s supposed to feel like this—so intense, so world-shattering, so… everything.

And yet he has no idea if that’s normal.

All he knows is that maybe he should be more embarrassed about making out with his best friend so shamelessly in front of everyone because of some stupid teenage game. But there isn’t a shred of regret in him, not the slightest flicker of shame for blowing past Mina’s ridiculous five-second time limit or for leaving Izuku’s lips all swollen.

Fuck, he’d looked so good afterward —round, plush lips, a deep pink flush on his cheeks that nearly swallowed up his freckles, glassy eyes, and that dopey smile. The image is so fresh in Katsuki’s mind, he can practically see Izuku’s soft expression whenever he closes his eyes.

“God“ Katsuki mutters, raking a shaky hand through his hair.

He’s not fully convinced these memories are good for his heart, especially when the mere thought of black melding into green or scarred hands in his hair sends his pulse skyrocketing all over again. Probably not the healthiest, but living on the edge has always been his deal—why give that up now, barely into his twenties?

Still, he’s more than thankful for this brief moment of Izuku-free space. He doubts he’d be able to form a coherent thought in the middle of that swirling vortex of emotion if Izuku were here, crowding his senses. All Might’s golden boy is currently getting interrogated by his girl squad in Kiri’s kitchen—he’s not sure what “Code: Microwave” even means, but it sounds menacing—so for now, Katsuki sinks deeper into the cushions of the sagging velvet couch. The very one he, Kiri, and Pikachu lugged in this afternoon to clear space for a makeshift dance floor. Worth it, though, people are already taking advantage of that new dance area.

He exhales, letting the muffled bass from the living room fade into the background. Even if the air is thick with leftover potpourri of alcohol and sweat, it’s better than the chaotic swirl inside his chest.

“Kacchan?”

Fucking hell. Katsuki just hopes his doctor didn’t install a secret alarm in his heart-rate tracker.

When he blinks up at the ceiling, he’s greeted not by white paint but by a flash of brilliant green and a galaxy of freckles floating upside down above him.

“Hi.”

Izuku’s smile is shy, but somehow it contrasts beautifully with his bold hands, which plant themselves on either side of Katsuki’s head, resting on the back of the couch. They’re so warm that Katsuki almost leans into them without thinking.

“I was looking for you.”

He sounds hesitant, like he’s worried one wrong word might make Katsuki bolt. Katsuki doesn’t answer right away, taking a moment to let his eyes roam Izuku’s face. He’s trying—futilely—to tell if Izuku’s world has also come undone. Reading people has never been Katsuki’s strong suit, but he’s really trying now.

Izuku’s thumbs brush Katsuki’s temples, leaving a faint coolness on his skin—probably leftover punch or something. That’s when Katsuki realizes Izuku is still drunk. Not wasted, but definitely tipsy enough to be braver than usual.

“I thought you’d left.”

“Where the hell would I go, dumbass?”

Izuku hums in response, trailing his fingertips across Katsuki’s neck and winding them into his blond hair.

“No clue.”

Izuku’s lids are heavy, his green eyes still hazy from alcohol. There’s also… something else in his gaze, in the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth, that Katsuki can’t decipher. Something unreadable that sets Katsuki on edge.

“You okay?” Katsuki asks, trying to sound casual even though his heart is pounding like crazy.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,” Izuku murmurs softly, leaning down. His elbows graze Katsuki’s ears as he hovers closer.

“How about you?”

“Fantastic,” Katsuki replies, though his voice comes out a bit rough.

Izuku giggles—bold little shit. His breath, so close to Katsuki’s face, feels warm and sweet against Katsuki’s cheeks. God, since when does strawberry smell so goddamn good?

“Good,” Izuku breathes against his skin, and Katsuki’s heart does a frantic flip.

“Izuku,” Katsuki clears his throat, placing his hands around Izuku’s wrists. “You’re drunk.”

Izuku’s eyes widen for a split second.

“Just a little tipsy.”

“Still…”

He pouts, and damn it, Katsuki almost loses his mind right there. But Izuku’s offended silence doesn’t last; his expression softens again, and his fingertips come to rest at the back of Katsuki’s neck. When he speaks, his voice is gentle and clear.

„If you don’t want this, just say so.”

“That’s not it.” Katsuki’s tongue moves faster than his brain, and he grips Izuku’s wrists a touch tighter. He can’t help the urgency flooding his voice. “Fuck, I just… wanna make sure…”—that you’re all there when you kiss me again, that you won’t regret it in the morning—“this isn’t a game anymore, Nerd.”

He’s giving Izuku one last out, a final chance to set the world straight again. Katsuki can practically feel his own heartbeat thrumming in his throat, every nerve on edge as if waiting for some unknown verdict.

Izuku hesitates for a fraction of a second, blinking as though he’s searching Katsuki’s face for something. But whatever doubt lingers seems to vanish in the soft, determined set of his jaw. The corner of his mouth twitches, that dopey grin threatening to bloom all over again.

„It never was for me,” Izuku says quietly, as if it’s the most obvious truth in the world.

And with that, he tosses every escape route to the wind.

Katsuki swallows hard. The heat in his chest swells until it’s almost suffocating. No matter how many times he tries to keep a safe distance, Izuku always manages to drag him right back in.

At the edge of his awareness, he can still hear the bass from the living room—a pounding reminder of the party and the risk of being seen. But as he glances into Izuku’s eyes, hears his soft breathing, Katsuki decides he doesn’t give a damn who’s watching.

He slides his hands slowly up Izuku’s forearms, finally releasing his wrists to cup Izuku’s jaw. Izuku’s breath hitches, a subtle catch in his throat, and Katsuki can practically feel the thrum of blood under Izuku’s skin.

“Alright,” he mutters, voice low as he leans in. “Then no more bullshit.”

Izuku’s eyes flicker shut. “No more bullshit,” he repeats, and his lips part, a promise waiting in the space between them.

And this time, when Katsuki closes the gap, it’s with the full awareness of what it means. There’s no fleeting party dare, no sudden rush of adrenaline—just the dizzying realization that Izuku Midoriya is going to unravel him, and he’ll let him do it, over and over again.

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