Bullet | Suicidal Todoroki x Midoriya

7 | Asphyxia

This story is not intended to promote or encourage actions/behaviors such as suicide, self-harm, abuse, violence, or substance abuse.

Izuku Todoroki

Four days had passed since Izuku descried his husband muttering to himself at the kitchen counter. Shoto was like a paper lightswitch in the wind—he was a torpid doll, but at the scant shove to the wind's trajectory, he combusted into an enraged, feral animal—but Izuku could only cogitate just how fragile that paper was. Sleeping with Shoto had become quite uncanny and uncomfortable, but even then, Izuku was unable to refrain from occasionally attempting to cuddle with his husband.

I crave his touch, Izuku thought as Shoto crawled into bed with him. I want to be affectionate with him, but it usually pisses him off. Even though it was never very often, I just...felt so loved and happy whenever he hugged me. I'll always love him, but it's so awkward to try and express it now.

"Shoto?" Izuku whispered after a few minutes of a rustling silence had settled.

The darkness spoke with silence until a husky voice answered, "Hm?"

"Could we...um, cuddle for a little bit?" Consternation perforated his being like envenomed spears.

Like a rusted screw, Shoto's body gradually spun to face Izuku. "I guess. I hurt you earlier today, didn't I? I don't remember. Maybe I'm mixing my memories." His fingers interlaced with Izuku's inky hand from the lake of shadow drenching the room, and with that, the gap between the two was drawn out.

Izuku swallowed up the space between his lips and his husband's while tenderly caressing Shoto's side. Shoto's lips tasted like residual alcohol and salt, but Izuku simply began to traverse beyond the silky folds that his lips enveloped. Perfervid brio and avid curiosity welded into a scalding flurry of glacial grandeur. Their digits danced over ridges and valleys, and with silent synergy slicing through dull and playful touches, they'd torn off the fabric that sheathed them both.

Shoto and Izuku had only advanced their time in bed together to a level above innocence once before, and that had been on the night after they were wedded. Yet, as Izuku gnawed at the neck, shoulders, and chest of his husband in the blinding darkness of the shuffling sheets, the next step only felt natural. Initially dubious due to Shoto never being fond of the idea, Izuku figured that he would explicitly inquire as to whether or not Shoto was okay with the decision; Shoto shrugged and replied that he had nothing to lose.

Seeds of passion were planted, but they yielded such pulchritudinous petals of pity.

After all was said and done, Izuku felt a torrent of clashing feelings. He was satisfied but not surfeited, happy but not certain, lost but not deterred... Those feelings pushed his insides around, stomped down on them, and stretched them asunder.

Shoto had been predominantly silent throughout their session of fervent love, despite having participated in some of the minor facets of the event. He seemed as though he desired what Izuku did, but the reality that Izuku saw did not align with such an assumption; to Izuku, Shoto's actions were perhaps derived from festering culpability.

Still in the process of regaining his breath, Izuku queried, "How was that?" He deftly massaged Shoto's back; his fingers compressed and rubbed into velvet regions of slick silicone.

"I don't know," Shoto sighed. "Why?"

The motions of Izuku's hands across Shoto's shoulders slowed from dejection. "I mean... Did it feel good whatsoever? I just thought that it might, well, not exactly make you happy, but...just bring a different, nice feeling to you." He rubbed a heart onto the back of Shoto's shoulder from his thumbs.