Chapter Text
Izuku lay sprawled across their king-sized bed. It was past midnight, and he was there doing nothing, just thinking. He should be trying to sleep; tomorrow he has work now as a professor at the UA. But this night he has some other cravings that until now have been making it impossible for him to fall asleep. He hugged tighter the pillow between his arms, burying his face in it, inhaling the faint smell lingering there, the smoky and unapologetic scent of Bakugo. It has been over a week and a half since he was gone on a classified hero mission over the mountains.
It's nothing new for one or the other to have long shifts in their hero duties, but this one was too rushed; the time to let Bakugo prepare was too tight, and so he couldn't prepare anything for him for the times of his absence. And today it was killing him; at this hour, at this time, Bakugo should be using him like a ragdoll, grunting in his ear while rearranging his insides. He misses his rough voice barking at him, the way he’d slam the fridge door too hard, and the low growl he made when he pulled him close at night and whispered filthy promises against his ear more asleep than awake. The way Katsuki’s calloused hands would grip his hips hard enough to bruise. The way those crimson eyes would narrow with that wicked, knowing smirk when he caught him staring.
And miraculously, like the moment was right and they both had reached their limit of being apart, after so many years of sleepless nights lost into each other, Izuku's phone buzzed on the nightstand, marking 2:47 a.m.
Izuku lunged for it so fast he nearly dropped it. The notification lit up the dark room: Kaachan sent a video. No caption. Just a single emoji That makes Izuku's heart skip a beat.
Izuku’s hands trembled as he positioned himself with his back against the headboard. The apartment was silent except for the low hum of the city outside. He hit play.
The video opened on Katsuki’s face—close, intimate, the camera held at arm’s length. Even through the screen Izuku could see the exhaustion in those sharp features: stubble shadowing his jaw, hair a wild mess under his hero mask pushed up like a headband, eyes burning with that familiar intensity. But there was hunger there too. Pure, filthy hunger.
“Oi, Deku,” Katsuki’s voice rasped, low and gravelly, the way it got when he was already half-hard and thinking about ruining his husband. “Been gone too fucking long. My guts are killing me. Been holding this load for you the whole damn week and a half. Every shitty meal, every protein bar, every bit of waste from this godforsaken mountain— all of it’s been churning inside me. For you. Smells fucking rancid already. You’d love it.”
Izuku’s breath hitched. His cock twitched in his sweatpants at the first words. He palmed himself slowly, not wanting to finish too fast. Not yet.
Katsuki smirked, that cocky tilt of his lips that always made Izuku weak. “Bet you’re already leaking, huh? My little slut. Miss my ass? Miss the way it tastes when it’s been baking all day?” He pulled the camera back, revealing he was in some dingy safehouse bathroom—concrete walls, a single harsh bulb overhead. No shirt, just dog tags glinting against his scarred, muscular chest. His hero pants were shoved down to his knees, boots still on. He turned, showing off the thick, powerful swell of his ass—pale skin dusted with fine blond hair, the dark cleft between his cheeks already glistening with sweat.
Izuku whimpered aloud in the empty room. “Kaachan…”
Katsuki squatted down slowly, powerful thighs flexing, boots planted wide on the tiled floor. He set the phone down somewhere, angled perfectly, making obvious this was not an improvised act; someone as control freak as Bakugo should be preparing for the making of the video for at least an hour before recording. Then he reached back with both hands—those big, strong, explosive hands—and gripped his own cheeks, spreading them wide. The camera caught every detail in brutal clarity: the tight, dark ring of his anus, hairy and slightly puffy from holding everything in for so long. A faint sheen of sweat made the coarse blond hairs around it stick together. His pucker twitched visibly.
“Fuck, it’s heavy,” Katsuki groaned, voice strained. “Been clenching all day thinking about you. You ready, shitty-nerd? This one’s gonna be thick. Just how you like it.”
Izuku’s mouth watered. He shoved his sweatpants down, cock springing free, already dripping pre-cum onto his stomach. He didn’t stroke yet—just watched, mesmerized.
Katsuki grunted, deep and guttural. His hole flexed, pushed outward. A wet, crackling sound filled the audio as the first log began to crown. It was dark—almost black from days of compression—thick as Izuku’s wrist, veined with cracks where the surface had dried but the inside promised to be soft, mushy, steaming. Katsuki’s breath hitched. “Nngh—shit, Deku, it’s coming out so fucking slow. Like it knows it belongs in your mouth instead of on this stupid plate.”
Bakugo had laid a white ceramic plate on the floor beneath him earlier—now it waited like an offering. The first log pushed out steadily, inch by inch, heavy and solid. Steam rose visibly in the cool air of the bathroom. It curled, thick and glossy, the surface shiny where it was still hot and moist. Katsuki’s hole stretched obscenely around it, the dark pink rim clinging to every ridge.
“Goddamn, it’s huge,” Katsuki panted, still spreading himself wide so Izuku could see every detail. “Week and a half’s worth, baby. All that travel food, all that protein—fermented nice and tasty just for you. Bet you can already smell it through the screen, huh? It surely stinks to make my eyes water. The exact way that makes your cock throb and your throat open up like a good little toilet.”
The log finally broke free with a soft plop, landing heavily on the plate. It was massive—easily eight inches long, coiled slightly, the tip still connected to a second log pushing out right behind it. Steam curled off it in lazy wisps. Katsuki groaned louder, thighs trembling. “Fuck yes. There’s more. So much more. You’d be gagging on this right now, wouldn’t you? Mouth wide open, tongue out, begging for every inch while I call you my filthy cum-dump and shit-eater.”
Izuku’s free hand flew to his cock. He couldn’t hold back anymore. He stroked in time with Katsuki’s grunts, eyes glued to the screen. The second log was softer, creamier—darker on the outside but breaking apart slightly as it slid out, revealing the mushy, peanut-butter texture inside. It piled onto the first, forming a steaming, glistening mountain. The smell wasn’t there, but Izuku’s mind supplied it perfectly: rich, bitter, pungent. His mouth watered so much he had to swallow.
Katsuki kept talking, his voice rough with effort and arousal. “Imagine it was your face instead of this plate. Me squatting right over your pretty freckled mouth, feeding you log after log while you jerk that pathetic tiny cock of yours. You’d swallow every bite, wouldn’t you? Choke it down like the addict you are. My perfect fucking toilet husband.”
Another wet crackle. A third, shorter log—darker, almost tar-like—slid out and splatted onto the pile. Katsuki’s hole fluttered, empty for a moment, then clenched. He let out a long, relieved sigh. “That’s most of it… but wait—fuck—”
A sudden, violent fart ripped through the speakers. A massive fart exploded from his still-spread ass, hot and wet, blasting directly at the camera. The lens fogged instantly—brownish mist and spray speckling the glass. The view blurred into a hazy, smeared mess for several seconds, the audio filled with Katsuki’s dark, satisfied laugh.
“Shit. That one snuck up on me; it's a shame you weren't here to sniff it. Bet you’d have your face buried in my ass, tongue out, catching everything. My nasty little shitty nerd toilet."
The camera cleared slowly as the fog dissipated. Katsuki’s face reappeared—he’d grabbed the phone again, now holding it close while he stood up. His cheeks were flushed, and his eyes were half-lidded with relief and lust. Sweat beaded on his forehead. Then he tilted the phone down, showing the plate like a trophy.
“Look at that fucking masterpiece,” he growled, his voice dripping with pride. “All for you, Deku. Steaming hot. Thick. Creamy in the middle. I saved every single gram. Holding it in, letting it pack and ferment just so you’d get the full load when I get home.”
Bakugo stated, and the camera moved at his movements; it appeared he had taken a seat on the toilet and, at some point within his words, had picked up the plate, approaching the steamy feast close to the camera.
Izuku’s strokes sped up. His balls were tight, cock throbbing painfully.
Katsuki’s expression turned wicked. “But how am I going to feed you this if I just dumped it?" He positioned the phone maybe in the sink so he was in the frame, holding the plate. Bakugo reached down with his free hand, picked up the longest, thickest log between two fingers—still warm, still glistening. He lifted it toward the camera, turning it slowly so Izuku could see every ridge, every soft spot where it would melt on the tongue. “Watch me, slut, and don't you dare to look at anything else."
Without hesitation, Katsuki brought the log to his own mouth. His tongue flicked out first—broad and pink—lapping at the tip, tasting his own waste right there on camera. Not a single wince, not a gag, just a slow and methodical action that spoke of familiarity. A low, filthy moan escaped him. “Mmm. Still warm. Bitter as fuck. Tastes like me after a long mission. Bet yours would taste even better mixed with my cum.”
Then he opened wide and bit down. The log cracked audibly. He chewed slowly, deliberately, eyes locked on the camera—on Izuku. Brown smeared across his lips, a small piece clinging to the corner of his mouth. He swallowed with an exaggerated gulp, throat bobbing. “Fuck, that’s nasty. But you love it, don’t you? Love knowing I’m eating my own shit so I can shit it out again—twice as fermented, twice as thick—straight into your greedy mouth when I get home.”
Log by log, he did it. The second piece—creamy and soft—he sucked on like a cock, hollowing his cheeks as he slurped, moaning around it, letting it melt on his tongue before swallowing in thick gulps. The third he swallowed whole, his head up, showing his throat working and his prominent Adam's apple bobbling up and down. Bit by bit the dark log disappeared from his mouth and visibly was pushed down, his muscles working, his throat visibly expanded around the shit, pushing it down with a terrific masterfulness that made Izuku's throat feel dry, while his cock pulsed within his fingers, squirting a lofty amount of precum.
With a loud, satisfied gasp, Katsuki finished swallowing and opening his mouth wide, showing nothing was left. Then he pushed the plate against his face and licked it clean, long and slow stripes, with his tongue flat against the cold plate, recollecting all his waste until the white surface was shining clean with his spit. His piercing ruby eyes were unblinking, staring at the camera, as if he could pierce Izuku's soul with his stare, even when it was through a video.
“When I walk through that door in a couple days, my guts are gonna be so fucking full. Maybe two weeks of my waste, fermented, all for you. You’ll be on your knees the second I kick off my boots. Mouth open. Tongue out. I’m gonna squat and drown you in it. Log after endless log. You’ll be choking, crying, cumming your brains out while I call you my useless shit-eater.”
Izuku’s orgasm hit like a freight train. He cried out Katsuki’s name, hips bucking as thick ropes of cum splattered across his chest, his neck, even hitting his own chin. He kept stroking through it, milking every drop while the video played on—Katsuki licking the last smears from his fingers, smirking with brown-stained teeth.
The video ended with Katsuki grunting at the camera, with his lips brown-smeared. “Empty that stomach, Deku. When I get home, you’re gonna need room. Love you, shit-slut. Can’t wait to fill you up.”
Izuku collapsed back against the pillows, chest heaving, phone still clutched in his sweaty hand. The screen faded to black, but the image of that steaming pile, of Katsuki eating his own waste just to make it even better for him, burned behind his eyelids.
He whispered into the dark, voice hoarse and desperate. “Please, God… let the mission end soon. Let him come home with his guts packed full. Let me drown in it. All of it.”
Izuku closed his eyes, already aching for more. For the real thing. For his husband’s heavy, hairy ass descending over his face, for the hot, endless flood of fermented shit that only Katsuki could give him.
He’d wait. Empty stomach and all.
He’d wait forever if he had to.