r18, mdni, 12,200w
Bakugou Katsuki x reader
And honestly? He can’t even deny it anymore.
Bakugou Katsuki is hopelessly in love, and with his best friend, no less.
When another man asks you out on a date, you’re ecstatic, giddy, and all too eager to accept. So of course you’ll say yes, right?
Wrong. Katsuki has other plans, apparently. Plans that did not include (both of your) hidden feelings rising to the surface.
(best friends to lovers, a bit of childhood friends to lovers)
Warnings/tags: jealous (very jealous) Katsuki, possessiveness, angst and big argument, he literally cockblocks you, AND pins you against your will at one point, kind of rough sex because...it’s Bakugou, he’s soft after sex <3, an impromptu Kiri appearance, happy smoochie sexy ending
If you’d prefer, you can also read this on my Ao3! ♥️
He doesn’t know when it started eating away at him, this feeling. It’s a burning, sweltering, so damn distracting type of feeling and it’s just about swallowing up his whole being. It sits thick behind his ribs, makes his heart jump a few beats too fast whenever he so much as looks in your direction.
It’s infuriating. It always has been.
Maybe this fire he feels for you ignited back during the UA days. A small, simmering little thing it was back then, mainly because he forced it to be, forced himself to fight it down with bared teeth and sharpened nails. Denying, and denying, and denying because Bakugou Katsuki didn’t fucking need anyone. The only person he would ever need was himself.
But that was way back when, back when he was still an unpredictable ball of anger and so emotionally constipated that everyone was surprised it wasn’t painful—back when he would scoff at the notion of love, of weakness.
Now? Not so much.
It’s been years since...those days, and he’s graduated and climbed the hero rankings so quickly that it’s near frightening. Of course, experience dominos along with this feat, and of course, it’s something that he’s had plenty of now. Plenty of them eye-opening, a handful of them near-death, all of them tucked away for safekeeping under the green nylon of his belt.
The slow roll of time has ticked away over the years, and frankly, it’s also ticked him off in part. Because not only has he had time for maturity and growth and yadda yadda yadda, but he’s also had time to grow into himself, his morals, and most (if not the only thing) of all—
He’s had time to grow into his feelings. As sickening and as ooey-gooey as they may be.
It probably began on the day when he decided that you were remotely tolerable (for reasons he will never admit), and after that, the both of you naturally pulled closer. So close, in fact, that you have the key to his apartment, and he has yours. So close that he doesn’t throw a confused glare when he finds you lounging on his couch after a long day of hero work like he would with literally anyone else. So close that when he sees you walk out of his shower in nothing but a thin towel, he doesn’t even bat an eye.
(On the outside, at least—)
It’s purely platonic, that’s what it’s established itself to be, you guys are just friends. And to any normal person, that’s exactly how it would appear. Save for the few who know Bakugou better, who know that he would never in a million years give someone as much freedom to roam around in his home, in his heart, as he gives you.
Unless, of course, there are some...other feelings at play.
And honestly? He can’t even deny it anymore.
Bakugou Katsuki is hopelessly in love, and with his best friend, no less.
Well, one of them, at least. Kirishima is without a doubt his best friend as well, but the relationship he’s greedily carved with you isn’t like that. Not at all.
Because Bakugou doesn’t feel this nastiness that rots from his stomach to his chest whenever Kirishima tells him about a new girl that he’s talking to, and that he’s hopeful it might blossom into something more. He doesn’t see red at the edges of his vision or have to suppress his quirk from just exploding because he’s so jealous that it hurts.
Kirishima isn’t you.
Kirishima isn’t in his room, draped over his bed, gushing about some “cute” fucking guy he met at the coffee shop he frequents every Friday.
“And then he asked for my number! Can you believe it, Katsuki?”
You don’t notice the gruffer than usual grunt he gives in response, or the fact that his eyes roll so hard they nearly disappear into his skull. You haven’t been noticing this whole time, or maybe you’re pretending not to.
(It’s an expertise you and your tight-knit circle have perfected over the years: learning to tune out his rough behaviors. They bounce right off of you now, barely even affect you because you know they hold no malice.)
(...Most of the time.)
He’s seated with his back against the headboard, aggressively tinkering with the lever that’s now dangling from his gauntlet. It got busted up during patrol earlier, he’d told you, and the villain who did it? Well, they’d ended up with a bit more than a black eye and bruised up ribs.
You shift on your stomach, begin to pick at the wrinkles that ripple over his black comforter when you say;
“At this rate, I might just find my true love before you do.”
It’s so obviously a tease because the words roll off of your tongue playfully, jokingly, no harm intended. It’s usual, the banter, but what is not usual is how your eyes droop just the slightest bit, dully, almost sadly.
Katsuki doesn’t notice this detail, he can’t notice because he’s too busy seething in his own pool of anger. It’s silent and without words, the way he lets his grip around the screwdriver turn to iron. He digs into the gauntlet with so much force now that his forearm and hand sprout vein after vein after vein, all of them a papercut away from bursting.
Anybody who has so much as seen Bakugou Katsuki, whether out and about or featured on TV, knows full well that he is more than capable of snagging himself a girlfriend. Hell, he could even have multiple if he so desired, what with all of the women practically throwing themselves at him left and right. So you find it odd how he never accepts any of them, never even tries. He doesn’t even look in their direction, just brushes them off like they’re some annoying little bugs.
It’s puzzling, all of it is, and despite this, you’ve never once poked or prodded for a solid answer because you’ve already come to your own hard-to-swallow conclusion.
Well, two conclusions, actually. Your first is that he just doesn’t want a romantic relationship. Your second? He already has his eyes set on someone else.
You’d rather not think about the latter.
Because thinking about it means letting a part of yourself wither and die away, to disintegrate with the wind.
It’s a war you haven’t quite learned to face yet; the war with yourself, with your feelings.
You’re not sure when it surfaced, this fondness that has wormed itself into your heart, forged trenches so deep you can never seem to shake it off.
Longing, longing, longing. It’s all you can ever seem to feel when you’re around him.
But the worst part by far is the aching. When the spindly vines of those deep-rooted feelings wrap around your heart, grow thorns and pierce your gummy flesh until you’re bleeding, bleeding, and bled.
It hurts, it always has. And it’s silly, you know it is, falling for your best friend. He would definitely think it is too, he would probably think that it’s stupid.
The thought haunts you, so does the feeling that just never seems to fizzle out despite how badly you’ve wished for it to because you’re positive that he would never feel the same way. So you’ve resigned yourself to your fate, resigned yourself to finding distraction in other things, in other bodies.
Even if he’s being a bit rough with you right now, it’s just because he’s tired, right? It’s late, patrol was draining for the both of you, he’s probably at that point of tired where he just doesn’t give a fuck about anything, where he gets all grumpy and short.
(No, it’s the opposite, actually—)
Katsuki does give a fuck, he gives a trillion fucks about this stupid coffee shop dude, so when your phone dings with a text and you nearly fall off of the bed because—Oh my god it’s him! He really texted!—it takes every drop of restraint within him not to just stand up and smash his window to flying shards.
“What did he say?” Now he has to get involved, and the words seep through his bared teeth in a quiet growl.
“He asked if it’s me,” you giggle and tap away at the screen, “the ‘coffee shop girl’.”
‘The coffee shop girl’
Did that douche really forget your name? Or is it some shitty nickname that he thought would be cute? You apparently think it’s very cute, though, and he wants to fucking scream.
He’s practically burning holes into your phone now—he wants to burn it, actually, explode it with his own two hands and leave it a heap of smokey ashes on the floor.
Seeing you all giddy and giggly would usually have his heart squeezing and his mind softening. It never fails to because fuck he loves it. He thinks he’ll never get enough.
But this is different. This isn’t right. You shouldn’t have your heart fixed on some other guy, looking all hopeful that something more will happen.
A sour taste finds its way onto Katsuki’s tongue.
He hates it, hates the little nickname, hates how every ounce of your attention is glued to your phone and not him. If it was on him, you’d be able to see, clear as day, the deep crease lining his brow; it’s sharp enough to cut glass. You’d also see the additional veins protruding from his temple and the column of his throat, and the painful flexing of his biceps from where they’re now crossed tightly against his chest.
If your attention was on him, you would have seen how he was nearly shaking when he placed his gauntlet and tools on the floor, as calmly as someone like him could manage in a situation like this.
It’s been slipping this whole time, his restraint. A flimsy little thread it is right now, the only thing that’s holding the raging pieces of him together, the only thing that’s keeping him from going crazy.
And with every little shift of your hips and curl of your lips, he finds that thread straining tighter.
It pulls and yanks and threatens to snap each and every time your eyes light up, each time you sound a cute little noise because of something someone else said.
(He should be the one making you feel that way—)
He tries his best to appear ‘calm’, he really does. And after a few minutes of staring bullets into your skull, trying to will you to just glance in his damn direction, he questions you again despite knowing that his voice would sound anything but.
“So?” he grits out. “The fuck is he saying now?”
You don’t respond. Barely even react. All you do is give a light, absent hum and it’s obvious that you didn’t bother to register a single word he said, nor did you bother to register the resentment in his tone.
That moment almost makes him lose it.
If only he knew what you were going to say next.
“Oh my god, Katsuki,” you squeal and it’s like your whole body writhes in joy. “He just asked me out on a date. Holy shit, how do I respond? Do I say I—”
There it is.
It was going to happen eventually, he knew it was. He can only take so much. It’s why his lips draw back in a snarl and his overly hot and sweaty hand snatches up your phone, plucks it all too easily from your grasp. When your squeal blends into a gasp, he’s quick to turn his back to you.
“What the hell are you doing?” you nearly yell, bursting up from your stomach to tackle him off of the bed. He barely even flinches, just takes the full weight of your body against his back like you’re nothing. He shifts himself again so your prying hands stay off of and away from his front.
“Give it back!” You sound desperate, so desperate that Katsuki almost feels bad. You keep attempting to paw past his shoulders and around his biceps to snatch it back, but your arms aren’t long enough and he just keeps matching your movements so each and every time you’re met with the bulging muscles of his back.
“Hold on,” he grunts, elbowing your reaching arm away.
Then he feels your nails dig into his shoulder, and a little whine of a sound leaves your throat. “Katsuki, please—”
Fuck, why did you have to say that of all things? And in that tone too?
Suddenly, he’s hyper-aware of the position he’s in. How you’re pressed so tightly against him, clawing at his shoulders, his arms, his back.
Begging him for mercy.
All of it swelters something within him, something naughty and carnal and needy.
“There.” He shoves the phone back at you roughly, retreating all too quickly to his spot against the headboard.
Honestly, you’re lucky he didn’t just blow it to bits. You’re lucky he could manage to restrain himself into doing something that was, in his opinion, much more graceful.
(You’re lucky he didn’t pounce on you right then and there—)
He wipes his palms on his sweats, watches you with large pupils and narrowed lids as you stare intently at your screen.
It’s wet, there are little droplets of sweat sitting over the keyboard towards the bottom. The long edges of your case are wet as well, but you’re focused on something else entirely.
Your eyes are glued to the most recent text, the one that apparently came from you, the one that you definitely did not just send yourself.
‘No. Fuck you assface. Stop texting me’
And your stomach, along with your composure, drops to the floor.
“Bakugou, what the fuck?!” This time, you do yell. He winces slightly at the name, his last name. You only use it when you’re beyond pissed with him.
You try to text him back as fast as you can, apologizing profusely because oh my god, I’m so sorry my asshole of a friend took my phone—but when you hit send with a frantic finger, you find that it doesn’t deliver.
“He blocked me?!” you gape, wide-eyed and in disbelief.
“Good,” Katsuki scoffs, seemingly proud of what he’s done.
“What is wrong with you?” Your seething hands reach for the nearest object, which just so thankfully (for him) happens to be his pillow, and you send it barreling towards his head.
He meets it with ease just as he did with you before, catches it and places it in its rightful place like it’s nothing, like you’re nothing. It’s like he couldn’t care less about what he’s done, doesn’t even bat an eye at how he just blatantly ruined this for you. And for what? A sick joke? Maybe he’s just a sadist and he revels in seeing you suffer. Maybe he secretly hates you. That’s what it certainly feels like, because now you’re seeing red, and now you’re feeling this smoldering thickness seeping up from your stomach and diffusing rapidly to the tips of your ears.
“C’mon,” he still sounds smug, a lazy smirk curling his lip when he reaches out in what seems (to you) to be mock reassurance. “Don’t tell me you’re that mad about it, he was probably fucking lame anyway.”
You smack his hand away with an honest to god snarl. It has your hand stinging with pins and needles, his is probably the same because he stares at the red mark surfacing on his palm with rounded eyes and parted lips.
You could honestly scoff at the insanity of it, how that got him to drop his smug attitude.
(It dropped almost too easily, too quickly, maybe something in his mind flipped at that moment, made him realize that oh shit, you’re really mad, and oh shit, he might have fucked up.)
It’s building, the anger, leaving you hot and desperate and needing to fucking lash out.
So it grows claws. Teeth. They’re nasty and ruthless in their first bite, aiming to draw blood.
“No, fuck you,” you spit with the intent to cut deep, and you’re pleasantly surprised to see that wow, it actually does. He flinches at your words, at your tone. Then you’re pushing off of the bed, going to stand up. “I’m leaving, Bakugou. Don’t ever fucking talk to me again.”
Maybe it was a low blow to put that much emphasis on the name, to basically end your long-lived friendship with the snap of a few simple words. Maybe all of it is a low blow, this whole situation has been a conveyor belt of them, one after the other, each of them hitting harder than the last.
Katsuki is frozen in his position as he watches you move. Your sore thighs tremble the slightest bit from the strain of patrol as you shift to go stand. He can clearly see your wince from the pain and the hard clench of your jaw because you’re close, so close, and he could easily grab you and yank you back, as cruel as that sounds.
But, and in a way he can’t describe, you’re also far, almost too far and that distance is only growing inch by inch as the seconds tick past.
He deserves it, he knows that fact full well. You should be leaving after the stunt he pulled. It was selfish, it was greedy. Greedy of him to want you all to himself despite being too fucking scared to ask you out, greedy of him to ruin your chances with whoever the hell you were fawning over.
Would he take back what he did, though?
Not in a million years would he let someone else have you, not if he could help it.
But now, he’s finding that it’s hurting in the worst way, the fact that you’re really pissed over what he’s done and that you’re really serious about leaving. It sinks him heavy into the sheets, roots him and any action he wants to take in place.
He wants to reach out to you.
He wants to stop you, to tell you everything.
(He wants to tell you he’s loved you for as long as he can remember—)
But his blood is cold, turned to cement within his veins as he watches everything he’s built with you dissolve right before him. Every memory you’ve shared, all the way from the first day at UA to the shitshow that has been today. If he lets you walk out of that door, he's sure that all of it, all of you will be lost to him.
He watches in what seems like slow motion as you finally stand to your feet, as you take your first step towards his door.
He watches as you take a few more steps, as you bend down to snatch up a handful of your many sweaters that have found a home in his room.
There are four words running through his mind, blaring over and over like a fire alarm, loud, loud, and louder. Screaming to be heard.
He can’t lose you.
He can’t lose you.
He can’t fucking lose you.
So he acts, without his permission, before he even knows what he’s doing. It’s like something within his psyche forced him to do it.
You’re under him within a second, desperately yanked backward by the wrist and flopped back onto the bed. It leaves you dizzy, your mind spinning, and it takes you a few moments to come to and realize that the one person you do not want to see right now is hovering just above you.
“Get off of me,” you bark, shoving at his chest, his shoulders. But just as before, your actions don’t affect him one bit.
“I didn’t want him to have you,” he says almost immediately, and his tone carries a firmness that doubles yours.
“Yeah? I’m well aware.” Your voice is higher now, less angered and more so just blended with confusion because what the hell is happening right now?
It’s not unusual for the two of you to spar or for you to be under him in such a position, but this time it feels different. Obviously, everything about this situation is different from your run-of-the-mill spar (you’re literally on his bed—), but that’s not the point because right now, you aren’t too sure of his intention.
What is he planning to do? Is he just going to keep you here and bully you back into friendship? Yeah, no way in hell.
So you switch to more desperate measures, turning shoves into balled fists and stiff legs into kicking ones. That only makes him press closer, though, and his palms snatch up your wrists and dig them deep into the sheets.
“No,” he growls and his eyes are like lasers, boring straight into your damn soul, red and unwavering. He speaks slower, puts emphasis on every word now as if you didn’t quite understand him the first time, “I didn’t want him to have you.” As the last one drawls from his lips, his grip on your wrists tighten, almost painfully, and he bruises them down even harder.
As strange as it is, you think (you hope) that the action is kind of possessive. And the thought of what that could imply stirs up something you thought you tucked away long ago, something that was meant to rot alongside you in the grave.
It’s warm and gooey, whatever has been ignited, seeps through your abdomen and mixes like some forbidden cocktail along with every other nasty feeling that’s rooted itself there. You don’t know how to feel, don’t know what to do or how to react. So you do the first thing that comes to mind, the thing you’ve always done, the thing that comes naturally.
You fight it.
“I don’t know what the hell you’re getting at, and frankly, I don’t give a single fuck,” you spit, “Now get off.”
It’s an order, but he doesn’t listen. You will your body to flail and writhe under the weight of him, trying to do anything you can to free yourself so you can just get up and leave this whole mess behind.
You try to kick your legs up again, maybe knee him in the damn balls if that’s what it takes, but he has your legs effectively pinned with his. Your arms are helpless too, so the only thing you can really do is arch up and squirm around like some kind of freak worm.
Even with your training, you’re still so weak under him. You must look pathetic, every time you push up against him he just absorbs it all too easily with the brute of his strength. Everything you do is fruitless, you know it is, you know it will be so you’re just about to start screaming, but his next words break your thoughts—
“Does he know how you get quiet when you’re nervous?”
Your fight falters slightly at that, body going rigid and confused. “What—?”
“How sweet you like your morning tea?” He’s not even giving you a chance to respond, maybe he doesn’t want you to. Maybe he has something to prove. “How you carried that stupid stuffed animal with you everywhere you went, our first few weeks in the dorms?”
You’re gaping at this point, lips parted and dry. “How do you even remember that—”
“‘Course he fuckin’ doesn’t,” he interrupts with a growl. “You know who does?” He brings his face closer, eyes red and blazing with something you can almost taste. “Me. I fucking do. Because I pay attention.”
Well, he always has, hasn’t he?
Now that you really think about it, there’s plenty of things he’s done for you that have no plausible explanation unless he really was paying attention, and closely at that.
Every dish he’s made you has always been seasoned to perfection, despite you never telling him what you’d preferred. Your hair, too, he’s always done it with this strange ease, eloquent with his nature even though you’d never taught him how. He doesn’t even have any siblings, and you’re positive he would never practice on anyone else.
When you were feeling down, you somehow always got pinged with text messages throughout the day—him giving you little healthy reminders to wear your winter coat, or to drink some water, or to not push yourself too hard, dumbass. On these days, you’ve even moped into your apartment after patrol to find him cooking you a plentiful dinner. He must’ve known you’d be too spent to cook, let alone eat.
It’s like he’s always known everything. Down to every little detail.
(Remembering little details, doing little things. It’s what he’s always been best at.)
(With you, at least—)
He’s always been right there as well, glued to your side. Sometimes with a hand a bit too low on your back, sometimes barking at anyone that dared to get a bit too close, teeth bared and ready to bite.
He was the first one to your hospital room when you got injured in your second year, he was the first one at your door when you didn’t show up to the agency that one day.
When your old apartment building was destroyed by those villains, he was the first one you went to and he let you live with him for months.
He was the first one you went to for...everything.
It’s always been him.
And he’s always had those same eyes, as crimson and as beautiful as they are. Those same eyes that carry the weight of a secret you know all too well. He’s giving you them, right now, staring at you so deeply like he’s hoping to god you’ll get the message this time around.
And you do finally get it, you think, because “just friends” don’t look at each other like that.
They don’t look like they want to kiss and laugh and make love in bed together, forever.
“A friend” doesn’t look at you with pleading, near begging eyes because it’ll somehow mean the end of the world for them if you leave.
No, a friend doesn’t look like that at all.
“Do you even know—” He cuts you off harshly. “Do you even know what it’s like to be around you? How much I’ve wanted to just—” He pauses, head hovering just above yours for a few short breaths before—
He kisses you. Crashes his teeth into yours in a way that’s entirely too rough, in a way that’s almost painful. There’s nothing romantic about it, nothing heartwarming or sickeningly sweet like he’d hoped the first press of his lips against yours would taste. It hurts with the weight of years upon years of repressed feelings, of needing this moment to happen.
At this point, he doesn’t even care if you don’t return the sentiment, he just has to let it the fuck out before he goes insane.
But you don’t push him away like he’d expected, don’t even squirm or squeak in surprise. Instead, he feels you melt into him with equal need, with equal greed, hands trailing up his nape and through his hair to pull him that much closer.
The action is wordless, mute. But it tells him all he needs to know.
Katsuki’s the one to pull away, and when you try to follow him with a low whine he pushes you back down with his weight, head dipping to your neck, the underside of your jaw.
“Such a fuckin’ idiot,” he rasps between each suck and you can feel the smirk he’s wearing. “My fuckin’ idiot.”
It sends a shudder that zips down your spine, the possessiveness of it all, the fact that that really just happened. It replaces the anger that once boiled inside with a fluttering feeling that’s almost completely overwhelming.
It soon does become overwhelming, though, because then everything’s moving much too fast for you to keep up, moving much too fast for you to even adjust. His teeth at your neck, his breath on your skin, his calloused hands smoothing under your shirt and over your ribs, inching higher and higher and higher until—
“Katsuki,” you gasp under him, stiffening, “wait, I—”
“Tell me to stop,” he rasps against you, halting his body, his breath. “Tell me to walk out of here right now and things can go back to normal.”
It’s a lie. Both of you know it is.
Nothing can go back to normal, not after tonight. But that’s just it, you don’t want things to go back to normal. That was obvious from the moment you kissed him back.
You want to tell him to touch you again, to kiss you until the morning sun rises, until you’re both panting and breathless and dewy. But you don’t. Your eyes and lips remain heavy as you stare at him, his hands on your torso, his hard abdomen on yours.
You’re just trying to give yourself time to process, well, all of this, but he takes that as hesitation.
He rises and leans back now, still holding his breath, still searching desperately for an answer.
“Tell me what you want, Y/N,” he whispers just loud enough for you to hear. There’s a slight mourning in his voice, like he’s already grieving over what he thinks your answer will be.
Once again, you don’t respond right away, and his face is quick to fall.
And once again, you’re still busy mentally picking up the pieces of yourself, organizing and slotting them back together from the mind-shattering kiss and revelation he’s thrown you into.
He’s right here, wedged in between your thighs and firm against your hips. It’s a position you’ve imagined yourself in time and time again with him, only him, always him. You’ve wanted all of these things for so long, and the promise of them, of what they could be, linger so close you could reach out and snatch them.
And you’re about to do just that, you’re so eager to, so eager to wrap around and cradle them with the lengths of your loving fingers. But then they start to pull away, start to climb off of you, their warmth and comforting weight disappearing and suddenly something fearful within you bursts.
You grab him by his collar, snag it by the sharp of your claws like a wolf on an empty stomach. It’s ravenous, it’s desperate. You pull him back down with such a force and, just like before, your lips collide like two speeding cars.
“You,” you’re quick to say between breaths. “I’ve always wanted you.”
Katsuki grunts at the sudden impact, it’s muffled by your mouth on his, and his eyes round as he braces himself on his forearms. It takes a short, stiff-lipped moment for him to realize that, no, you did not just reject him, and no, his life is not ruined, and when he does, he’s heaving a relieved sigh through his nose.
It’s deep, the warm puff of air diffuses along your cheeks.
“Took you long enough,” he grumbles when he parts just barely.
“Sorry,” you puff back with half a heart.
You gasp when his tongue swipes your lip, squeak when his teeth bite down at your bottom one, wet with his spit. “Better be,” he scolds between his teeth, and then he sinks them in deeper. A punishment. “Gave me a fuckin’ heart attack.”
It’s not enough to draw blood, he doesn’t want to hurt you, but you still start whining at the pain, trying to tug him away by his roots. He relents with ease, even licks at the slight mark that’s left and guides you into another open and wet kiss.
Katsuki’s mentally scolding himself and his prior eagerness, so he paces himself slower this time around. He’s more tentative; he lets his lips get sloppier and his hands get grabbier, but only when he knows you’re ready—when he’s positive that you want it.
Eventually, you do start squirming under him. Your hips wiggle around and try to catch on the thigh that’s wedged between them.
“Needy,” he rumbles from under your jaw, from where he’s been sucking at for the last minute. He latches onto your pulse again, sucking and lapping when he inches a single palm under the hem of your shirt. He smoothes over the soft flesh of your breast, squeezes and then pinches at the peak of it.
You gasp at the sensation, but this time, it’s in pleasure, and this time, he knows not to stop.
He rolls his hips into yours for the first time, still clothed, but you can still feel the firm line that’s straining against the fabric.
You try to sound like you have some semblance of control, but your words come out high and withered as you say, “If I’m needy, then what is this?” And you take the opportunity to bump your hips up, grinding against his obvious erection. It makes him groan, right into your flesh, and he quickly retreats his lips with a wet pop.
“S-shit,” he curses low. He raises his head and you can see the strained expression lining his features. His focus settles on your eyes, then your lips, then to where his hand is still resting over your chest.
Then he starts pawing at your shirt. “Get this shit off,” he hurries. “Let me fuckin’ see you.”
Your shirt comes off first. His follows soon after, but not before he eyes both of your breasts and gives them a loving squeeze. The garments are torn off unceremoniously, with the haste and eagerness to bare and be bared.
He tries to yank down your bottoms and panties in one go. It fails, and it sends you awkwardly dragging along with them. And then Katsuki yanks on them again, and you barely resist the urge to kick him.
Soon though, and after many impatient fumbles and muttered curses from Katuski, every piece is thrown behind his shoulder and lost somewhere on the floor.
It’s like he has no shame being completely naked in front of you. He probably doesn’t, hell, he shouldn’t. Washboard abs and ripped muscles, not to mention his picture-perfect face. He is perfect, he always has been, and he greedily rakes you up and down as he takes you in completely.
His cock bobs against his stomach as he moves. It’s bigger than you’d expected. Girthier, more length too. You think for a second that it’s more than you can take.
He shoos your arms away when you try to shield yourself, easily pulls your thighs apart when they stay stiff instead of opening for him to slot between. He crawls himself back over you and supports himself around the sides of your head.
“Are you scared?” he questions, and you can tell that it’s genuine. There’s no smirk, no smugness to it, there might even be slight concern.
“No,” you say, and you want to cringe at how your voice wobbles. “Why would I be?”
Katsuki clicks his tongue and grips you by the jaw, forcing you to meet his scrutiny.
“Don’t fuckin’ lie to me. You know I hate that shit,” he hisses. But instead of hounding you for a truthful answer, he comes to smooth that same harsh palm over your forehead, brushes your stray hairs back.
It’s calm. Soothing, too. Both of which surprises you. But the simple act settles you, nonetheless. So do his next words of;
“I’ll take care of you, okay?”
You know they’re sincere, you wouldn’t believe them to be anything but. He always has taken care of you, after all, in one way or another. They make you want to melt right under him and you almost want to laugh at how easily he’s calmed you with just a few simple, soft-spoken words.
Your hands find his biceps and you give them a reassuring squeeze. Both of you share a look.
“Okay,” you whisper with a nod.
Katsuki nods back, only slightly, and he looks almost proud as he does. Of you or of himself, though, that much isn’t clear.
He travels down your body, trails the calloused pads of his fingertips over and along your curves. It’s slow, very slow, how his touch ghosts along your bare skin, over your ribs and hips and finally down to your thighs. It makes your legs tremble with the urge to snap them shut. Then he’s dropping a kiss to your navel just as he rests his head between them. A hot puff of breath spreads over your core—
And that’s when your legs finally threaten to close, but then there are wide and firm hands finding the meat of them, holding them still before you even get the chance.
“Relax for me, baby,” he coos but there’s a rough undertone to it, and the name shoots straight to the rapid-fire beating of your heart. It rolls off his tongue so easily, so naturally. You love it, you want him to call you that forever.
You’re nodding again, this time more shakily, trying your best to calm your breath and your nerves.
And you do relax, eventually, with enough slow sweeps of his thumbs from where his hands rest and with enough butterfly-light kisses to the soft inner flesh. You untense, turn complacent, and he uses that to his liking.
“That’s it,” he says, and he spreads you apart with the greedy press of his palms. He licks his lips just as he goes to glide a thumb through your slit, collecting the slick and using it to rub slow, gentle circles over your clit.
You jolt at the sensation, and your fingers find hold in his sheets and clench. A high, broken noise rises from your throat.
“You’re so fuckin’ sensitive,” he husks. He almost sounds excited at the discovery, and his eye has a carnal glint to it now, lip curved and showing teeth.
But then he falters for a fraction of a second. His features ebb into something that’s more shocked, more wavering. “Shit, I thought you’ve done this before?”
“O-only a few times,” you get out, a bit breathless and heaving because he still hasn’t stopped his motions.
Then the finger on your clit disappears, but only for a moment because then it’s dipping straight into you. And despite the fact that you just confirmed his previous thoughts, you still hear the angry growl that wrenches from his chest.
“Oh, baby.” He’s starting to pump in and out, and you can tell that his mouth is hovering close because you can feel his hot breaths when he rumbles, “I’ll treat you better than any of those lame fuckers have.”
His mouth finds you suddenly, his tongue, too. They latch onto your most sensitive spot and lick and suck and slurp. It makes you jolt again, more violently this time. But it also has your thighs tensing in that telltale way that he’s already learned to predict.
So his free palm finds the flesh of one, gripping and digging deep just as he messily removes his mouth from your core.
“Don’t you dare close ‘em,” he commands, eyes burning into you like magma, red and hot and powerful. “Not ‘til you’re screaming my fuckin’ name.”
There’s a shudder that wracks through your core and down the lengths of your legs at that, at his tone, and that’s when Katsuki knows he’s got you right where he wants you.
So he licks his lips, simmering in the pride that’s come with turning you all cute and submissive and sinfully presented. Then he returns right back to where he was before, except this time, he moves more skillfully, more determined. His licks and sucks turn sharper, much more pinpointed on the spots that he’s finding make you cry out the loudest.
He prods another finger at your opening, it’s thick so it stretches as he inches it in, and it also burns. But it doesn’t burn enough for you to yelp out or writhe away because he eases it in slowly, gently, like he’s trying to learn your limits in this new way.
It’s a stark contrast to the treatment he’s giving your...other parts, and your teeth latch onto your bottom lip, eyes squeezing shut.
He laps his tongue at your clit still, even flicks his eyes up to study your face, watchful and sharp as he tries to help you relax. And he keeps doing this for as long as you need, until he can glide the two digits in and out without resistance, until your slick and his spit are drooling down and around his knuckles and onto the bed sheets below.
“Oh, fuck,” you sigh out. You’re moaning softly now, hands having migrated from his sheets to the roots of his hair.
“Yeah?” he grunts and it vibrates straight from his mouth and into you. “You like that?”
You do manage to get out a few whiney yes’s, and when your fingers start to dig into his scalp and pull, Katsuki lets out a long groan.
It’s like he keeps finding new nerves that you didn’t even know you had, and when you jolt and whine at all the sudden feelings, he targets those spots relentlessly, almost cruelly.
There’s a hot pressure rising deep in your gut, there has been this whole time. It’s why you start grinding your hips up, desperately trying to chase that feeling.
Katsuki starts grinding his hips down as well, he can’t help it, you just sound so damn hot. You look it too, with your head thrown back and neck on full display with each and every mark, each and every claim he’s left there.
His, his, his, is what those marks say. And he’s glad, fucking ecstatic, because now the whole world can see it.
He starts grunting out something in between when his mouth parts from your sex, they are words you can vaguely make out from the heavy slurping and the heavy breathing. Something along the lines of him telling you to come, him telling you to give it to him, c’mon, baby.
You were already panting out short and shallow breaths, but when he curls his fingers suddenly, it’s like every bit of air gets pushed straight from your lungs.
Your climax jolts through you suddenly, and you start choking on nothing as you gasp out broken syllables of his name. Then you realize that he’s not stopping, he hasn’t even slowed down.
So you start squirming, it’s only natural that you would. Katsuki doesn’t take too kindly to this, apparently, because he keeps a strong arm curled around your trembling thigh and he flashes you a narrowed carmine eye, just daring you to try and escape.
“Ka-Katsuki—” you get out, whiney and wet-eyed. “‘s too much—too much, please—”
He’s smirking into you now, but you don’t register it. Maybe you would have if your senses weren’t already so overstimulated, if your weak hands weren’t desperately pawing at his head.
You let out a particularly weak sob, a pathetic one, and that’s what finally gets him to relent. You don’t even notice him crawling over you because of the arm you threw over your face, so he just hovers there for one, two, five seconds too long before finally clicking his tongue.
“Look at me,” he tells you, dragging your arm aside. So you do, even though you’re still locked in a fuzzy daze. “Yeah, there we go. So fuckin’ beautiful.”
He drags a finger along the line of your jaw, shamelessly admiring you in the pleasure-drunken state that he so dutifully caused. Then he’s leaning down to slip his tongue past your parted lips. It’s still drenched with you, so is his chin, but he doesn’t seem to care, and frankly neither do you. It’s only when he parts and wipes his mouth with the back of his palm that you start to care, because then he wipes the remnants of before on you, right in between your soft breasts.
He smirks evilly as he does this, teasingly, and he watches as your features scrunch in confusion, only to morph into annoyance.
“You could have wiped that on your bed sheets,” you half-spit, half-pant out. “Or better yet, on you.”
You’re too spent to really do anything but give him a scolding gaze, but Katsuki barely even seems bothered by it. In fact, he looks pretty amused.
“Why?” he questions, and then he comes in close, cages you in with his arms. His voice is gravelly as he snarks out a low, “You’re cute when you’re mad.”
“Yeah?” Your tone is slightly teasing now, prodding. You try to lean up towards him, get him nose to nose with you. Meeting his challenge. “Does that mean you’d get hard whenever I’d get mad at you?”
His eyes darken at that, and not in the way you would have liked to see.
“Maybe,” he husks back.
He doesn’t even bother to hide the obvious lust coating his voice.
Your resolve stutters, so does your brain. Frankly, you don’t know how to respond to that. Sure, you asked, but no, you did not expect it to actually be confirmed.
So instead of answering verbally, you opt for different, (and in your opinion) much more fitting measures. You raise your arm to jab at his shoulder in disgust, but he catches your wrist swiftly and lowers his body flush to yours. The action pulls a gasp from you because you could feel it before, but now you definitely can.
His cock, the thick weight of it is throbbing sporadically against your thigh, and the liquid drooling from the tip has smeared across your skin.
You want to smack him away, want to keep poking at him for getting turned on as a result of your anger. Honestly, he was probably turned on whenever the two of you would spar as well (you certainly were, not that you’d ever admit to it). You wonder how many times he’s popped a boner at your oblivious self.
You can’t continue down that line of conversation. He doesn’t let you.
“I’ll show you what it’s like to get fucked,” he growls right into your ear, changing the topic all too quickly because he’s probably impatient at this point, all pent up from before.
“You want that?” he speaks again with a strong roll of his hips into you, and then he’s nipping at the shell of your ear until you’re crying out a high yes. He curses under his breath at that. “Yeah? You wanna fuck your best friend?”
Really, you barely even comprehend the sentence, the meaning behind him still using the words ‘best friend’ and not ‘boyfriend’. But it’s dirty, so dirty, spoken with such an edge that all you can do is struggle under him.
He hisses when your movements meet his cock, broad hands shooting to your hips, firm and rough as they hold you in place.
You’re whining a little now, sputtering out a short, “Yes, Katsuki, please—”
He gives an ambiguous hum, noses his way up from your ear and along your cheek, all the way until it bumps with the tip of yours. And he just keeps himself there, hovering, and he’s wearing an expression you can’t quite place. His brows are furrowed and his eyes are narrowed almost angrily.
“‘m not your best friend anymore,” he murmurs and there’s a strange softness to it, a slight vulnerability. Then he continues, “‘m your fuckin’ boyfriend now.”
The sentiment is obvious, has been obvious for a short time now, and this time you certainly comprehend what he’s just said. But before you can even return it, he’s already easing himself inside of you.
You whimper a little at the sting, but it’s swallowed up whole by the mouth that’s dropped to cover yours. It all comes so suddenly, and you’re wet, very wet, it’s just that the prepping he gave you with his fingers is nothing compared to this.
It burns and stretches far too uncomfortably as he pushes himself in deeper.
So you squirm away from him for the umpteenth time tonight, and he lets you. He lets your nails dig into his biceps when you voice a weak, “H-hurts, Katsuki.”
“I know,” he answers far too gently, but there’s a hint of desperation as well. He drops kiss after kiss to your forehead, to the edges of your lips that are held tight. “I know it does. But it’ll feel good soon. Just trust me, alright?”
You can’t see it, but every muscle in him is straining, willing his body to hold still for your sake. His jaw is clenched as well, molars grinding as he fights against this fucked up want to split you in one swift thrust.
“I said I’ll take care of you, yeah?” he manages to voice.
You nod fractionally, leaning to hide your head in his shoulder when he continues pressing in slowly, agonizingly. Then he dips a hand between your bodies and draws circles over your clit, trying his best to help you soften up.
“There we go,” he coaxes when you finally sigh and unravel. “See, you can take it.”
“Yeah, yeah,” you get out airily, and when he finally bottoms out, both of you let out a gasp.
He stays like that for a few moments, has you get used to the feeling of him as the lines of your nails soften against his skin. And then he pulls his hips back fractionally, only to push them right back in. He hisses at the sweet drag of your walls just as you curl into him with a moan.
Katsuki keeps himself at that steady pace; slow and shallow and careful. It’s only when you start bumping your hips up in what he knows is a silent plea that he allows the bits of his restraint to slip.
Longer, deeper, harder. His hips are almost moving on their own.
“Fuck,” he curses as your nails carve their way down his back. They leave trails of deep red that he’ll fawn over later. For now, though, he focuses on the sweet pain that they give, at how you seem to open up to him with every thrust, allowing him to snap into you with more vigor, with more force, each one harsher than the last.
“O-oh, Katsuki—” you moan high at a particularly rough thrust that sends you nearly bumping into the headboard. And he repeats the action again, and again, and again.
“Say it again,” he demands, harshly. “Scream my fuckin’ name.” He slams into you once more, it’s the hardest he’s done thus far, and it has his name ripping from the back of your throat.
He could almost come undone right there, at the sight of you like this. It has his eyes nearly rolling all the way back because it’s just like how he’s always imagined it to be, it's just like how it should have been way before this moment.
Katsuki shoulders off your arms and you’re just about to whine, but then his fingers find yours. They slide up and along your palm, intertwining together and squeezing as he slams them down into the sheets beside your head.
It happens so quickly, the movement is so swift, so harsh. It leaves you even more breathless and wanting than before.
He’s still towering over you, still smothering you with his body and his breath and just him, except now his body is like a cage. He envelopes you whole, surrounds you and drowns you and silently threatens to never let you go.
And you love it. The safety and comfort that his body over yours brings. It’s needed, so fucking needed and you want to stay here with him, within him, for as long as time will allow.
You call out his name again, though it comes out more as a high plea, and you lift your head up just barely, trying to catch his lips.
He sinks down all too easily when he realizes when you want, feels your fingers squeeze him back when he smothers you for a bit too long until you’re bursting for air when he finally pulls away.
“I love you,” you pant out suddenly. So suddenly that you honestly don’t know what compelled you to say it. But you did, nonetheless, and now the words are out there, floating in the small space between you and him.
You felt like you had to say them, right now, like if you didn’t your heart would implode.
Katsuki’s eyes widen and his hips stutter dumbly as if he’s trying to process what you’ve just confessed. He is, to be fair, but he never once stops his motions, only lets his hips get sloppier and his lips get messier when they rush down to yours on instinct.
It’s fast, it’s rough, and the impulsive surge of them has become typical at this point. His teeth click with yours on the impact.
“I love you too,” he answers. Then he’s cursing under his breath, “Fuck—I think I always have.”
His words are small, breathless, almost too quiet for you to pick up on between his fierce rutting. He tries to hide them within the press of your lips, tries to muffle them into the warmth of your mouth.
Then he’s tucking his head into the line of your neck, bashful like he’s trying to hide. If your hands were free, they’d be pulling at his hair right now, tugging in a way that you’d hope would get through to him as, I heard you, and I think I’ve always loved you too.
You brand little red crescents into the palm of his hand instead, hoping that they will be enough to convey that feeling.
Katsuki’s chasing his own high now, you are too. And every grunt he sounds in your ear zips straight through to that liquid heat pooling in your gut.
His nails begin to dig into your palm now and he’s nearly crushing you in his iron grip as those same grunts and groans soon blend into moans. They’re needy, so are yours, and both of you know that you’re approaching a similar sharp ledge.
Katsuki releases one of your hands, comes to rub rapid circles over your clit.
“Come for me,” he grunts and he tries to hide his desperation between gritted teeth. “Fuckin’ come. C’mon.”
He hears your breathing pick up and feels your walls clench down around him, so he praises you, “That’s it, you’re almost there. Oh, f-fuck-”
His filthy encourages never stop, won’t stop until you give him what he wants. Dirty phrases of give it to me, fuckin’ come on this cock, and so much more ring through your ears and echo right through your skull.
And it’s all so much—his voice paired with his touch on all the sensitive parts of you. It has you hurtling over your edge in no time, has you crying out broken as fiery heat surges through every bit of you. You rattle against him, arch up just as he’s pressing down and overtaking you so he can steal all of your breaths, your cries, your moans.
He’s falling right after you, but not before his hand shoots back up to weave with yours. He dents them into the sheets, knuckles gone white from the severity of his grasp. And with a loud groan, he’s burying himself inside for the final time with one last, resounding snap of his hips into yours.
His sticky warmth fills you up, it’s weirdly calming, and your cries die down just as he collapses into you. He’s still kissing you, he never stopped kissing you, and he forces your mouths to share hot breaths. He follows your lips whenever you try to turn away, and he keeps following them until you’re desperately whimpering and clawing into him.
He lets you breathe, finally, and he watches you with eyes that are entirely pupil as you sputter to get air in your lungs.
You’re heaving now, both from the lack of oxygen and from the mind-numbing climax, but you settle at his touch when he smoothes over your forehead and slides away the hair that was sticking there.
You don’t see it but his eyes are soft, softer than he’s probably ever allowed them to be when after a short moment he murmurs, “You’re finally mine, huh?”
He faintly smiles when you manage to shudder through a weak nod, and he comes to trail a fingertip under your eye, along your cheek.
It’s slow, too tender from the tough-nut hero that the outside world knows him to be. He traces the planes of your face with it, memorizes every curve and line in a detail he couldn’t have until now. Over your eyelid, the corners of your mouth, your cupid’s bow. When he trails down the bridge of your nose and his finger meets the tip of it, you scrunch.
A small chuckle rumbles through him, through you too, and when you both meet eyes, you voice your thoughts;
“I expected you to be rough, but god, Katsuki.”
“What? Couldn’t handle it?” he teases lightly, ego definitely inflated. “You seemed to take it just fine. You seemed to fuckin’ love it actually—”
“Shut up,” you quip back quick, breaking shyly from his gaze.
He rumbles another chuckle, this one victorious. “C’mere,” he mumbles as he wedges his arms under and around you, then he rolls over until you’re both on your sides.
Both of you are sweaty and still slightly panting, but that doesn’t stop you from curling right into him. It’s almost instinctual, how you press in skin-to-skin and tangle your limbs with his.
You want the grounding touch, you need it, and with the way Katsuki’s clinging back, it’s obvious that he needs it as well.
(He’s holding you so close that you can smell him, he smells almost like—)
“Caramel,” you voice absentmindedly.
Katsuki throws a confused gruff of a noise back, which over the years you’ve learned to interpret as something along the lines of, “The fuck are you saying?”
You trace a finger along his skin now, just like he did with you before. Baby-light and gentle as it waves over the crest of his collarbone and down the valley between his pecs, collecting the layer of sheen that’s settled there.
“You smell like caramel,” you elaborate. “I guess I never noticed it before.”
He doesn’t reply, you’re only repeating what he knows, after all. He only hums in acknowledgment and drops a kiss to your forehead, letting his lips linger.
He lets his fingers linger too. He has them resting along your back, sometimes smoothing them over your sides, sometimes trailing them down, down, and down to give your ass a loving squeeze.
And that’s how the next few minutes go. Soft touches and shared breaths. The air feels light now, although it does still hold onto that telling scent of love. You find yourself slipping into a quiet intimacy, a shared one, and you’re sure you’ve finally found that peace you’ve always longed for, right within his arms.
It’s natural, it feels so right, you want this peace to stretch out into forever, but Katsuki’s the first to break the soothing silence.
“Was it true?” he questions.
There’s a slight hesitancy carried within his tone, a slight vulnerability too, both of which confuse you.
You shift back a bit, pick your head up so you can see him. “Was what true?”
“You said ‘always’—” He pauses, then he tilts his head. “You said you’ve always wanted me.”
You trail your eyes up and around as you try to pinpoint when you said that, or even if you said that. As you do this, Katsuki’s hoping to god that you can’t feel his quickening heartbeat, and that you don’t notice the look of anguish on his face when you don’t respond after a few long seconds.
When you part your lips to speak finally, he’s nearly sucking in a defeated breath between his teeth because maybe you said it as a spur-of-the-moment thing, maybe your sudden I love you was also the same.
“Yeah,” you smile softly. “It was true.”
Or maybe they weren’t.
He finds himself untensing at that; he didn’t even realize that his shoulders were nearly reaching his ears. He presses you back into him, holds a firm hand to the back of your head so you can’t see the embarrassing face he knows he’s probably wearing.
“You dumbass,” he grumbles. “Why didn’t you do anything then?”
Why didn’t he do anything, is the true question on his mind.
“I didn’t know if you felt the same way,” you muffle into the warmth of his chest, and you shift so your cheek mushes against him instead. “I didn’t want to ruin what we had.”
He shakes his head against you, lets the hand against your scalp turn limp. You take the opportunity to lift your head up once again, and you can finally see the small, dopey smile he’s wearing.
It’s cute, his lips are barely curved, and his cheeks are still colored with a touch of pink from before.
“You’re a fuckin’ idiot, you know that?”
I’m a fuckin’ idiot, his thoughts whisper instead.
“We’re both idiots,” you snort.
Katsuki gives a light huff of a laugh, comes to plant one long, warm kiss on your forehead.
“Fine,” he mumbles back.
Katsuki leans away when you start trying to get more comfortable. Your hips and shoulders wiggle as you shimmy around until your back is pressed comfortably to his chest, and you sigh as you fall still and comfortable and sleepy.
He drapes an arm over your side, sighing contently along with you.
It’s quiet for another long while, a comfortable silence. For how long, you’re not too sure. Katsuki’s warm, though, very warm. Maybe it’s his quirk—it probably is—he’s always running hotter than the average person, both in appearance and in body temperature, and the temple of his body consuming you has you dozing off soon enough.
Katsuki stays awake. He can’t fall asleep. He’s too preoccupied with adoring how you look, how you feel. How can someone be so soft? He wonders—
How can someone be so beautiful?
For him, the answer is simple: you’ve always been beautiful. The apple of his eye. Light and radiant and sometimes a pain in the ass, and he loves every part of it. He doesn’t know what it was about you that pulled him in, perhaps it was a mutual pull; two gravities of two lovers who thought their loves were unrequited, who thought they were fated to never have or escape the other.
He’s glad the hardest part is over.
Because now he’s here, resting against your naked body as he watches you sleep so soundly. Even with your hair all tangled and messy and even with the fat of your cheek smushing awkwardly against his arm, his eyes still have that fond glint to them, they always have.
It’s like a slideshow in his mind now, this new future that he’s sure he’ll share with you. He’s already imagining all the possibilities, counting all the shared laughs and kisses and touches—
He’ll be making breakfast, a hearty one, and you’ll walk in with your messy hair and groggy eyes as you wear one of his shirts—it’s too big for you, but that’s the whole appeal. And as you kiss him good morning you’ll taste the caffeinated green tea that’s still soaking his bottom lip.
You’ll come home from patrol one day, there will be deep scratches and cuts littering your smooth skin, all of which are unattended to because you’d refused the paramedic’s help—“I’m fine, really! I don’t need it!” you’d said with a hero’s smile. That same reassurance won’t budge him, though, and before you can even voice it you’ll already be propped up against the bathtub while tender fingers clean up and wrap your wounds.
You’ll sleep in your shared bed, inside of your shared apartment, and he’ll know that your pillow smells like your conditioner because he’ll somehow always find his way over to your side of the mattress, muttering on about sleeping easier when he’s holding you snug to his ‘cold’ chest. It will be on one of those nights, 3 AM, when you’ll nudge him awake with restless hands and restless eyes, and before you can even tell him why he’ll be smushing closer, humming in that soft, gravelly tune that always helps you fall asleep.
His mind wanders on and on and on, and he lets those predetermined memories sink in, soften him up as he just lays there and breathes and hopes. He lets them engrave themselves into every corner of his mind so he’ll never forget their meaning. Hangs them up on imaginary walls like timeless paintings and slots them together like mosaics to be kept and held and cherished.
He’ll make it happen, he knows he will. He won’t settle for anything less, not when he’s finally got his whole world in the palms of his hands.
He’s not sure when his eyes fluttered shut, but he gives a satisfied sigh, nonetheless.
Katsuki’s ripped from his thoughts suddenly, and much earlier than he would have liked, by the dull vibrating of his phone.
It rattles from where it sits on his sheets, and as he glances down to check if you’re still asleep, he’s thankful that the sound of it is muffled. His eye still twitches in annoyance as he goes to scoop it up, though, and he’s careful not to wake you.
He eyes the screen and when he sees the name, and that they’re facetiming him, he can’t help the smirk that tugs at his lip.
He clicks the volume down just before answering, and a familiar redhead pops up on the screen.
“It’s late, Kiri. What do you want,” Katsuki gruffs in a hushed tone, but there’s no malice behind it. In fact, there might even be a hint of excitement.
You’re still tucked into him, but you’re also very visible to the camera. He’s mindful to keep your intimate bits out of view, of course, so he only shows you from the eyes up while his chin rests atop your head.
Kirishima doesn’t seem to notice this, his head is turned to the side and he looks like he’s occupied with something else as he asks, “Dude, what’s the recipe for that spicy ramen you made? You know, the one you put, like, a bunch of that weird hot sauce in—”
His eyes flick to the phone for a moment, a split second, and when he flicks them away out of habit, he freezes. Then, slowly, his head is turning to face the phone completely, and when his eyes fall on the screen again, his jaws drops to the floor.
It’s obvious that he’s trying to process just what the hell he’s seeing. You, sleeping on what looks to be a shirtless, slightly damp, and slightly flushed Katsuki.
Said man meets Kirishima’s eyes with a shit-eating grin, and both of them share a look.
Kirishima’s the first to speak, or rather, yell;
“DUDE, YOU FINALLY MADE YOUR MOVE?! HELL YEAH! TOOK YOU LONG ENOUGH!”
Despite the low volume he made sure to set his phone to, the voice still booms through the speakers. It makes you stir awake, signaling both men fall still when you crinkle your brows.
You let out a groggy little sound too (it might as well be the cutest thing Katsuki’s ever heard), and oh my god does he have to resist the urge to melt right there in front of his friend.
You blearily blink your eyes open and you’re met with a wide, sharp-toothed smile.
“Hi, Y/N!” the man beams, sounding all too excited. The camera shakes a little as he waves at it.
“Oh, hi Eiji.” You smile softly at your friend, trying to suppress a small yawn.
Then your focus suddenly snaps to the hand holding up the phone, the hand that is not yours. There’s a warm weight pressed against your back as well, and a sharp jab of something on top of your head. Both of which are things you also realize do not belong to you.
You start prying at the extra arm around your waist, but that only makes it lock up and you can feel the hard (and very big) muscles flexing, basically mocking your futile attempt at escape.
You’re utterly trapped. There is no escape from this, you realize. It’s your muscles against his.
“O-oh, um,” you trip over your tongue and try nudging at the arm again, “we were just—”
“We fucked,” Katsuki interrupts, very proudly.
“No. We just, um—”
That makes Kirishima bark out a laugh, and it surprises you. Then he waves a reassuring gesture at the screen. “Hey, we all knew it was gonna happen eventually. Honestly, you won’t believe the amount of times he’s—”
“Shut the fuck up,” Katsuki snarls from above you. His finger goes to hover over the ‘end call’ button, probably out of fear that Kirishima would continue his thought, that he would voice how Katsuki’s complained to him an embarrassing number of times over the years about wanting to ask you out.
But instead, the man on the screen relents, changes the subject swiftly and knowingly.
“Fine, fine,” he chuckles. “Hey! Recipe, can you send it?”
An annoyed tongue click sounds, and the hovering finger relaxes. “I’ll just make more for you, dumbass.”
“Oh, okay! When?”
“I’ll bring it by tomorrow,” Katsuki gruffs. And then he’s motioning down at you with his eyes, and in a not so innocent way either as he grits, “Is that all? I’m kind of busy.”
Kirishima grins. “Yeah, that’s it. Bye, Y/N! See you tomorrow!”
Oh, right. There’s that meeting tomorrow about an upcoming mission, if you remember correctly. And oh, oh no. That means you have to face him, along with everyone else in your group who he’s probably going to go running to right after this.
Hanta, Shinsou, Denki and fucking Mina. Yeah, on second thought, skipping that meeting doesn’t sound half bad.
“Uh-huh,” you manage to croak out. “B-bye.”
Kirishima turns his attention now, it’s obvious because now red eyebrows are wiggling up and down.
“And goodbye to you, loverboy,” he teases.
“Oh, fuck off,” Katsuki barks, but his angry finger ends the call before he can even finish the retort.
His phone is tossed aside hastily, off of the bed and clunking loudly with the floor below. It’s not broken, you know this because you gifted him a black otterbox case for his birthday last year (you’d gotten sick of seeing him crack his screen every other week) to replace the flimsy clear one he’d had for forever.
Even still, the clattering is loud, and it’s the last sound before a deafening silence falls over the room. It’s almost eerie, and the both of you are like statues, frozen bodies and held-in breaths, waiting, waiting, waiting,
You make the first move.
Slowly, your head peels off the sheets, and you peer up at him in all his blushing glory.
“Loverboy,” you coo and giggle.
Your head is pushed back down by a rough and unrelenting palm. A squeak leaves you on the harsh impact.
“Sleep,” Katsuki grunts. “Before I make you.”
“Ish that a threat?” Your voice is mushed by how hard he’s pressing you down.
He’s looming over you now, looking at your squished and accursedly cute cheeks with tight lips and a tight brow. “Do you want it to be?”
“Dependshon how you go about it.” You take the opportunity to bump your hips back, right into his groin, and Katsuki nearly moans.
The hand at your head disappears, and you can practically hear Katsuki lick his lips. “What are you hinting at babe?”
“Ooh.” Your voice has a high lilt, and you prop yourself on your forearms to see him. “So I’m ‘babe’ now?”
“‘Course you fuckin’ are,” he snarls. Then he’s towering over you suddenly, slotting right in between your thighs with one swift motion and pinning your arms and your eyes down. “You’re fuckin’ mine. You hear me?”
Sometimes you forget just how fast he can move. It’s almost frightening, really, but you can’t deny that it’s also thrilling.
“Yeah.” You close the few inches between your lips to give him a quick peck. “I hear you.”
Katsuki hums at that, seemingly satisfied, the sharp crease between his brows softening. Then he’s leaning down further, cheek sliding with yours as he closes in right next to the hard shell of your ear, giving it a loving nip.
“Good,” he husks. “Now how about a round two to put you to sleep?”
hi all! thank you for reading :^) please don’t hesitate to leave lil tags or comments, I love to read them and have some chats!! <3
and if you would like to read more of my works, my masterlist is here! 🌻💕
635 notes · View notes