adoringmha

you’re still pissed. imagining him flirting with her. he barely even flirts with you!!!! well he does compliment you a lot, clear with his intentions, he does flirt outside of his workplace in that blunt way that makes you wonder if he meant that how you thought. he always does end up meaning it that way.

how many of your clients do you sleep with?

you swear it’s not coming from insecurity… well just a little. curiosity mostly, evil green curiosity imagining him and the girl with abs having sex on his comfy memory foam mattress in his apartment in the city.

You

But you’re not my client anymore so none now

you want to go back inside the gym where you know he’s sitting in that stupid wheely chair in the office probably laughing at your messages when he’s supposed to making meal plans.

Tell me what’s going on

Have you left yet?

should you tell him the truth? fuck it.

i’m in my car in the car park

you think he’s given up on you. deemed you too much and annoying. he’s only taken you out to eat a few times, invited you to a fancy private gym sauna, slept with you once. it’s not like you’re in a relationship. but he did say he liked you then cut you off from working with him.

four minutes thirty two seconds after your text and you get a knock on your passenger window.

“oh,” you mumble to yourself. you weren’t expecting him to come out to find you but after everything you know about him, you should have. he’s tall enough that you just get his chest in view until he leans down to look at you blankly through the window.

he’s so sexy it hurts. you blink away the memory of him less than a week ago, how your personal trainer had sex with you like he was making love. long deep strokes inside of you. massaging your hips with every thrust. all with stamina that allowed you both to go on for multiple rounds with meant multiple orgasms in multiple positions. you don’t think you can even look him in the eye.

you reach over to unlock your car door with a dramatic huff, watch as the large muscled man, donned in his typical black loose muscle tank and black shorts slides into your seat.

he looks gigantic in your little car, his elbows touching the window and your gear stick. the smell of him, this sweet rustic smell overwhelms your cotton air freshener hanging on your mirror. you can barely think straight.

“you good?” he says, all his words straight from his gut, a bit scratchy like he was shouting earlier. katsuki scratches his head, flickers his eyes over your body. tense with your arms crossed.

bakugou katsuki hasn’t liked a woman romantically in years. it’s never been a problem for him considering he wasn’t too fussed for a relationship and if he wanted sex, well, he knew women wanted to have sex with him. he has work emails stating this. but since he never came across women he wanted, he was pretty weak on his flirting and assuming skills when it came to them. or specifically when it came to you. you who was always chatty and bubbly in your pt sessions. chatting his ear off to get out of a set, who asks him loads of questions just to find out if he has any siblings (no) and if he went to university (yes) and how exactly is he qualified. so he has no clue what to do with you like this. he could feel it through the one word answer.

pursed lips, crossed arms. you’ve got your big ass water bottle between your legs, the one he unscrewed the lid of and drank from after you had sex at his apartment.

bakugou katsuki wants you. he admitted he had feelings for you when he cut off the pt contract.

you good? no you’re not.

“i’m pissed off with you, katsuki.” you grunt, staring out your window. a woman walks past, you like her lilac gym set. “really pissed off.”

bakugou’s heart leaps in his chest. do you not want him anymore? fuck. he sits up straighter, tries to turn to face you but there’s not much space in your car to do that. he ends up with the seatbelt digging in his back.

“what did i do? i didn’t mean it.”

you finally look over to him. how dynamics have changed with you both. it was once you trying to learn a thing or two about him while he tactfully ignored every attempt for you to get to know him. strictly professional! to him slowly opening up about his life, spending private time together and now he’s about to drag answers from you.

he looks like a desperate puppy. thinking about putting his hand on your bare thigh in your little shorts and deciding not to. tiny pout on his lips, his usual half lidded eyes are wider trying to take in as much as he can from your behaviours.

“you didn’t even say hi to me, no hello no anything. and… and i’m still not over you cancelling our sessions to then replace me, at our exact time, with someone else! you’ve replaced me!” you fling your arms up in the air exasperated, “how am i to know you won’t seduce her, the way you seduced me? everyone knows you’re attractive, she’s going to be all over you and she doesn’t even need a pt! she looks great!”

bakugou doesn’t mean to, he swears he doesn’t, but the corner of his lips quirks up in a smile.

“baby,” he starts which only makes your head snap to him. he called you that when you kissed for the first time, when you were pushing him onto his bed and dragging your sports bra off.

“don’t baby me right now,” you wag your finger at him.

he holds his hands up in defence, bows his head slightly with a grin.

“yn, sweetheart,” he opts for instead, in this honey silk growl that makes you press your thighs together. it’s so over for you. “i can’t stop my session with another client to go and say hi to you. i would have had to cross the room to do that. it’s not fair.”

you know he’s right. you hate how he’s talking to you softly, like you’re a tender open wound in need of being plastered up. you wanna crawl into his lap as he kisses down your neck.

“if you didn’t run off, i would have grabbed ya and fixed your posture on the lat pulldown.”

“my posture was fine!” your biceps hurt instead of your lats, you definitely had the wrong posture.

bakugou is sneaky, finally sliding his hand onto your thigh, large hand able to grip your whole leg and then some. he does a light squeeze, then leans over to kiss the corner of your jaw. immediately you soften, laying back on your car seat instead of upright like a pin.

“okay, baby. we’ll work on that next time though.”

you look over at him and he slowly nods at you which gets you nodding back hypnotised.

“you weren’t replaced. could never replace you. nobody can chat my ear off like you or threaten to leave the buildin’ if i make them do one more rep. nobody is like you, which makes my job real fuckin’ boring right now.” he half laughs and your body warms up, “got a new client though.”

that’s when you grimace again.

“you’re going to seduce her—,”

“baby—,”

“like you seduced me!”

bakugou wants to drag you into his lap, hug you to him, squeeze you and kiss your neck. it’s probably best he doesn’t in his work car park.

“you need a bigger car, or we should be chattin’ in my car. i’ve got blacked out windows so i can touch you.” he squeezes your thigh, then rubs his thumb over your skin.

he’s trying to distract you, get you fuzzy headed so he doesn’t have to answer your question.

“nobody is doing any seducin’. people don’t even use that fuckin’ word anymore but if they did they’d know you seduced me.”

you gasp, “no i didn’t!”

bakugou scoffs, “you wouldn’t brush your ass against me when you’d get up on purpose? there was one day where you doing these sweet fuckin’ moans after every rep—,” “you tripled my reps that day!” “— another where you wore these little shorts with the scrunched fabric at your ass and asked me how they looked. the fuck you wanted me to say?”

he smirks over at you, fingers grabby now, eager to get more of you in his hands. he slides you around so your back is against your window, your feet in his lap. his hands are on your calves, your thighs.

“so fuckin’ curious all the time. asking me questions about everything. making me forget that we were going over our forty second rest and just fuckin’ up the whole goddamn workout.”

your arms are back crossed over your chest. “fine, i get it. i was a terrible client.”

“that’s not what i’m sayin’. i’m sayin’ i like you, i told you i like you. i’ve been takin’ you out but when i have time i’ll do a date for us. nothing gym related. especially since last time i really had you…,” on your back, on your knees, in his lap, “it wasn’t… wasn’t romantic like i wanted.”

you tilt your head confused, “you didn’t enjoy it?”

it was definitely rushed at the beginning, after going out to get noodles after a session, going back to his and unable to get your hands off each other. if anything it was a long time coming.

bakugou’s eyes widen, “what, no! i loved it. i’ve been thinkin’ about it everyday since. i just wanna be good for you, treat you how you deserve.”

that gets you laughing, “i think i deserved three hour sex with so many orgasms i lost count but if you want to add in a massage and rose petals that’s okay with me. i don’t mind.”

bakugou stares at you for a moment, your playful bite to your lip, how your fingers play with your dainty necklace. “i’ll give you a massage next time,” he nods, “i’ll hold off on the rose petals, i’m new to this all.”

“dating?”

“having a goddamn crush.” he sighs, looking out the window. “and to set it straight. i don’t flirt with my clients, i don’t fuck them either, that’s why i had to stop our contract. you don’t need to worry about me fuckin’ around.”

you nod slowly, with all the stories you’ve heard about men, your previous relationships, your friends ones, everything goes silent in your head. you believe him. “okay.”

“is that a normal okay or you’re still pissed off okay?”

“a i believe you okay.”

“good,” bakugou smiles, a cute slow boyish one that shows off his canines. you wanna kiss all over his face. that scar across his cheek, his slightly crooked nose, his pretty pink lips.

“are you sure we can’t have any sessions? i miss them.” you whine, reaching over to grab his hand and yank him to you.

in any other headspace he’d stop this much contact so close to his workplace, he’s all over you right now.

“baby—,”

“i’ll be on my best behaviour if you are.”

“i’m not havin’ you pay me.”

“perks of fucking your pt,” you grin and bakugou has to close his eyes for a second to stop himself getting hard.

“it will have to be new timings. basically after hours, like us going to the gym as…”

a couple? friends?

“as two people that know each other somewhat personally?” you giggle and bakugou presses his palm onto your bare waist beneath your sports bra.

he presses a kiss to your cleavage, then gives you a nibble that has you pushing his head off you.

“i’ll make you my girlfriend. i want it in good timin’,” he breathes.

your eyes widen as you inhale sharply, “you’re so forward.”

bakugou shrugs, “am i not supposed to say what i think?”

you’re all flustered, heat rising from your toes to the top of your head. you want to take him home, strip him naked. you want to make him a grilled cheese and watch him eat it. you want him to recite his childhood to you from age zero to age sixteen. then sixteen to now.

“you should keep doing it.”

“i’ll send you times when i’m free, we can keep it twice a week still and i can still make you a meal plan and routines. just like before.”

you smile, “but this time you’ll actually touch my waist and flirt back with me? i’ll get unprofessional katsuki.”

“you’ll only be gettin’ unprofessional me now. we’ll be off the clock.”

he inches closer to your face, closer, then a centimetre more before you grab the back of his head and press his lips onto yours. you tilt your led to the left while he goes right, a soft easy smooch that becomes open mouths. his tongue against yours, swirling with a comfortable rhythm you’ve only ever found with him. it’s good, better than good, delicious. especially when his grip on your body gets rougher, on your lips, pulling you closer and closer to him, until you’ve got your hand on your car window, knees up like an awkward spider.

“as much as i’d love to fuck you in your workplace car park, there is no room in my car because of your massive thighs and biceps and shoulders,” you breathe.

you watch as he throws his head back on your car seat and looks down at you with half lidded eyes. he grabs your hand and rests it over his hard cock. what you’d do to see it again, feel it again.

“this is how you had me every fuckin’ session,” he drawls and your sigh comes out high pitched, weak.

“you never made it easy for me. i’d…” you trail off, breathing heavier all of a sudden.

“you’d what?”

it’s like he knows what you’re going to say, kissing under your ear lobe. thank fuck for all those stretches he makes you do because you would not be able to straddle his lap like this a few months ago.

“go home, undress and touch myself to you.”

“fuck,” bakugou drops his head onto your shoulder, presses your hand onto his crotch. his next words are a whine, deep and growly, “let me make you come here.”

it’s the first time you’ve had the clearer head out of the two of you.

“another pt or a client could see us! you can’t,” you say but still, in the privacy of your car, it feels like the outside world doesn’t exist. you kiss his neck, a few pecks before making out with a spot that gets him groaning.

“fuck, baby. okay we gotta stop. i also gotta go back to work. fuck… let’s go to mine or yours, whatever.”

“you need to drive your own car,” you giggle pulling off to look at him properly. he looks incredibly needy, staring at your lips, hands stroking up and down your waist. he even adjusts your hips so you feel him between your legs.

“damn.” he utters, “you’re drivin’ me insane. i need a minute.”

he plops you back into your seat, looks around out the windows.

“if it’s any consolation, i’m wet too. if that wasn’t obvious. practically soaked right now.”

“that doesn’t help my cock.”

you reach over to rest your hand over him again but bakugou grabs your wrist.

“okay, i’m gonna grab my shit from inside and i’m gonna get in my car and follow you to yours. wanna see your bedroom.” he bites down so hard on this bottom lip, “wanna see where you were touchin’ your pussy thinkin’ about me.”

“katsuki,” you whisper.

he darts his head to you, a man way too horny to be cognitive right now, “sound like a plan, baby?”

His hair is freshly trimmed, the ash blond strands still slightly damp from his shower, pushed back messily from his forehead. The sleeves of his black compression shirt cling to his shoulders and arms while the expensive button-up he plans on wearing hangs neatly from the bathroom door beside pressed slacks he spent way too long picking out earlier. Even his watch sits carefully beside the sink instead of abandoned somewhere random like usual. The entire thing feels too deliberate. Too polished. Too much like he gives a shit.

Which he doesn’t.

Obviously.

Except his stomach has felt weird since he woke up this morning.

Not nervous. Definitely not nervous. 

He can’t pinpoint the exact moment he clocked off hero work or how much time he spent at the gym so he could show off a pump tonight, nor can he try to convince himself it isn’t for the reason he doesn’t want to admit. He just wants to look good.

And that’s it. Simple as it sounds. No reason for him to choke on stuttering breaths.

The razor scrapes harder against his jaw this time as he rinses it aggressively under the sink. Hot water rushes over his fingers, turning the tips of them pink.

The celebration dinner is stupid to begin with, if you ask him.

Shoto gets ranked top two after the downtown incident last month, Endeavor immediately turns it into some flashy media spectacle about family legacy and hero society, and somehow all of Class A gets invited because the public still eats up that “golden generation” garbage years later. Old classmates pretending they all still keep in touch more often than not. The entire thing sounds exhausting.

But you’re gonna be there.

That’s the problem.

For all he cares, it’s been—what? Three years?

Three fucking years since he’s properly seen you.

Not in passing through articles online. Not blurry photos people tag him in accidentally after hero events. Not hearing your name mentioned by Mina or Sero every couple of months when they gossip over drinks.

Actually seeing you.

As in, In person.

Close enough to touch.

Because when him and you were no more, instead of running back to him like you’d always do, you moved out of Japan, got a job somewhere else in the world. You blocked him on all socials, blocked his number —even the agency landline— and for a while, he didn’t care to contact you. He didn’t care to check up on you, because who checks up on someone who said they wished they never met you? He went out of your life as quietly as you went out of his. Not caring if his last words hurt you, like you did.

Katsuki braces both hands against the sink and stares downward as water drips steadily from the faucet. His reflection blurs at the edges from the steam still clouding the glass, turning him into something distorted and unfamiliar.

Pathetic.

The worst part is he doesn’t even know what version of you is walking through those doors tonight.

Maybe you’re angry.

Maybe you barely look at him.

Maybe you’ve become one of those calm, polished heroes that smile perfectly for cameras now, the kind that know exactly how to navigate crowded rooms without making enemies out of everyone in them.

Or maybe you’ll look through him entirely.

That thought digs somewhere unpleasant beneath his ribs.

Fair enough, honestly.

He earns that.

The memory still crawls up on him sometimes when it gets too quiet. Usually late at night after patrol when he’s too exhausted to keep his thoughts from wandering somewhere ugly.

In all honesty he did try to talk to you. Last year, after he found out he wasn’t blocked anymore. But he was angry, vulgar, everything you’ve ever said you hated about him. And for better or for worse you had only told him you knew he’d never change. And he had left it there, not pressing anymore, not needing anymore proof to accept you just weren’t coming back.

Maybe this is why he won’t wear the polished clothes he’s picked out for tonight. Maybe the Nike sweats he tumble dried this morning and a t-shirt will make him look more casual, put together in a way fancy clothes won’t.

Because tonight is casual to him. It should be, at least, amidst picking up Kirishima and Izuku in his new car. He shouldn’t even care that you’re going to be there.

He keeps staring at himself anyway.

Like maybe if he looks long enough, he’ll suddenly figure out why this feels so fucking strange.

The bathroom light washes his skin pale while steam curls slowly around the edges of the mirror, softening the sharpness of his reflection. Katsuki barely recognizes the version of himself standing there sometimes. Not because he looks different—he does, obviously, older and broader and rougher around the edges—but because somewhere between twenty-two and twenty-five, the anger inside him changed shape.

Less explosive.

Much more exhausting.

He reaches for the towel hanging off the counter and drags it roughly over his face before tossing it aside. The nick near his chin still stings faintly. Tiny. Irritating. His eyes flick toward the button-up hanging from the bathroom door again, then away immediately.

Abso-fucking-lutely not.

The idea of showing up looking like he spent hours trying to impress you makes something hot crawl up his neck. It feels pathetic now. Worse now, somehow, after standing here spiraling like an idiot for nearly forty minutes over a dinner he doesn’t even want to attend.

Katsuki grabs the hanger off the door and shoves the expensive shirt deeper into the closet on his way back into the bedroom.

Fuck that.

The softer lighting from his room settles easier against his eyes compared to the harsh fluorescent buzz of the bathroom. Outside the windows, the city glows orange and blue beneath the darkening sky, traffic crawling between towering buildings while distant sirens echo somewhere far below. His apartment sits high enough that most nights the noise blends together into background static.

Tonight it all feels too loud.

He yanks open a drawer harder than necessary and pulls out the black t-shirt he wears for training. The fabric stretches tight across his shoulders when he changes, outlining muscle built from years of relentless schedules, combat drills, patrols, sleepless nights at the gym whenever his head gets too crowded to sit still inside his own apartment.

Not for you.

Obviously.

The thought comes so defensive it almost makes him scoff at himself.

The sweats are clean at least. Black Nike joggers fresh from the dryer this morning, soft at the inside, fitted enough that Kirishima once called them “boyfriend material clothes” before Katsuki threatened to blast him through a wall. Casual. Comfortable. Like he isn’t thinking about tonight at all.

Like he didn’t spend an embarrassing amount of time earlier deciding between watches.

His jaw tightens again.

This is ridiculous.

You’re just another person he used to know.

That’s it.

Three years changes people. Hell, maybe you aren’t even the same woman anymore. Maybe you cut your hair shorter now. Maybe you picked up some accent overseas since your Japanese seemed too weird the last time you talked. And— and maybe, like the thoughts that used to consume him before he ever reached out to you last year, there’s somebody else waiting for you back home after tonight, somebody softer than him. Somebody easier. Someone your shared friends know about but won’t let him know of.

That thought lands badly, like he woke a dragon from a millennial slumber. His chest immediately feels too tight for it.

Katsuki snatches his car keys off the counter before he can sit with the feeling any longer.

His hone buzzes again from the kitchen table as he passes by. Probably Kirishima. Maybe Deku. Maybe another last-minute reminder about tonight’s schedule.

He ignores it.

The kitchen still smells faintly like coffee from this morning, dishes abandoned beside the sink because he hasn’t had enough energy lately to care about cleaning immediately after meals. There’s protein powder spilled near the toaster from breakfast. A hoodie tossed over one of the dining chairs. Tiny signs of somebody actually living here instead of the spotless, polished apartment magazines keep trying to photograph whenever reporters sneak glimpses during interviews.

For a second, his eyes drift unconsciously toward the balcony.

You used to stand out there all the time. Especially during storms.

Wrapped in one of his hoodies with your arms folded over the railing while Musutafu lit up below you in blurred neon reflections. You always complained the city looked lonely from this high up.

Katsuki used to think that was stupid. Now he gets it.

His throat feels strangely dry.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he mutters under his breath.

The worst part is he genuinely has no idea how tonight’s gonna go.

Maybe you’ll smile politely at him like he’s an old coworker and he’ll have to be casual about greeting you, though he doesn’t want to.

Maybe you’ll avoid him altogether.

Maybe Mina’ll force everybody into some obnoxious group photo and suddenly he’ll be standing beside you for the first time in years pretending his heart isn’t punching against his ribs hard enough to bruise merely at the thought of it all.

Or maybe—

Maybe you’ll just look heavenly good.

That’s the real problem, honestly.

Because he already knows you will.

Not because of makeup or clothes or whatever expensive shit pro heroes wear to these events now. You always looked good to him in ways that annoyed the hell out of him. Half-asleep in his shirts. Sitting on his kitchen counter eating takeout straight from the carton. Yelling at him from across the apartment while he ignored you on purpose just to hear you get louder.

Three years later and his body still remembers stupid things about you automatically.

The sound of your laugh.

The weight of your legs thrown over his lap.

The smell of your peachy shampoo lingering on his pillows after arguments where one of you stormed out dramatically only to come back two hours later.

Katsuki grips his keys tighter.

Nope.

He’s not doing this tonight. He’s not showing up already halfway dragged into the past because of somebody who made it painfully clear they didn’t want him in their life anymore.

That should matter.

It does matter.

And honestly, he understands why you left.

Back then he was still angry at everything. Angry at hero society. Angry at himself. Angry at how badly he wanted somebody and how terrified he is of needing them at the same time. Every conversation between you eventually turned into him snapping before you can get too close to whatever ugly thing sits underneath his ribs.

You called him cruel once.

Not loudly. Not even during a fight.

Just tired.

And somehow that had struck him worse than any screaming ever could. That’s when it clicked to him, that no matter how much you said you saw the good in him, you never truly could. Even if one of your last sentences to him was that you loved him, he didn’t believe you could ever love someone you thought was cruel, someone you wish you never met. 

Katsuki locks the apartment behind him harder than necessary before heading toward the elevator.

The hallway lights flicker softly overhead while he waits, fingers tapping restlessly against his thigh. His reflection stares back at him from the metal elevator doors—broad shoulders, tired eyes, black compression shirt clinging too tightly against muscle that suddenly feels more like armor than confidence.

Casual.

Tonight is casual.

Just old classmates catching up. Nothing more.

Then his phone vibrates again.

EIJIRO: don’t be weird tonight bro

A second message immediately follows; something about sitting shotgun in his new car.

Katsuki stares at the screen for a long moment. Then another vibration.

IZUKU: Kacchan are we still meeting downstairs in 20?

His jaw flexes hard enough to ache.

Because somehow, despite everything, despite all the years and silence and blocked numbers and ugly last conversations—

A part of him still feels twenty-two again. Twenty-two and convinced that no one could love the way he expressed himself.

______

By the time Katsuki parks outside the izakaya, the knot in his stomach has already settled into something meaner. Sharper. Musutafu glows around him and his friends in streaks of reflected neon against rain-dark pavement while a valet moves between cars beneath the izakaya entrance. The place itself is ridiculously upscale even if it is just traditional, all warm golden lighting spilling through enormous glass windows and polished black stone.

Kirishima lets out a low whistle from the passenger seat as he climbs out. “Can’t wait to see everyone.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” Katsuki mutters automatically, already slamming the car door closed harder than necessary.

Cold evening air immediately brushes against the back of his neck. Somewhere nearby, traffic hums steadily through the city while muffled laughter spills from the izakaya entrance every time the doors open. Izuku smooths anxiously at the sleeves of his suit beside the car, glancing toward the building with that same nervous energy he’s carried since high school.

“Do we think Todoroki planned all this himself,” he starts, adjusting his tie, “or do you think Endeavor hired—”

“Deku,” Katsuki interrupts flatly, shoving his hands into his pockets, “if you start analyzing anything, i’m leaving.”

“I wasn’t gonna analyze the—”

“You literally were.”

Kirishima snorts loudly beside them, and normally the familiar bickering would loosen something in Katsuki’s chest. Tonight it barely registers because his attention keeps drifting toward the entrance before they even reach it, heartbeat strangely steady in a way that feels worse than panic. Like his body already knows something his brain is still trying to avoid.

The hostess opens the doors with a practiced smile, and warm air immediately wraps around them alongside the low hum of conversation and clinking glasses. The restaurant is crowded with heroes, old classmates that are lingering discreetly in sorted tables near the back, all surrounded by polished wood and amber lighting that makes everything glow soft and expensive.

Katsuki barely notices any of it.

His eyes find you almost instantly.

Of course they do.

You’re seated near the center of the room beside the girls, half-turned toward Mina while Ochaco laughs at something across the table. The lighting catches warmly against the side of your face, softening the curve of your expression while gold jewelry glints subtly against your skin every time you move. Your hair is longer now than the last time he saw you in person, falling over your shoulders while one hand curls loosely around a sake glass. You look comfortable there. Relaxed. Like you belong in rooms like this now.

And for one awful second, Katsuki genuinely forgets how to breathe.

Three years vanish instantly beneath the weight of recognition. His body remembers you before his brain does, something visceral and humiliating tightening beneath his ribs before he can stop it.

Fuck.

You look different, but not enough to feel unfamiliar. Older, maybe. Sharper around the edges in the way everybody becomes sharper with time. There’s confidence in the way you sit now that wasn’t fully there before, something steadier beneath your posture. You carry yourself like someone who’s finally learned how to exist without apologizing for taking up space.

Then Mina notices them entering.

“Oh my god, finally!” she calls immediately, waving dramatically across the room. “You guys are late as hell!”

Several heads turn at once.

Including yours.

Katsuki feels it immediately, that split second your eyes land on him from across the room. It happens so fast he almost convinces himself he imagined it. No widening. No visible surprise. No anger flashing across your face. Your gaze settles on him briefly before moving smoothly toward Kirishima instead.

“Oh, Eiji,” you smile warmly, standing slightly from your pillow as the group approaches. “Hi.”

The knot in Katsuki’s stomach twists tighter.

Kirishima grins instantly. “There she is. Damn, it’s been forever.”

“It literally has,” Mina groans dramatically. “This bitch abandoned us internationally.”

You laugh softly at that, embarrassed enough to duck your head slightly.

The sound lands somewhere dangerous in Katsuki’s chest.

Ochaco immediately stands to greet Izuku while the others start talking over each other all at once, greetings and questions colliding noisily together after years apart. You converse with everyone easily. Kirishima gets pulled into a quick side hug while you squeeze Ochaco’s hand excitedly across the table. You ask Izuku about agency work overseas, laugh when Kaminari nearly trips over a table trying to sit down, you smile politely at Jirou when she teases your accent sounding slightly different now.

But Katsuki gets nothing.

At first he tells himself maybe you just haven’t gotten there yet. Maybe it’s awkward. Maybe you’re nervous too and trying to settle into the conversation before acknowledging him properly.

Then Kirishima nudges him lightly with his elbow.

“Oi,” he mutters under his breath, “say hi, silly.”

Katsuki’s jaw tightens immediately.

His eyes flick toward you again, but you’re already sitting back down beside Mina, smoothing your sleeve absentmindedly while listening to Momo speak. Completely relaxed. Completely normal.

Like he isn’t even there.

Something hot immediately crawls beneath his skin, but it doesn’t feel like anger. Anger would’ve been easier to deal with. Easier to understand. This feels uglier than that.

Because you aren’t being cold.

You aren’t glaring at him or avoiding eye contact dramatically or making the tension obvious for everyone else at the table.

You’re just indifferent.

Clean, casual, effortless indifference that makes it painfully obvious you’ve already figured out how to exist in the same room as him without it affecting you at all.

Katsuki pulls form to his seat harder than necessary across from Kirishima, the sharp scrape of the table flinching away from him against the floor briefly cutting through the table conversation. Nobody reacts except Mina, whose eyes dart toward him automatically before flicking carefully toward you.

You don’t even look up.

Jesus Christ.

His chest suddenly feels too tight.

“You look good, by the way,” Mina says suddenly, leaning dramatically against your shoulder. “Like suspiciously good. What the hell are they feeding you overseas?”

You laugh quietly, almost embarrassed by the attention. “Literally just less stress, probably.”

The joke lands casually around the table. Kaminari laughs. Jirou snorts into her drink. Ochaco starts teasing you immediately about abandoning Japanese work culture.

Nobody else notices anything strange about the comment.

But Katsuki does.

Of course he fucking does.

Less stress.

Like loving him had exhausted you so thoroughly that leaving the entire country became the healthiest thing you’d ever done for yourself.

His fingers curl tighter around the edge of the menu sitting untouched in front of him.

“Still working with that rescue agency?” Izuku asks curiously.

You nod. “Mostly disaster relief now, yeah. It’s quieter than here.”

“Quieter?” Kaminari repeats incredulously. “Why would you want quieter?”

“Because some people enjoy peace,” Jirou answers dryly.

“Exactly,” you laugh.

And there it is again, that strange feeling pressing heavier against Katsuki’s ribs every time you smile. Because you do seem peaceful now. Not forced. Not pretending. Actually peaceful.

Your posture stays relaxed through every conversation. Your smile comes easier than he remembers. Even your voice sounds lighter somehow, no longer carrying that constant tension that used to sit beneath your words whenever the two of you argued. Back then, loving each other always felt loud. Intense. Like every conversation teetered dangerously close to becoming a fight neither of you knew how to stop once it started.

Now you just seem… calm.

Katsuki suddenly feels too large in his seat. Too rough around the edges for this version of you. His broad shoulders, his obnoxiously loud voice, the constant restless energy simmering beneath his skin all feel painfully obvious in comparison to the quiet ease you carry now.

Mina notices it first.

Her eyes flick carefully between the two of you once. Then again.

Her smile falters slightly.

Because now it’s becoming noticeable to everybody else too.

You still haven’t acknowledged Katsuki properly once since they entered the izakaya.

Kirishima notices next, judging by the awkward way he shifts beside Katsuki before clearing his throat.

“So, uh…” he starts carefully, eyes darting between you both. “Crazy seeing everybody together again, huh?”

“Mm,” you hum politely before taking another sip of your drink.

That’s it.

No tension sharpens your voice. No bitterness leaks through your expression. Nothing about your reaction feels forced or emotional at all. Katsuki Bakugo has somehow become just another former classmate sitting at the table across from yours instead of the man you once shared a bed and apartment and entire future with. 

You used to tell each other that by the time you’re twenty-five you’d surprise your friends and old classmates by popping a kid out of the blue in one of these events. You used to laugh at the thought of him flaunting a baby bump on you, dreaming that you’d hide your engagement ring from everyone until it was the right time to announce you’d get married.

In another life, it may have been different.

Instead of that, you and him are forcibly strangers now; the realization settles, once again heavily in his stomach.

At least showing hatred towards him would mean he still mattered enough to ruin your evening.

This indifference feels like being erased entirely.

______________

The longer the night settles around the izakaya, the more Katsuki realizes he completely misjudged what this dinner was supposed to be.

Not some polished, high-class event packed with cameras and stiff hero society bullshit.

Just an izakaya. Despite how fancy it is.

A crowded, noisy, familiar little place tucked between glowing Musutafu storefronts where the tables are too close together and the air smells like grilled meat, fried oil, spilled beer, and cigarette smoke clinging faintly to old wood. Somebody in the back is laughing loud enough to echo over the music while waiters squeeze through narrow spaces carrying trays overloaded with skewers and drinks. Half the group’s jackets are already tossed carelessly everywhere.

Casual.

Comfortable.

The kind of place Class A used to practically live in after internships.

Which somehow makes this worse.

Because you fit into it too naturally even if you’ve missed the majority of it.

Time passes eerily as Katsuki watches from across the table while Mina complains dramatically about agency interns stealing her skincare products, and you laugh so easily at something dumb Kaminari says that for a split second it genuinely feels like no time has passed at all.

Except it has.

He notices it in tiny things.

You don’t interrupt people as much anymore. Back then you used to talk over everyone whenever you got excited, eyes bright and hands moving while you argued passionately about absolutely everything. Now you lean back when people speak, quieter in a way that feels more intentional than shy. You still smile the same, though. That part hits him unexpectedly hard.

Same slight squint around your eyes. Maybe a few subtle wrinkles now, that still manage to look good on you.

Same habit of hiding your laugh behind your drink or your hand sometimes.

It’s awful how quickly he notices all of it.

A waiter slides another round of drinks onto the table, glass clinking loudly against wood.

“Bakugo,” Sero grins from farther down the booth, already flushed pink from alcohol, “you’ve been weirdly quiet all night. You sick or somethin’?”

“I’m always quiet,” Katsuki answers flatly before taking a long sip of beer.

The table immediately erupts.

“That is literally not true,” Jirou snorts.

“Shut up! It is!”

“Me when I lie” Mina snorts.

“You used to start fights with strangers in restaurants,” Kaminari points out.

“Correction,” Kirishima says, grinning, “he used to start fights with strangers everywhere.”

“I remember that guy at karaoke—”

“He deserved it.”

“You didn’t even know him!”

Katsuki barely listens.

Because across the table, you’re smiling into your drink again, shoulders shaking slightly with quiet laughter while Mina nearly falls sideways into Ochaco from laughing too hard.

And you still won’t look at him.

Not really.

Your gaze passes over him occasionally in that absent, polite way people acknowledge furniture in crowded rooms, but nothing lingers. No awkwardness. No tension. No visible effort to avoid him either still, which somehow stings too much.

It’s like you already adjusted to his presence within the first five minutes of arriving.

Meanwhile he feels painfully aware of every movement you make.

The way your rings tap softly against your glass.

The faint crease between your brows whenever you listen closely to someone speaking.

The small scar near your wrist he remembers kissing once while you laid half-asleep across his chest.

His stomach twists hard enough to make him irritated with himself all over again.

This is fucking ridiculous.

“Bakugo.”

His head lifts automatically.

Momo’s looking at him from across the table. “Did you hear me?”

“No.”

“I said,” she repeats patiently, “Shoto wants everyone at his agency anniversary event next month too.”

“Absolutely not,” Katsuki answers immediately.

Kaminari groans. “Dude, you say no to everything.”

“Because everything sounds terrible.”

“See?” Mina points accusingly toward you. “This is why our sweetie over here escaped the country. We’re emotionally exhausting.”

The comment is obviously meant as a joke and the table laughs.

Even you smile.

But Katsuki feels the words land somewhere unpleasant anyway.

Before he can stop himself, his eyes flick toward you.

For the first time all night, you finally look directly back at him.

It lasts maybe two seconds!?

Three, max.

Then, when Kirishima opens his mouth it’s as if he can’t stop being a moron. Like he never could have guessed what the context of ‘time and place’ is. He points at you, then Katsuki.

“Remember when you guys sneaked out during the winter festival and everyone thought you were kidnapped?”

The entire table immediately erupts.

“Oh my god.”

“They were gone for HOURS—”

“Because SOMEONE turned their phones off,” Kaminari wheezes.

“You guys came back looking guilty as hell,” Mina accuses dramatically.

Katsuki feels his shoulders tense instantly. He sees you shrink into a timely creature in your seat.

Back then, you’d dragged him behind the gym building because you were freezing and irritated and insisted his body temperature was “unnaturally useful.” He remembers pinning you against the wall afterward just to shut you up after you laughed at how red his ears got.

He remembers kissing you until neither of you could breathe properly. 

The memory hits hard enough to feel physical. Youthful kisses, teenage love— he remembers how it felt when he kissed you first and when he had kissed you then. He remembers making out in your dorm late at night when he should’ve been resting his injuries after the war.

Around the table, everyone’s still laughing.

Except you.

You’ve gone still beside Mina, fingers tightening almost invisibly around your drink before you take another sip.

Then, calmly, casually—

“So,” you interrupt smoothly, turning toward Ochaco and Tsuyu instead, “how’s hero life treating you two?”

Clean cut. Effortless for anyone who can’t read behind your eyes.

The conversation immediately shifts away from the topic entirely.

Like you did it on purpose. Like the memory embarrasses you now.

Katsuki drops whatever sits at the top of his tongue like it stung too much to be spoken out loud. Like he was given a sound reminder that his words are always unnecessary.

___________

Everyone eventually becomes too careless despite the fragility of the situation.

Alcohol warms the tables steadily, loosening voices and posture until conversations start overlapping loudly across the cramped izakaya booth. Kaminari is practically hanging halfway over Sero now while arguing about hero rankings nobody else cares about, and Kirishima’s laugh keeps booming loudly enough to earn irritated glances from nearby tables. Even more empty beer glasses crowd together beside greasy plates streaked with sauce while waiters weave expertly through the narrow aisles carrying fresh rounds of skewers and drinks.

Normally Katsuki would be right in the middle of it all.

Tonight he barely said a word, even if he found himself at your table for some reason.

Because every single time the conversation drifts naturally toward old memories involving the two of you, you choose to redirect it before it can fully land.

Always subtle enough most people probably don’t notice.

But he notices.

Every single time.

When Mina starts retelling the beach trip where the two of you once again disappeared from the bonfire for over an hour, you smoothly interrupt to ask Jirou about her latest music project overseas. When Kirishima almost brings up the apartment you used to share in the heart of the city, you casually wave down the waiter and ask if anyone wants another round of drinks before he can finish the sentence.

And the worst part is how effortless you make it look.

You aren’t visibly uncomfortable. You aren’t tense or bitter or awkward every time his name comes up paired with yours. You navigate around him cleanly, naturally, like you’ve already spent years learning exactly how to exist comfortably in spaces where even if Katsuki Bakugo is present, he can simply be erased.

The notion starts irritating him more with every passing minute. It sits tighter beneath his ribs by the second. Makes his heart beat in fragile, irregular beats.

A doctor had once told him to keep track of arhythmic beats like this. 

Tonight he does not. But usually, he does.

Across the table, you tilt your head back slightly while laughing at something Ochaco says, fingers still loosely wrapped around your glass. The soft amber lighting from the hanging lanterns catches against your face warmly enough that Katsuki immediately looks away afterward, jaw tightening hard.

Then your phone lights up beside your plate.

His eyes catch it automatically, assumption quick to replace every spec of vermilion in his irises.

A name flashes briefly across the screen before you casually turn the phone face down against the table.

It’s a nickname paired with a heart.

It could be a friend, but for that he’s unconvinced.

Something twists violently low in Katsuki’s stomach.

Immediate. Sharp enough to genuinely piss him off.

Three years.

Obviously there’s somebody else now.

What the hell did he expect? That you spent years overseas grieving a relationship that ended with both of you saying things cruel enough to permanently carve into each other?

His fingers curl tighter around his beer glass.

Mina notices instantly.

Her eyes flick carefully between him and you before she awkwardly clears her throat. “Okay, wow,” she says carefully, trying to laugh through the tension, “this table energy’s getting kinda weird.”

“Only because your face gets louder every time you drink,” Jirou answers dryly without looking up from her glass.

“No, seriously,” Mina insists now, glancing more cautiously toward Katsuki. “Everybody’s acting strange.”

“Nobody’s acting strange,” you answer calmly before finally looking directly at Katsuki for the second time all night.

And somehow that feels worse.

You really are fine. Not pretending. Not secretly emotional underneath the surface. Fi—ne. Almost too cold.

You are completely, genuinely fine sitting across from him after three years apart.

Something reckless rises inside his chest almost immediately.

“You got somethin’ to say?” Katsuki asks suddenly, attention fully turned to you. “Then say it to my face.”

For once, he manages to keep your eyes in his.

The table quiets.

Not completely, but enough that nearby conversations and clinking glasses start bleeding awkwardly into the silence between your group.

Your brows pull together faintly before rising. “What?”

“You’ve barely looked at me all night.”

“Why would I?”

When you respond, Kirishima visibly winces beside him.

“Bakugo,” he mutters quietly under his breath.

An effort for calmness that pays out fruitless soil. Katsuki barely hears him now that the irritation’s already pushing its way out.

“No, seriously,” he continues, eyes locked onto yours. “What’s the deal?”

The atmosphere around the table shifts immediately.

Mina looks horrified. Izuku suddenly looks like he wants the floor to physically open beneath him—he hasn’t said anything about you up till now. Not on the phone, not in the car when Katsuki snapped like broken glass at every single thing. He didn’t even say anything about you when Katsuki told him that if he treats everyone like they’re special, then no one really is special to him. (When does Katsuki ever get so emotional?)

Even Kaminari goes quiet for once.

You stare at Katsuki from across the table for a long moment, expression unreadable beneath the warm restaurant lighting. Then you blink slowly before setting your drink down carefully against the table.

“…There’s no deal. You made sure of that.”

The calmness in your voice instantly makes his irritation worse.

“You’ve been ignoring me all night.”

“No,” you answer evenly, “I’ve been talking to everyone.”

“Except me.”

The silence afterward settles heavily between you both.

Around the table, nobody moves. The noise of the izakaya suddenly feels distant compared to the pressure building in the booth. You lean back slightly in your seat, eyes finally holding his properly instead of sliding politely past him like earlier.

“What exactly are you expecting from me here, Katsuki?”

The question catches him off guard immediately.

Not because of the words but because of the exhaustion in your tone that has completely replaced anger.

“I dunno,” he answers flatly, defensive before he can stop himself. “Basic acknowledgement maybe.”

You stare at him another second before letting out a small breath through your nose. Not dramatic. Not emotional. Just tired.

“I said hi when you walked in.”

“No,” Katsuki says immediately, “you said hi to Eijiro.”

Kaminari audibly mutters “oh my god, bets. Bets now!” under his breath before Mina immediately kicks him hard beneath the table.

Your fingers tap once lightly against your glass before stilling again completely.

Then, finally, something shifts in your expression.

And it’s not sadness.

Just plain right resignation. Like you’ve already given up.

“You want honesty?” you ask quietly.

Something inside Katsuki’s chest tightens instinctively.

Because now everybody at the table is looking literally anywhere except the two of you. Kirishima suddenly becomes very interested in his drink. Ochaco stares fixedly at the condensation sliding down her glass. Even Sero awkwardly clears his throat under his breath.

“Fuck yeah, stop playing games.”

You hold Katsuki’s gaze the entire time when you speak again.

“I ain’t got shit to say to you in front of everyone.” You say, bluntly, “but since you say we don’t have to play games, I didn’t ignore you because I hate you,” you continue. “I ignored you because every single time I look at you, I remember the last conversation we had.”

The words land directly against his sternum. Heavy. Sharp like a swirly blade and enough that for a second he genuinely forgets how to respond.

The memory crashes back immediately whether he wants it to or not.

Rain hammering against pavement outside the apartment.

You crying so hard your voice kept shaking despite how badly you tried hiding it.

Him saying things he knew would hurt before they even left his mouth.

You standing there afterward like he’d physically reached inside your chest and twisted something apart with his bare hands.

“I wish I never met you.”

Katsuki remembers that part perfectly.

Worse, he remembers exactly what he said right before to make you say it. Something cruel. Something calculated. Something along the lines of “you’re lying to yourself when you say you love me.”

Because back then hurting each other always came easier than admitting how badly neither of you wanted things to end.

Across the table, your expression remains composed, but now he notices the strain sitting carefully beneath it. The effort it’s taking you to stay this calm. To keep your voice level instead of letting old wounds split open in front of everyone.

“I’m not trying to make tonight uncomfortable,” you continue more quietly now. “I came because I’m back in Japan and I missed everyone. That’s all.”

Everyone.

But not specifically him.

The distinction settles ugly and heavy enough inside his chest that he and everyone else in this room are short of words

The atmosphere around the table changes only when the emergency hero alert rings on everyone’s phones.

Around you, everybody moves at once.

Years of training erase the awkwardness almost instantly. Drinks abandoned. Jackets pulled on. Conversations cut short mid-sentence while tables scrape across wood flooring. The emotional wreckage sitting between you and Katsuki gets shoved violently aside beneath instinct and urgency.

You stand automatically too.

And for one humiliating second, relief floods through you so fast it almost makes your knees weak. Because now you don’t have to stay sitting across from him anymore.

You don’t have to survive whatever expression is currently sitting on Katsuki’s face after what you just said.

You don’t have to keep pretending your heart isn’t beating so hard it physically hurts.

The group spills out into the cold Musutafu night in a rush of noise and movement. Sirens already echo faintly somewhere ahead, reflecting red against rain-slick pavement while civilians stop to stare at the sudden crowd of pro heroes flooding onto the sidewalk.

You breathe in sharply the second cold air hits your lungs.

It helps. Barely. Your hands still feel shaky and so fucking stupid..

Because the worst part—the genuinely humiliating part—is that none of what you said was a lie.

You did ignore Katsuki because looking at him hurts.

But not in the way everyone at that table probably assumed. Everyone, including him, thinks it’s because you stopped loving him.

And honestly that—would’ve been easier.

The problem is, that standing across from Katsuki after three years still feels dangerously close to standing too near an open flame. Like one wrong moment of weakness could drag you straight back into him before you remember all the reasons you left in the first place.

And God—you wanted to.

That’s the pathetic part.

The second he walked into the restaurant tonight, broad shoulders filling the doorway, looking so pretty even if all the boyish charm had abandoned his face for good, while his eyes immediately found yours across the room, something inside your chest reacted so violently you almost forgot how to breathe.

Three years.

Three whole fucking years.

And your body still recognized him instantly.

You hated that.

Hated how good he looked. Hated how familiar his voice sounded. Hated that even now, after everything, some traitorous part of you still wanted to walk straight across the room and touch him just to prove he was real. Kiss him so you at least be able to go back to your friends overseas and let them know you got the kiss of closure you’ve been wanting so desperately. 

But you knew better now.

You had to know better now.

Because loving Katsuki always felt like standing too close to an explosion and convincing yourself the heat wasn’t burning you alive.

You pull your hair back quickly while jogging after the others down the crowded sidewalk, the heels of your boots striking wet pavement hard enough to ground you back into the present. Neon signs blur overhead while people move aside hurriedly at the sight of pro heroes rushing past.

Beside you, Ochaco glances over briefly.

“You okay?”

The question is gentle enough to make your throat tighten unexpectedly.

“Yeah,” you answer immediately.

Too quickly.

Ochaco’s expression softens in that awful way people look at wounded animals they aren’t sure how to help. That facade that all heroes put on when they’re helping a missing child find their mommy.

You look away to let her go before she can say anything else.

Ahead of the group, Katsuki is already moving faster than everyone else, irritation practically radiating off him in waves while sparks crackle faintly against his palms. The familiar sight hits somewhere deep in your chest with painful precision.

God.

There he is— Still carrying himself like the entire world personally offended him for existing.

And somehow you still love him enough it makes you feel sick.

You wonder briefly if he knows.

If he’s always known and if so, why he’s denying it.

Maybe that’s what made the breakup so unbearable in the first place. Katsuki understood exactly how much power he had over you, and every time he got scared of needing someone that badly in return, he lashed out before you could hurt him first.

________

The robbery cleanup drags longer than expected.

Statements. Damage reports. Civilians needing reassurance. Media helicopters circling overhead long enough to become irritating background noise.

By the time everything finally settles, the sky above Musutafu has turned that heavy shade of black and blue. The streets are quieter now, washed silver beneath streetlights while exhausted civilians slowly reclaim the sidewalks. Neon signs remain glowing in the background of it all.

Katsuki feels wrung out.

Not physically, though. Physically he’s fine. His heart, at least, has finally stopped palpitating. It’s everything else which isn’t his heart that's clawing at the inside of his chest that’s making him tired.

After an agonizing thirty minutes of broken communications on splitting the bill with everyone else, he gets dragged into easy conversation.

“Alright, alright,” Kaminari groans dramatically while stretching his arms over his head. “I’m officially declaring tonight cursed.”

“You declare everything cursed,” Mina replies instantly.

“Because everything is cursed.”

Kirishima snorts beside them while Izuku adjusts the strap of his gauntlets. “At least nobody got seriously hurt.”

“Yeah,” Katsuki mutters distractedly, digging his car keys from his pocket.

His mind hasn’t stopped replaying the familiar sound of your voice through your conversation for the past twenty minutes. The kind of familiar that dug straight under his skin and stayed there.

Katsuki hates how much those words affected him. Hates that part of him wanted to turn around and ask what the hell that tone meant after everything that’s happened between you before leaving for his hero duties.

Instead, he shoved it down where everything else goes. The pit of his dropping stomach.

The group behind him, after enthusiastically rejoicing and pleading for even a sight of his car, reaches the parking structure entrance together with him, footsteps echoing faintly through the concrete levels while fluorescent lights buzz overhead. Mina’s still talking about how good the food was. Kirishima’s half-listening while Denki complains loudly about tomorrow’s paperwork.

Normal. Everything feels painfully normal again.

Izuku has already left to chase after Ochaco. Katsuki gets to go home with one less friend to lash out on and half a heart.

“Later, man,” Kirishima says to a far away Izuku raising a hand.

Katsuki barely listens while waving him off with a lazy flick of his hand.

Then he sees you. And every thought in his head immediately cuts clean in half.

You’re standing beside his car. leaning against it casually. Not waiting in some cinematic pose.

Just there.

Hands tucked into the pockets of your jacket while cool garage lighting spills softly across your face. You look tired now. More tired than you did at dinner. Hair slightly messy. Faint smudges of eyeliner still near the corners of your eyes.

Real. That’s the first thing that hits him. Just you. Waiting for him.

Kirishima notices you first from the whole group.

“Oh, hi.”

Mina stops talking.

Denki’s eyes widen slightly before darting rapidly between both of you like he accidentally walked into live explosives.

Katsuki’s pulse kicks hard once against his ribs and his neck.

You look at him quietly before speaking.

“…Can we talk?”

Simple words. Calm voice. And somehow they hit harder than that joke of an argument earlier.

Nobody moves for about two seconds. Then Katsuki clicks his tongue sharply without taking his eyes off you.

“Oi.”

Kirishima straightens immediately. “Yeah?”

“Get lost.”

Denki nearly chokes.

Mina looks openly offended. “Wow? Rude.”

“I said leave.”

“Actually,” Kaminari says nervously, already backing away, “I think that’s a fantastic idea.”

Kirishima hesitates longer.

Katsuki notices it instantly.

The concern. The don’t blow this up worse look sitting all over his face.

“Tch,” Katsuki mutters. “I’m not gonna start shit in a parking garage.”

“That’s not super reassuring when you phrase it like that,” Mina says.

You huff out the faintest breath beside the car—almost a laugh.

The sound catches Katsuki off guard badly enough that his eyes flick toward you automatically. Because he forgot for a second what it sounded like when your amusement wasn’t forced. He’s forgotten what it was like when he used to make you laugh, being so caught up in the destruction of it all.

Kirishima notices too. Something in his expression softens before he finally sighs heavily and throws his hands up. “Alright, alright. We’re leaving.”

“But if either of you commits emotional crimes,” Mina warns dramatically while walking backward toward the elevator, “I’m intervening.”

“You say that like you’re emotionally qualified to help anybody,” Katsuki shoots back automatically. “Or like you have to wait around here.”

“See? This is why therapy should be mandatory for heroes!”

The elevator doors of the garage close over the sound of Denki cackling.

And then they’re gone.

Silence settles almost immediately afterward. Not awkward exactly.

The parking structure hums quietly around you both, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead while distant traffic echoes faintly from outside. Somewhere farther down the level, water drips steadily from a pipe into concrete.

Katsuki shoves one hand into his pocket to stop himself from fidgeting.

You still haven’t moved from beside his car.

Up close now, he notices the exhaustion sitting beneath your eyes properly. The careful composure from dinner looks thinner somehow. Like tonight finally wore through it.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. Then—

“You really think I hate you?” you ask quietly.

The question lands so directly he almost flinches.

Katsuki’s jaw tightens automatically. “You ignored me for four fuckin’ hours.”

“I ignored you because I was trying not to ruin my own night.”

That catches him off guard enough to shut him up briefly.

You look away first, arms folding tighter across yourself.

“I spent three years trying to get over you,” you admit quietly. “Do you understand how humiliating it is that seeing you again almost reset all of it instantly?”

Katsuki feels something sharp twist low in his chest.

Because your voice still doesn't sound angry. It  sounds like you’re simple frustrated with yourself.

“I didn’t know what version of you was gonna walk into that restaurant tonight,” you continue. “And honestly? I was scared that if I talked to you normally for even five minutes, I’d forget why we broke up in the first place.”

The parking garage suddenly feels too small, too warm. Katsuki stares at you, heartbeat starting to thud harder beneath his ribs again in a way that has nothing to do with fighting anymore. He starts thinking of every single moment today where his thoughts remained the same as yours.

You laugh softly then, but there’s no humor in it.

“And the worst part is,” you murmur, eyes dropping briefly toward the concrete floor, “I still wanted you to come sit next to me. I keep thinking I want the goodbye kiss that I never got. I can never fully leave you behind and I think it’s just because I don’t want to. Last year when you messaged me, I found myself excited at the thought of us getting back together.

The words hit him harder than any fight tonight did.

Just honest enough to split something open clean down the middle.

Katsuki stares at you like he genuinely forgot how to move for a second. Because he’d prepared himself for anger; —resentment, perhaps. Even the mischellanious instant where you’d be maybe telling him you moved on and he was pathetic for still carrying pieces of this -you- around like shrapnel under his skin.

He didn’t prepare himself himself for this right now in any of his overthinking scenarios.

You standing in front of him at nearly two two in the morning, exhausted and vulnerable and still admitting you wanted him back once too. The million dollar question is: do you still?

The fluorescent lights of the parking lot above you the two of you flicker faintly.  Somewhere deeper in the garage, a car alarm chirps once before falling silent again—Katsuki barely hears any of it.

“When I saw your message,” you continue more quietly, “I remember staring at my phone like an idiot for an hour before answering.” A weak laugh leaves you. “My friend literally had to pry it out of my hands because I kept rereading it.”

His chest tightens painfully.

Because he remembers sending that message.

Sitting alone in his apartment after patrol with alcohol burning down his throat while he typed and deleted different versions of I miss you for nearly twenty minutes before settling on something colder instead. Something easier.

“Why would you fucking unblock me?”

Pathetic.

“You sounded angry,” you admit softly. “But I still kept hoping maybe underneath it… maybe you missed me enough to try again.”

Katsuki looks away sharply, jaw flexing hard.

He did.

That’s the worst fucking part.

He remembers pacing around his kitchen waiting for your replies like his life depended on them. Remembers the stupid spike of hope every time his phone buzzed. Remembers ruining the entire conversation because the second things started feeling vulnerable again, panic crawled viciously straight up his spine and turned everything mean.

Same old him as always.

“You told me I never changed,” he mutters roughly.

Your expression shifts slightly at that. Not regret exactly. Something sadder.

“Because you hadn’t.”

The honesty stings immediately because part of him knows you’re right. Back then he’d still been treating love like a fight he needed to win before somebody could abandon him first. Katsuki drags a hand hard down his face before laughing once under his breath. Bitter. Exhausted.

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Probably deserved that one.”

Silence settles again after that. Raw, void of the hostility every other silence between you tonight. However, this time, the hostility of any previous silence between you tonight, is missing. Everything is raw and open like an oozing, fresh wound.

Had that been the case, he’d known better of.

You’re still standing near his car with your arms folded tightly across yourself like you’re physically holding your own chest together. Katsuki notices your fingers trembling slightly against your sleeves.

You’re nervous.

That realization hits unexpectedly hard too. Because he also forgot what it felt like knowing he could still affect you like this.

“I hated you for a while,” you admit suddenly, voice quieter now. “Or—I tried to, at least, at least.” You shake your head faintly. “I wanted to, anyway. It would’ve made moving on easier.”

Katsuki doesn’t interrupt.

Doesn’t trust himself to.

“But then stupid things kept happening,” you continue, eyes unfocused now like you’re talking more to yourself than him. “I’d hear someone laugh like you at work and my whole day would get weird after. Or somebody would burn coffee and suddenly I’d remember your apartment.” Another soft, embarrassed laugh. “There’s this hero overseas that yells exactly like you during meetings. I almost walked out the first time because I started tearing up.”

Something dangerously warm starts spreading low in Katsuki’s chest.

Not ego. Not satisfaction.

Something worse—Hope.

Small and so fragile and so, so terrifying. and plainly—

You finally look back up at him then, expression open in a way he hasn’t seen in years.

“And honestly?” you say quietly, “I think part of me kept waiting for you to come after me.”

That one nearly knocks the air clean out of him.

Because he wanted to.

God, he wanted to.

He remembers standing in airports during patrol assignments wondering what country you were in. Remembers opening your chat box dozens of times— knowing which one it was simply by how many weeks ago was your last conversation— just to close it again before typing anything. Remembers seeing your name finally appear in his Instagram chat box instead of ‘User’ and feeling his stomach drop so hard he had to sit down.

But wanting something and knowing how to hold onto it were always two different things for him.

Katsuki swallows hard before speaking.

“You said you wished you never met me.”

Your face changes instantly. Pain flickers there, between your worried brows so quickly he almost misses it.

“I know.”

“You meant it?”

“No,” you answer immediately.

Too fast for it to not be honest. Katsuki would crack up a cocky smile if the sound of its admission didn’t hook directly beneath his ribs.

You inhale shakily afterward, eyes dropping again.

“I said it because I wanted to hurt you back,” you admit. “And because you’d just spent an hour making me feel stupid and calling me a liar for telling you i loved you.”

The words land heavy between you both. Katsuki feels nausea twist unpleasantly in his stomach because he remembers that night perfectly now more than any other time.

Not just the fight.

Your face.

The way you looked at him like you were begging him to give you one reason to stay softer with each other instead of turning everything into a bloodbath.

And he had spectacularly failed, spectacularly.

“You really thought I didn’t love you?” you ask suddenly, quieter now.

And since the answer to your question is humiliating, Katsuki’s throat feels tight.

“…Yeah.”

You stare at him for a long moment after that. Then you laugh again, but this time it sounds closer to heartbreak.

“Katsuki,” you whisper softly, “I moved across the world and still couldn’t stop loving you properly.”

That one hurts.

Not in a bad way.

Worse.

Because suddenly all three years between you feel unbearably visible at once. Every missed call never made. Every airport not boarded. Every message typed and deleted. Every lonely apartment. Every night spent pretending this wasn’t still sitting unfinished between you both. It never actually had to be that way. 

Katsuki looks at you standing there beneath harsh garage lighting with tired eyes and shaky hands and too much honesty spilling out at once and realizes, with horrifying clarity, that if you were to claim your goodbye kiss; if you so as kissed him right now, he genuinely doesn’t think he’d survive it quietly.

Neither of you says anything for a while after that.

The parking garage hums quietly around you, fluorescent lights buzzing overhead in uneven intervals while rainwater drips somewhere deeper in the structure with slow, hollow echoes. The city outside has started slipping into that strange hour between night and morning where everything feels softer around the edges. Traffic is thinner now. The distant sounds of Musutafu blur together into something low and tired beneath the concrete silence.

Katsuki can hear your breathing.

Not because the garage is particularly quiet, but because he’s standing too close to you again after three years and his body keeps locking onto every tiny thing automatically.

The way your shoulders rise slightly every time you inhale. The faint tremble still lingering in your fingers. The exhaustion sitting beneath your eyes.

You look nothing like the polished, untouchable version of yourself he built up in his head over the past few years. Standing here now, you just look human again.

Real enough to ache over.

To you… Does he look that way too?

“Let’s go, I’ll take you home.” Katsuki shifts his weight once before dragging a hand through his hair roughly. “We should probably get outta here before Mina decides to come back and interrogate us.”

The corner of your mouth twitches faintly. “That implies she never actually left.”

“She’s probably hiding behind a concrete pillar right now.”

“She absolutely is.”

The tiny bit of shared amusement loosens something dangerously fragile between you both.

Katsuki unlocks the car with a sharp click of the key fob. Then you glance toward the passenger side before looking back at him again, uncertainty flickering briefly across your expression like you’re second-guessing whether this is a good idea.

Honestly, he’s wondering the same thing.

Because every second around you tonight has felt like standing near something unstable with no self-control left to keep his hands off it.

Still, he opens the passenger door for you anyway.

You hesitate only a second before climbing inside.

The interior of the car smells faintly like leather, rain, and burnt caramel coffee from whatever drive-through Kirishima dragged him through earlier this week. Soft dashboard lights glow low against the dark while droplets of rain slide slowly down the windshield overhead. The city reflects across the glass in blurred streaks of neon and gold.

Katsuki rounds the front of the car slowly, pulse thudding heavier with every step.

By the time he slides into the driver’s seat, the air inside already feels too warm.

You’re sitting angled slightly toward the window, arms folded loosely across yourself while the glow from passing streetlights softens the side of your face. Your makeup’s mostly worn off by now. There’s still a faint smear of eyeliner and mascara at the corner of your eye.

He has to physically stop himself from reaching over to wipe it away.

Silence settles again, but it’s different inside the car.

The enclosed space presses everything tighter together until even breathing feels too noticeable.

Katsuki rests one hand against the steering wheel without starting the engine. “So what now?”

You let out a quiet breath through your nose before leaning your head back against the seat. “I don’t know.” you sigh “I didn’t really think this far ahead.”

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Me neither.”

Rain starts tapping lightly against concrete again. Thin at first. Then steadier.

Your eyes drift toward the sound automatically. “It always rains when we talk about serious shit.”

Katsuki snorts softly before he can stop himself. “That’s because you always picked fights during storms.”

“I did not.”

“You absolutely did.”

A small laugh escapes you then, quieter than before but real enough that something in his chest twists painfully around it. God, he missed that sound. Missed sitting beside you while conversations slipped this easily between silence and teasing without either of you forcing it.

A newer realization scares him a little; It would be so easy to fall right back into this. Too easy.

You turn toward him slightly then, knees shifting against the seat. “Can I ask you something?”

“Tch. You usually do anyway.”

Your eyes narrow faintly at the automatic attitude, but there’s no real heat behind it now. “Why didn’t you come after me?”

The question settles heavily into the space between you both.

Katsuki’s jaw tightens immediately.

Outside, headlights slide briefly across the windshield before disappearing down the garage ramp. He watches the reflections fade instead of looking directly at you.

“Didn’t think you wanted me to.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Of course it isn’t.

You were always annoyingly good at pulling honesty out of him even when he fought it.

Katsuki exhales slowly through his nose before speaking. “Because I thought if I showed up and you looked happier without me…” He laughs once under his breath, rough and humorless. “Didn’t think I could handle that. It’d just fucking prove i’m hard to love and you’re better without me.”

The space between you afterward feels fragile.

When he finally looks over, your expression has softened into something unbearably tender.

Fuck, fuck—Fuck.

“You’re an idiot,” you murmur quietly.

There’s no cruelty in it. Maybe a tad of acceptance. A smear of sadness.

Your eyes flick downward briefly then back to his face, and suddenly Katsuki becomes painfully aware of how close you’re sitting. The center console feels too small now. The air feels thick with old history and exhaustion and everything neither of you managed to bury properly.

His gaze drops to your mouth before he can stop it.

He notices immediately when your breathing changes.

Slight.

Barely there.

But enough.

The tension inside the car shifts all at once after that.

Not explosive and immediate, like he’s used to. It’s slow and dangerous. Like something pulling tighter inch by inch.

Katsuki’s fingers flex once against the steering wheel. “Tell me to stop looking at you like that.”

Your throat moves subtly when you swallow.

“You first.”

Fuck. Shit!

The flirtiness in your tone hits him hard enough to feel somewhere low in his stomach.

Rain streaks slower down the windshield now, blurring neon lights outside into smeared ribbons of color while the heater hums faintly beneath the dashboard. The whole car feels suspended outside time somehow. Separate from the rest of the city. With nothing left to do but park at the side of the road, Katsuki swerves the steering wheel towards his new direction.

When he shuts off the engine, you’re the one who moves first.

Barely.

Just enough to lean a little closer and more tentative toward him. You’re giving him room to pull away if he wants to.

Katsuki doesn’t. Neither pull away, nor want to.

His hand reaches for your face almost automatically, rough palm settling carefully against your jaw like muscle memory never left him at all. The contact pulls a shaky breath from you instantly, and that sound alone nearly destroys whatever restraint he still has left.

He kisses you before he can think too hard about it.

And it feels exactly like coming home to something he convinced himself no longer existed.

Warm.

Familiar.

Devastating.

You make this tiny broken noise against his mouth the second the kiss lands properly, fingers grabbing instinctively at the front of his shirt like you need something solid to hold onto. Katsuki feels his entire chest cave inward around the feeling of you kissing him back just as desperately. His lips ache with buzzing numbness and he tries his very best to even remember the steps to a kiss he’s trained to fit perfectly into.

Three years of missing each other crashes together all at once inside that kiss.

His other hand slides against your waist, pulling you closer over the center console while rain drums steadily overhead. Your lips part against his almost immediately, breath shaky and uneven as the kiss deepens into something messier. Hungrier.

Katsuki kisses like he’s starving.

Always has.

Like every emotion he doesn’t know how to say properly gets forced violently through his hands and mouth instead.

You remember that instantly.

He feels it in the way your fingers tighten against him. The way your breathing starts breaking apart every time he kisses you harder. The way you lean into him like you missed this just as badly as he did.

When you finally pull back for air, neither of you gets very far.

Your forehead rests shakily against his while both of you breathe the same recycled air inside the dark car. Katsuki’s hand is still cupping your jaw. Your fingers are still twisted tightly into his shirt.

With one swift movement, Katsuki’s hand forces your jaw right into his, your lips slamming against each other's once again.

The kiss turns rough immediately.

Not careless —Never careless with you.

Katsuki’s just overwhelmed by the sheer force of finally having you this close again after years spent trying to convince himself he could survive without it.

Your breath catches sharply against his mouth when he kisses you deeper this time, fingers twisting harder into the front of his shirt while the center console digs awkwardly against your hip from how far you’ve leaned toward him. Rain continues sliding steadily down the windshield outside, blurring neon lights into streaks of gold and red across the dark interior of the car.

Katsuki barely notices any of it anymore.

All he can focus on is you.

The warmth of your mouth.

The familiar way you melt and tense at the same time whenever he kisses you too hard.

The shaky inhale you keep failing to steady every time his thumb brushes beneath your jaw.

His chest feels unbearably tight.

Because this isn’t nostalgia anymore.

It isn’t just memory. You’re actually here. Actually kissing him back with enough desperation that it almost hurts.

A strained sound escapes him before he can stop it, muffled against your lips while he pulls you even closer over the console. His hand slips from your jaw into your hair, fingers curling carefully at the base of your neck like he physically cannot stand another inch of distance between you both.

You break the kiss first this time, but only barely. Only enough for more air.

Your lips still brush his when you speak.

“Katsuki—”

His name falls apart halfway through your breath, soft enough that he nearly loses whatever remains of his self-control entirely.

Because you still say his name the same way.

But now he knows it means something. He can accept it means something.

Katsuki’s forehead presses hard against yours while he tries and fails to regulate his breathing. The inside of the car suddenly feels too hot, thick with condensation and recycled air and of unresolved feelings collapsing violently into each other all at once.

“You gotta stop lookin’ at me like that,” he mutters hoarsely.

Your brows pull together faintly. “Like what?”

“Like you and i will—” He cuts himself off immediately, jaw tightening hard enough to ache.

The words refuse to come out cleanly.

You stare at him for a second too long after that, your expression softening into something that almost looks painful.

“Katsuki,” you whisper quietly, “I literally just told you I couldn’t move on.”

Yeah. He knows.

And somehow hearing it still doesn’t feel real.

“But if we y’know—now,” he coughs “maybe you’ll regret it.”

His eyes search your face automatically like he’s trying to find evidence that this is temporary. That you’ll wake up tomorrow and realize kissing him again was a mistake. That eventually you’ll remember all the reasons loving him became unbearable in the first place.

The fear must show somewhere across his expression because your hand suddenly lifts toward his face.

Your fingertips brush against the side of his jaw where the faint razor burn still sits from earlier tonight, and the tenderness behind the touch nearly destroys him more effectively than the kissing did.

“Katsuki, are you talking about sex?” you murmur softly, whispering the last word extensively. 

A weak huff of laughter leaves him despite himself. His lower lip pouts out.

“You always get this line between your eyebrows whenever you get shy like this.”

Your thumb smooths unconsciously against the spot moments later like muscle memory. Katsuki feels his stomach twist painfully around the familiarity of it.

God.

He missed this.

Not even the kissing specifically. Not even the sex. (And he’s missed these two plenty)

Just this.

You knowing him so instinctively that his body reacts before his brain catches up.

“I wouldn’t regret it. I’ve wanted it so much even though I was convinced it’d never happen again. I can’t regret doing something that I want to do.”

Your words settle heavy enough in his chest that suddenly he needs to kiss you again before he says something humiliating.

His mouth crashes back against yours harder this time.

You make another soft noise into the kiss immediately, one that sounds dangerously close to heartbreak, and Katsuki swears he feels the sound straight through his ribs. His hand tightens carefully at the back of your neck while your fingers slide upward into his hair, slightly damp strands catching between your knuckles.

The angle is awkward across the center console.

Neither of you cares.

Your knee bumps clumsily against the gear shift while Katsuki leans further toward you, broad shoulders pressing you deeper into the passenger seat unintentionally from the sheer force of how badly he’s kissing you now. Every breath between you feels uneven. Messy. Shared.

Three years disappears frighteningly fast like this. Just temporarily drowned beneath the overwhelming relief of finally touching each other again.

Katsuki feels your hand trembling slightly where it cups the side of his face.

The realization makes him pull back barely enough to look at you.

Your lips are swollen now. Eyes glassy beneath the dashboard glow while your breathing comes apart in shallow bursts that mirror his almost exactly. Then your expression shifts suddenly, something vulnerable flickering across it fast enough to make his chest tighten again.

“What if we do this again?” you ask quietly. “What if we try again and it ruins us worse this time?”

The question lands hard because it’s real. Not dramatic or hypothetical. You’re genuinely afraid. Because it’s been over three years since you’ve kissed, even more since you were intimate with each other, since you held an actual conversation.

And honestly? So is he.

Katsuki stares at you in the dim car lighting while rain taps softly overhead, your fingers still resting against his jaw like you’re scared to let go completely.

Then, slowly, he turns his head just enough to press a kiss against the center of your palm,vermillion eyes locked in yours..

The gesture feels strangely vulnerable coming from him.

“I think,” he says roughly afterward, eyes still fixed on yours, too sceptical, “it already ruined us the first time.” His thumb brushes carefully against your waist, then, sensually across your ribs “Didn’t stop either of us from wanting it again.”

It feels strangely fragile now that the adrenaline of finally kissing each other has settled slightly. Not awkward exactly. Just painfully real in a way neither of you can hide from anymore. 

Neither of you seems fully willing to let go first.

You look mentally exhausted. The kind of exhaustion that seeps into your bones and bleeds across the surface of your skin; heart beating fast, eyes wide open and desperate. Katsuki, for worse luck despite it all, probably looks the same.

Your eyes drift downward briefly before you let out a small breath through your nose. “This is probably a terrible idea.”

Katsuki huffs quietly. “Yeah.”

“But I really don’t care right now.” you admit “do you?”

“Hell nah!”

Katsuki Bakugo Masterlist

~All rights reserved: @/strawberry-nugget, 2026. Please do not copy, over write or steal my work //

Likes and reblogs are so appreciated but if you you liked this you can let me know in the comments <3

Katsuki Bakugou, as you've now come to know him, lives lavishly — expensive furniture scattered around his apartment surely making for good company. The walls are surprisingly bare, save for a handful of art pieces you're sure costs more than your rent.

He doesn't stop long enough for you to inspect them, only dragging you through the apartment with his hand around your wrist.

"You live alone? Mr. Bakugou . . ?" you question, following closely behind him.

Lost in the haze of tattoos and his woodsy scented cologne, not once did the idea of him being taken cross your mind. Nor what you were meant to call him — Mr. Bakugou? Sir? 

Although judging by the grin on his face, he'd probably enjoy hearing either.

"You sure ask a lotta questions," he smirks, twisting the golden knob of the bedroom door. 

He drags you into the darkness of his room, guiding you towards the bed while he flicks on a lamp. The sheer force sends your body flying off the mattress, bouncing against the plush foam before its grounded by his body over yours.

"You askin' if I'm a cheater, sweets?" 

A thigh slots itself between your legs, the stitching of his pants piercing through the thin fabric of your panties. The feeling makes your back arch — hips moving against him as if they had a mind of their own. 

"Of course not," 

Pressing yourself harder against his leg ,your body buckles at the feeling, a hand snakes it's way to his face as you tug him towards your lips. Warm breath mixes in the minimal space between you two before he closes the distance.

Every clash of lips and tongue is messy, much unlike his composure before. The sloppy grinds against his thigh forcing your mouth to fall open. 

It only makes room for his tongue, weaving itself into the soaked confines of your mouth as he swallows every sound you make. 

"Take off my shirt," he whispers, ending his statement with a kiss against your cheek. Katsuki towers over you as he watches, ruby eyes boring into your needy form as you reach for the plastic. "A good listener too? Someone's horny."

You roll your eyes.

The buttons on his shirt come loose with little effort, his collared shirt slipping from his shoulders and pooling onto the floor. Bold ink stretches over his right arm, trailing it's way over his chest — the dark lines winding over golden skin. 

Your gaze follows the pattern from his forearm to his shoulder — until the design stops. His left side surprisingly bare in comparison.

"Did you run out of things to tattoo?" you smile, reaching out to brush your fingertips over the untouched skin.

"No."

"Then why's this one empty"

A crooked grin tugs at his lips as he fiddles with the hem of your dress, eyes flicking over you like he's already distracted, "Savin' it."

Much like him to answer so vaguely. 

Amused, he watches you, laughing as your brows crease in thought.

"I can hear you thinkin' about it." 

"I'm not."

Liar.

The blonde doesn't waste his breath arguing, actions speak louder than words, after all — like the way your hips buck when he blows softly at your clit, or how your thighs squeeze around his head when he gives the swollen nub a kiss.

He licks a long stripe on the outline of your slit, saliva coating the thin cotton of of your underwear as it sticks to your wetness. Rough hands busying themselves with your chest.

"Mr. - Sir-, please"

Hips bucking against his tongue, dragging the wet muscle over every inch of your core. His tattooed hand moves in front of you, guiding one of yours to his blonde locs. 

"Sir?" he snorts, signalling you to lift your hips as he slips off your underwear, "You're makin' me sound ancient. Just call me Katsuki, yeah?"

His tongue is on you before you can dwell on it — two hands sprawling your thighs apart, as he basks in the glow of your cunt under the dim lighting. He hikes your thighs over his shoulders, inching himself closer to the spot he knows you need him most.

His tongue darts out as if he's testing the waters, dragging it along your slit as he hums against you — his fingers rough on your waist.

You're putty under his touch, thighs clamped around his head as you moan softly into the dim room.

Too quiet for his liking.

He pulls away with your slick coating his mouth, trails of sticky release spanning from his chin to his nose as he mumbles, "Fuck are you so quiet for? You gettin' shy on me, pretty?"

You whine at that, rolling your hips against the air as his lips ghost over your cunt.

"Just feels different."

You certainly caught his attention with that.

"Different, how?" he questions, trailing two fingers from his tatted arm against your soaked entrance, "You gotta talk to me."

His body's now fully on top of yours, bare skin rubbing against your chest as his free hand cages your head. Lips giving a teasing lick to your ear as he watches your writhing form.

With a sigh, your hands cover your face — your body betraying your coyness when his fingers prod at your entrance.

He knows what he's doing — shallowly pressing two fingers inside you before he's pulling them away. Bringing his lips to your face as he commands, "Tell me how it feels."

"G-good. Feels good, Katsuki" you whine, smashing your lips on his to hide the embarrassment clearly written on your face. Your voice is honeyed with want and lust, pressing yourself closer to him as his fingers curl inside you. 

He nods knowingly, nose brushing yours lazily as his fingers move faster. "Yeah? That's a good girl"

Wet squelches bounce off every wall, the sound ringing in your head as heat fills your tummy. Your hands cradle his face as you near your high, moaning into his mouth from the speed of his fingers and the steady gaze of his eyes. 

Even as you cum, his pace doesn't falter — only pulling his fingers from your sopping cunt when you push at his arm. He licks the digits hungrily, milking the droplets of your slick for its every last inch.

Palming the bulge uncomfortably tucked in his pants, he laughs, "That wrecked just from my fingers, hm?"

That earns him another eye roll.

He makes quick work of taking off his clothes and yours, his belt clanking on against your dress thrown in the corner of the room. 

Every inch of his body is a sight to behold, muscles protruding against his honeyed-skin as he fists his cock. It was as if he was sculpted by hand, every detail crafted with the utmost care. 

He's so hot.

"Do you have a condom?" he asks, digging in his drawer. His hands raise in defence when you stare at him offended, rummaging through the drawers of his nightstand as he pulls one out.

He makes slow work of the latex — painfully slow. Thick fingers fussing with the plastic as the room washes over with silence — you have half the mind to yank it from his hands.

So you do.

The shimmery packaging tossed onto his floor. 

"That's not safe sex." he taunts, although the subtle bounce of his cock against his toned chiselled torso tells a different story. 

You ignore him, opting for focusing on the reason why you "actually" went home with this man in the first place. 

"Why wear long sleeves when you've got all…" you pause, gesturing to his arm " … these" you murmur, scooting yourself towards his spot on the bed as you lie back against the bed, watching him impatiently.

You're the one being ignored this time — tattooed hand pumping itself lazily as he coats himself in his own slick.

Just like the rest of his place, his room doesn't tell you much about him, keeping the blonde man with his scarred skin and smug-attitude an untold mystery, which only makes the tattoos scattered all the more interesting.

Trailing your gaze over every inch of his room — something you probably should've done before had this man turned out to be a serial killer.

"What's that one for?" you hum, eyes catching on the litter of small explosions inked on his arm.

He stares at you, then down at himself, a silent questioning of your timing written all over his face before he follows your gaze, "That one was a stupid mistake"

You eye him suspiciously before pointing at the linear art on his pec, "And this one?"

"Even stupider."

Surprisingly, no eye roll this time.

He's over your antics now, laughing at your defeatedness as he cages you underneath his body. Dragging his tip over the slick of your cunt as distraction. 

"Is this still okay?"

You nod softly, grabbing his shoulders to pull him towards you when you feel the gentle press of his length between your thighs. 

"Enough of that quiet shit," he groans, words cut off as he presses himself in deeper, "Be loud f'me, or else I'll stop"

His threats fall on deaf ears as you whine beneath him, hips twitching against his. The words once waiting to be spoken caught in his throat as he buries himself to the hilt, hips pressed against yours as his face falls into the crook of your neck. 

You whine against his cheek, his thick cock splitting you open in the best way possible — sweat and sex blurring your senses as you adjust to his size.

There's a soft rock of his hips, then another — each thrust a testing push that buries him deeper inside your gummy walls. He groans at every sound that slips past your lips, losing himself in your hear as he drives himself further with every slow thrust.

"Still too quiet" he grunts, finishing each word with a sharp thrust, hips fastening their pace, "Louder."

Your mouth falls into a wide 'O' at the shift in speed, skin slapping in rhythmic motions as he thrusts deep inside you. 

Low, and guttural — you moan into the empty space on the left side of his neck before giving the unmarked skin a teasing nip.

Paintings rattle against their spot on the walls as he drags your hips to meet his, a chilling reminder of just how fast he was going. 

Slipping a hand down the valley of your bodies, he toys with your clit. A whine of his name is ripping from your throat as he does so - his cock reaching lengths so deep it pummels the spongy spot inside you like he's trying to learn it. 

Each thrust is more desperate than the last as he watches you underneath him. His eyes honed in on your every reaction as you cry out blissfully. 

"Feel good?" he asks as if his voice alone doesn't force your walls to clench, squeezing around him like a vice he wouldn't dare try to escape. He smirks when you nod your head, pressing his face just a little closer, "Say it."

"F-feels good, 'Suki" 

The words come out in a breathless hush as the feeling of his cock clouds your mind, thighs shaking around his waist as you desperately try to pull him closer. He grunts in response, whispering a small 'Fuck' at the new name, his body suddenly flustered as his pace falters before they're given less than a second to recover.

Warm breath fans over your lips, his nose forcefully pushing against yours with each brutal thrust. 

Flustered, and maybe a bit shy, your eyes lock on his unmarked skin, waves of lust guiding your every move. 

Mindlessly you bite, plush skin sinking into the whites of your teeth as you gnaw and lap at the his shoulder — you're sure that'll leave a mark.

He hisses through his teeth, hips stuttering their pace as he relishes in the sting before they pick up in speed once again. 

"Yeah, mark me gorgeous. Like I'm— fuck— 'm all yours, huh?"

His. His. His.

Every inch of your body taking on a new wave of confidence as your mouth moves against the spot — licking, biting, sucking on the honeyed skin as your eyes well from pleasure.

The sounds in the room are nothing short of lewd — hips colliding, muffled moans against his shoulder, shameless grunts tumbling from his bruised lips — it's all too much for either of you to take.

His resolve snaps when you squeeze around him. Hips jolting almost painfully against you as he fucks you through your high, his not far behind. 

Symphonies of groans and whines reverberate through his apartment, his last few thrusts sloppy inside your sopping walls before he's pulling out with a wet 'pop' Your juices leak down every inch of his cock, mixing with the white globs that drip from his tip. 

He's fully on top of you now, pounds of muscle stuck to your skin through the power of sweat and pure filth.

"You still with me?"

You hum softly, grabbing at his cheeks to pull him into a deep kiss. There's a softness to it, one that holds a thousand different feelings in the warm hush of your quiet afterglow.

"You should wear more short sleeve shirts" you whisper against his lips.

He chuckles, brushing away the hair that sticks to your forehead, as he smiles playfully, "Yes ma'am." 

Katsuki rolls you over with ease, your body now pressed comfortably against his chest as he holds you in his arms — the tattooed one tracing your curves lazily.

"… Kats?" you whisper, voice hoarse from its earlier exhaustion, "One more time?"

You hide your restlessness by pressing a chaste kiss to his lips, thighs spread over his as you settle on top of his chest. Your hips move slowly against his cock, the appendage still sitting painfully hard against his toned frame. 

A hearty laugh this time.

"You sure, sweets?" he asks, two thick hands making themselves comfortable on the globes of your ass, "You look pretty tired to me."

You huff, adjusting yourself to prod his weeping cock against your entrance."No, that's you." you huff, adjusting yourself to prod his weeping cock against your entrance, "Don't tap out on me, Grandpa."

Katsuki would rather die than do that, especially when the words "tap out" and "grandpa" used to describe him, are something he's more than happy to fuck right out of your head. 

. . . 

Only a few weeks later, and you're glad to call "Mr. Bakugou" your boyfriend. Spoiled in the luxury and comfort of his heart, he dotes on you in a way no man ever has.

The next time you see Katsuki, you're both clad in a lot more clothes — well, sort of. His burly frame looks almost out of place in such a small café, broad shoulders plopping into the seat across from you.

"You look good" he smiles, beckoning towards the few hickeys that have yet to fade

One more eye roll for the books.

You hum at that, swirling your drinks in the white porcelain as you bring it to your lips, hiding your smile "Short sleeves this time?" you question, swigging the drink in your mouth, "Looks good on you."

Now it was his turn to smile.

He stretches his arms under the light of the cafe, muscles tensing as he does. The tattoos now exposed in broad daylight moving across his skin as your eyes trail from his forearms to his neck—

What the fuck was that?

You reach for the collar of his shirt before you can stop yourself, tugging at the fabric to reveal the ink on the left side of his collarbone.

"Katsuki, is that my fucking name on your shoulder?"

He only stares at you blankly, an unfazed look on his face. "'Course it is." 

He smiles at your awestruck face, laughing as you thumb the skin to check if it's real.

Clearly you couldn't put the words together, and Katsuki's smirk is far too good at filling the silence.

"Your birthday. I'll put that—" he points to a spot on his forearm, thick veins pulsing under his skin "—right here." 

If it was any consolation, you still had yet to find the tattoo of your lips at the back of his neck.

© tokkushin — all rights reserved. all works belong to me .ᐟ pls do not repost/copy, or feed into ai.

a/n: i'm too easily influenced, WRAP IT BEFORE YOU TAP IT GUYS PROMISE ME!! don't fall for blonde men and their burly builds and their disgustingly hot tattoos </3 also this is fiction, i really don't think he'd ever get tattoos save for a few small ones but we ball and idgaf -> masterlist. | comments and reblogs greatly appreciated! 💋

his posture is slouched, body completely and utterly exhausted. this pro hero, one of the best in the world, needs to be on at all times, ready for anything but you, you get the privilege of seeing him off. ready for bed and a hot shower.

katsuki rests his cheek in your palm, those angry ruby gems becoming puppy like, “‘m fine.”

next, his hands hold onto the backs of your thighs keeping you still so he can press his face into your stomach. you feel his whole body sigh into you.

“you don’t look it. you look like shit,” you offer and you get two bouncing shoulders in a short laugh.

“y’got a lisp now? you mean sexy?” he muffles into your stomach, then presses his chin into you so he can look at you properly.

you smooth down his eyebrows with your thumbs. you notice a touch of hoarseness in his words. you press your thighs together.

your smile is apparent in your voice, “you’ve got this defeated look going on.” you bite down on your bottom lip, “it is a little sexy. maybe a lot.”

bakugou thinks he’s in with the joke at the beginning, till you shuffle in closer to him, the press of your hand on his cheek gets harder and he notices the change of pitch in your breath. even the black of your pupils widen, he sees this in real time. you’re not joking at all actually.

that gets him sitting up slightly, a smirk falling on his features. you pout when he does, staring at his lips like a wife separated from their husband for years. he knows his smile is a killer for you, a soft sigh leaving you at the sight of his gold canine and white teeth.

“gimme a kiss,” he demands and the good listener you are, you lean down to press yours against his.

it’s family friendly for the most part, three pecks until his pawlike hands sneak up your thighs to under your ass cheeks.

when you both pull away, you’re staring at each other for a few seconds until you lick your thumb and rub under his eyebrow.

“you didn’t get all your eye stuff off,” you whisper, referring to his eye makeup he likes to put on under his mask.

bakugou grunts in response, letting you clean up the left over marks he didn’t scrub.

“how long have you been waitin’ for me?”

always so perceptive. it makes your eyes widen like you’ve been caught out. “well i’ve been working—,”

“baby,” he soothes, in that soft way like you’ve done something silly and you won’t get in trouble for admitting whatever it is. even though he already knows.

“since the morning,” you breathe, eager to undress on the spot, to get his hands on your bare skin, to jump on his lap and pull down his shorts.

but the exhaustion is still apparent on his body. his movements are noticeably slower now that he can let his guard down.

“hm,” he replies and you run your fingers through his hair, pushing all his blonde locks back to reveal his face. your boyfriend is incredibly handsome. you press an extra kiss to the scar on his cheek and bakugou pulls you in. your knees sink into the sofa as you straddle his lap.

hot hands that were under your ass, sneak under your blouse. they’re like a relief patch, causing your skin to buzz in anticipation.

“what d’you want?” he hums and you’re already ready for your body to bounce on something, fingers twitching as they rest on his shoulders.

“katsuki,” you whine, rubbing your nose against his. his eyelashes brush against yours. “don’t ask me that.”

nimble fingers shift to the little buttons at your blouse. bakugou works on you while you’re fighting your own internal battle.

“why not, baby?”

“you’re tired from saving the city. i’m not going to make you have sex with me because i’m horny.”

bakugou rolls his eyes, completely humoured by the way you let him shimmy you out of your blouse, now sitting on him in your pretty lace balconette bra. he kisses the softness of your breast and you’re completely reactive, arching your back into his face.

“y’think i don’t wanna love you?”

the wording makes you mewl, hugging katsuki’s big head to your chest. your body blushes with heat, unable to look him in the eye, “don’t be adorable when i want you to put me in doggy.”

bakugou chuckles, “on your knees. let me do it.”

“didn’t you have a long day today?”

he looks you in the eye, “the fuckin’ longest. sixteen hours, everyone was on my ass.”

“then you need to sleep.”

“or i can have sex with my girlfriend.”

you have the audacity to look shy, knowing there’s a damp patch if he checked your panties right now. “but you’re exhausted.”

“babygirl.”

“babyboy.”

bakugou raises his eyebrows, “that’s new. i dunno if i like that.”

you shuffle on his lap, your crotch right over his. you’re delighted to find he’s sporting a semi, in fact, it makes you want to rabidly rub yourself over him like an animal in heat.

you kiss the corner of his jaw, tugging the neckline of his hoodie so you have space to kiss his neck. bakugou’s eyes flutter shut in response, hands on your bare waist.

“you’re my baby and you’re my boy.”

bakugou tuts, grabbing the back of his hoodie and tugging it over his head. he’s got nothing on underneath it to your joy, leaving his bare chest on display for you. you lowly moan at the sight of his biceps, the scars that run through them, the discoloured skin that merges with his blushed skin. one hand on you, another giving his toned abdomen a necessary rub.

“i’m your man.”

“fuck,” you whisper, standing up to pull off your leggings and sitting back on his lap like you never left. “and you’re sure? not too tired?”

he’s uncouth when he hooks a finger in your underwear, then runs the pad of his thumb to gather your wetness over your clit. your body slumps into him, giving bakugou all your weight for him to hold up.

“you underestimate how easy it is for me to get you to come.” he smirks, chuffed at himself for how well he knows you. “could do this half asleep. i have done this half asleep.”

referring to the four am sex you had a few days ago when you came all over his fingers with his tongue in your throat. eyes closed and half conscious.

“don’t be so cocky,” you moan for the wrong reasons, loving the slow comfortable pace of his thumb. pleasure rolls through your body softly, your hands mindlessly palming him.

“take him out then.”

“don’t him your dick.”

but still you do, yanking down his shorts and feeling the saliva build in your mouth at the feeling then sight. his adonis belt, deep ridges and harsh muscle. then him, thick and heavy. his cute red tip with veins running up the length of him.

“you love it.”

you’re nodding without realising, placing your palm on the scar on the centre of your boyfriend’s chest.

“fuck me,” you whine, sitting on your knees and shuffling to adjust to sit on his cock. “wanna feel you, ‘tsuki.”

though he stops you, hands on your hips.

his hand reaches for the hem of your shirt — well, his shirt — fingers rubbing the fabric between them before slowly sliding underneath. the tips of his fingers brush against your bare thigh and hip as he huffs quietly through his nose.

“katsuki, I’m tired,” you mumble, already feeling the redness creeping across your cheeks when his eyes darken.

“too tired to put on underwear?” he asks, fingers grazing higher against your naked skin. you can feel the warmth of his hand even through your embarrassment.

“you always complain it’s in the way,” you shrug weakly and he groans, tilting his head back for a second like you were testing his patience on purpose.

“but you’re still tired?” he asks with a raised brow, staring at you carefully.

you smile at him innocently.

“oh yes, very,” you push his hand away gently before bending down in front of him. the shirt rides up instantly, giving him a full, clear view of your bare ass as you grab his gym bag from the floor.

you hear his sharp inhale behind you.

“take a shower then come to bed… oh, and solve that in your pants, please,” you smirk, glancing back at him as your eyes flick down to his crotch.

his gaze follows yours automatically and he sees the growing tent straining against his sweatpants. his jaw tightens immediately.

“fuck.”