༄.°loony 🫧⋆˙

Your voice felt heavy, weighted by all the unsaid things that had been piling up between you two.

He did this often— finding reasons to blame you for the tiniest things.

You didn’t know which part of him urged it. Was he stressed about his hero work? Upset over something you had missed? Or did he just… like to push your buttons? You didn’t know. And you probably never would, because every time you tried to get him to open up, he reminded you of how sensitive you were, how “fragile” your feelings could be and how you were the one pushing him.

“If I don’t deal with it now, I’ll just have to hear you complain about it later. Spare me,” he grumbled, finally taking the turn towards his house.

You stayed quiet.

His voice wasn’t harsh this time, but it carried a certain fatigue, like he was tired of everything— including you.

His words lingered in your mind, cutting you like ice. Your voice barely above a whisper, you asked, “Am… Am I a nuisance for you, Katsuki?”

“What? I never said that.” He stole a quick glance at you, but your head stayed turned towards the window, tracing the blurred city lights as they rushed past.

“You don’t need to say that. It’s just… obvious you think like that,” you murmured, almost too quietly for him to hear.

“Hey, don’t put words in my mouth—”

“If I can’t even tell my partner about my worries, or my day, or anything that happens to me… then what is even this? A relationship is based on communication, Katsuki.”

You paused.

A shudder ran through your chest.

“…Sure, I tell my friends stuff, we keep in touch, but I want you to know too. I want you to know what I’m feeling… what I do… but you… you clearly see it as tiring. Like me talking your ear off,” your voice cracked on the last words, sharp and high-pitched, the knot in your throat growing heavier.

“You don’t really need to tell me every small thing—”

“I don’t need to do this, do that, you’re never happy with what I do!” you snapped, and the words hung in the air, jagged and raw.

“It’s just—”

“Take me home,” you cut him off, your voice trembling.

He exhaled sharply, jaw clenching.

After a few moments, he took another turn, changing the course.

“I don’t even have any damn clothes at yours,” he muttered, voice low and annoyed.

His comment got under your skin.

“You don’t need to stay. You can go back to your place,” you said quietly.

“The fuck?” His confusion was quick, but there was a pause, like the words had hit him harder than he wanted to admit.

“I need to be alone,” you clarified, swallowing hard, the words scraping your throat on the way out.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of your sleeve, nails digging in like you needed the pain to ground yourself.

“Because of some bullshit?” Katsuki scoffed, a sharp, humorless sound. His grip tightened on the steering wheel, knuckles whitening as he leaned forward slightly, eyes narrowing.

“Come on. Since when did you become so sensitive? This is literally why we fight every fuckin’ minute.”

He frowned, jaw working like he was chewing on the rest of his words, eyes flicking towards you— searching — but you kept your gaze locked on the window, watching your reflection blur and disappear between passing streetlights.

“You think I like this?” he continued, voice rising despite himself. He dragged a hand through his hair, tugging at it in frustration before letting it fall back to the wheel with a dull thud.

“I’m tired too. I’m not used to this—” his breath stuttered, anger slipping into something rougher, rawer, “—but you want so much from me. All the time. It’s makin’ me fuckin’ crazy.”

The car filled with the sound of his breathing, uneven now, chest lifting hard under his shirt. He glanced at you again, a bit longer this time, irritation mixing with something he didn’t have the words for.

“Hey—” His voice dropped, losing some of its bite, rough around the edges. “Would you look at me at least?”

You still don't answer.

His jaw tightens, loosens, tightens again. His thumb taps against the steering wheel once. Twice. The engine hums steadily, streetlights flashing across his face in harsh, uneven intervals.

The tapping turns into a sharp flex of his fingers. He exhales through his nose, annoyed, restless. Silence— your silence— has always done this to him. He doesn’t know how to fight it. Doesn’t know where to aim.

“Tch,” he clicks his tongue, glancing at you again. “You gonna say somethin’ or just keep starin’ at the fuckin’ window?”

You don’t answer. Your lips stay pressed together, breath shallow, eyes unfocused on the blur of asphalt and neon signs outside.

That does it.

“Fuck—” He jerks the wheel slightly, irritation flashing hot and sudden.

Without warning, he signals and veers off the road, like his life depended on it. He quickly pulled the car into the closest parking lot. The tires crunch softly against gravel as he parks too hard, the car rocking once before going still.

The engine keeps running.

You blink, confused, your body lurching forward slightly with the stop. Your head turns towards him instinctively, brows knitting together. “What—?”

Katsuki kills the engine.

He turns to face you fully now, one arm slung over the steering wheel, the other clenched tight against his thigh. His expression is sharp, eyes burning, chest rising faster than before.

“No. We’re not doin’ this shit,” he says, voice low and strained. “We’re gonna talk about this.”

For a second, you just stare at him.

Then you laugh.

It slips out broken and breathless, halfway between a sob and something hysterical. Your shoulders shake as tears finally spill over, hot and unstoppable, blurring your vision as you lift a hand to your face.

“Oh,” you choke, laughing through tears, disbelief cutting deep. “Oh— now you want to talk?”

The laugh collapses in on itself, turning sharp, breath hitching painfully in your chest. You scrub at your face with the heel of your palm, like you can wipe the moment away, but the tears keep coming anyway— spilling, burning, relentless.

“What about all the times I wanted to talk?” you demand, your voice climbing despite your attempt to rein it in. Your hands come up, fingers splayed, shaking in front of you like you don’t know where to put them. “The times I begged you to listen to me?”

Katsuki stiffens, shoulders pulling tight, but you don’t stop. You can’t.

“What about the times I asked you to open up?” Your chest heaves as you lean forward, the seatbelt biting into you. “I was right there. I waited. I tried to be patient, tried to understand, tried not to push—”

Your hand curls into a fist and comes down against your thigh, once, hard. The sting barely registers.

“But now,” you laugh again, wet and broken, shaking your head in disbelief, “now you suddenly want to talk because you feel like it?”

You turn to him fully then, eyes red and shining, tears clinging to your lashes. “Now it’s important to you?” Your voice cracks on the word, splintering. “What about when it was important to me?”

Silence slams back into the car.

Katsuki’s jaw clenches so hard it looks like it might break. His hand tightens on the steering wheel again, leather creaking under his grip. He drags in a breath through his nose, sharp and shaky, like he’s trying to keep himself from exploding.

You shake your head slowly, shoulders curling inward now, the anger draining into something rawer. Smaller. “You don’t get to decide when this matters,” you whisper, the words landing heavier than the shouting did. “You don’t get to ignore me until I stop talking and then act like that’s the problem.”

Your hands fall back into your lap, trembling, fingers curling into the fabric of your clothes as if holding onto yourself is the only thing keeping you upright.

Katsuki opens his mouth.

Nothing comes out.

For once, it’s him who doesn’t know what to say— and the realization hits him hard, settling heavy in his chest as he stares at you, finally seeing just how long you’ve been screaming into the void.

And this time… he can’t pretend he didn’t hear it.

Katsuki doesn’t snap back this time.

He just… stops.

The anger drains out of his face slowly, like someone pulled the plug on it.

His jaw works once, then stills. He stares at the dashboard instead of you, eyes fixed somewhere just past the speedometer, like if he looks at you any longer something in him might give way.

Your words replay in his head, ugly and unavoidable.

What about when it was important to me?

His grip on the steering wheel loosens, fingers trembling before he clenches them again— harder this time, nails digging into the leather like he’s trying to punish himself. His chest feels tight. Too tight. He drags in a breath, but it sticks halfway, sharp and unsteady.

Fuck.

He swallows, throat burning. There’s a pressure behind his eyes he doesn’t recognize at first— until he does, and the realization makes his teeth grit together in panic. He blinks once. Twice. Like that’ll make it go away.

It doesn’t.

He turns his head slightly, just enough to look at you from the corner of his eye. You’re curled in on yourself now, shoulders hunched, hands clenched in your lap like you’re holding something together that’s already splintering. And it hits him— harder than anything you said.

You look tired.

Not angry. Not dramatic. Just… worn down.

And that’s on him.

“Fuck…” he mutters under his breath, the word coming out rough, wrecked. His hand leaves the steering wheel, dropping uselessly to his thigh. He rubs at it once, like he doesn’t know what to do with it, then stills.

You were right.

About all of it.

He had been a jerk. Short-tempered. Self-centered. Acting like your patience was infinite, like you’d always be there no matter how often he brushed you off, snapped at you, made you feel like you were asking for too much just by wanting to be heard.

Like you were the problem.

His vision blurs for half a second and he sucks in a sharp breath, jaw tightening as he leans back in his seat, staring up at the dark ceiling of the car. He presses the heel of his hand into his eyes, hard— too hard— like he can physically force the feeling back down.

Saying sorry feels useless now.

So he doesn’t.

He reaches for the key instead.

The engine turns over, loud in the cramped space, the sound filling the gap where words should be. He grips the steering wheel again, tighter than before, knuckles pale.

“I’ll take you home,” he says at last.

His voice is flat. Controlled. Too controlled. Like if he lets even one more thing slip, the whole damn thing might come apart.

He pulls out of the parking lot without waiting for a response, eyes fixed on the road, jaw set hard. The streetlights streak across his face again, but now they catch the tight line of his mouth, the tension in his brow.

It’s not dismissal.

It’s retreat.

And you feel it— that this is all he can give you right now. Not an apology. Not reassurance. Just the act of getting you where you asked to be, because staying here any longer might force him to admit something he’s not ready to face.

The car moves forward.

But something between you has already shifted, cracked open— and both of you know what will happen once your ways part.

The ride home is silent.

Not the sharp, tensed kind that follows a fight— but something emptier. Like the air itself has been scooped out of the car, leaving behind only the low hum of the engine and the steady slide of the city passing by.

Katsuki drives with both hands locked on the steering wheel, posture rigid, eyes fixed forward. He doesn’t look at you. Not once. Streetlights streak across his face in pale flashes, catching the tight line of his mouth, the tension pulled hard across his shoulders.

You sit still, hands resting limply in your lap.

Your chest aches, but it’s a distant pain now— muted, like your body already knows there’s no point in reacting anymore. Somewhere between a red light and the familiar turn onto your street, the truth settles in with a quiet finality.

This is the end.

Not because of tonight alone. Tonight was just the moment you stopped holding it together by yourself. You think of all the times you fought for this— how often you explained, waited, softened yourself, carried the weight of both of you just to keep things from falling apart.

You were tired. Just like him.

You wanted too much, but he could only offer so little.

Your building comes into view, grey and familiar, and your stomach drops anyway. Katsuki slows the car and pulls up to the curb. The engine idles.

He says nothing.

So do you.

You reach for the door handle. The click sounds louder than it should. Cold air brushes your face as you step out, grounding and cruel all at once. You shut the door quietly— too quietly. Like you don’t want to disturb something that’s already dead.

You take a step towards the entrance.

Then another.

You don’t hear his door open. No footsteps behind you. No voice calling your name.

You don’t look back.

Inside the building, the door closes behind you with a soft, final thud. The sound echoes down the empty hallway and your legs give out, your back pressing against the door as if it’s the only thing keeping you upright.

Your breath breaks.

The sob comes out of you all at once— sharp and ugly, tearing through your chest as your hand flies to your mouth, trying and failing to keep it quiet. Your shoulders shake, knees weak, tears spilling faster now that there’s no one to hold them back for.

There’s no one left to fight for this.

The realization hurts more than anything else.

You fought enough. You waited. You bent. You carried patience like a burden and called it love. And when you finally put it down— when you went quiet, when you stopped trying to fix what wasn’t yours to fix—

Everything ended.

Because you were the one holding it together.

And without you carrying the weight, there was nothing left to save.

You slide down the door slowly, curling in on yourself as the crying takes over, the hallway empty, the night outside still moving on without you.

And somewhere, a few streets away, Katsuki is still sitting in his car—

but you don’t know that.

And of fucking course his mind wanders further—

Would your mouth feel that good in reality?

Would it turn him on that much to have you on your knees between his legs?

Would your moans really sound that divine while doing your best to bring him towards pleasure?

Will—

“Earth to Katsukiii,” you suddenly speak, waving a hand in front of his face, pulling him out of his thoughts and making him jolt slightly, his body shifting backwards on the couch.

“What!?” His head snaps towards you instantly, his hand coming up to slap yours away, ignoring the warmth that lingers from the brief contact.

“I have been talking to you,” you frown, scooching closer to him, leaning forward slightly, trying to catch his gaze. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothin’,” he shrugs, but his body tenses the moment your chest brushes against his arm.

“You’re even pissier than usual,” you remark with a raised brow, studying him carefully. He scoffs.

“You’re imagining things,” he replies way too fast.

You frown deeper, squinting your eyes as you shift even closer, intentionally closing the space between you. You don’t miss the way he immediately leans away.

“Why do you run from me?” you ask, tilting your head.

“I like my space, weirdo,” he mutters under his breath.

“I like your space too,” you tease, nudging your knee against his.

He instantly moves his knee away.

“Shut up and watch this damn movie,” he rolls his eyes, trying to focus anywhere but you.

“Kats.”

No answer.

“Katsuki,” you insist again, leaning in and poking his cheek with your finger.

You feel it — the tension.

You notice the way his hands curl, palms balling into fists as he takes a slow, deep breath, clearly trying to keep himself together.

“What’s up with you?” you push again, your voice softer this time, but more insistent. You move even closer, until he’s practically cornered at the end of the couch, your body fully pressing into his.

“Tell meee,” you drag out, nudging him lightly. “What’s bothering you?”

“You’re bothering me,” he finally snaps, his tone sharp and annoyed, making you blink in surprise. “Even in my fuckin’ dreams,” he adds with a frustrated groan, dragging a hand through his hair, making it messier than it already was.

“What?” you ask, caught off guard. “You dreamt about me?”

“Are you deaf?” he rolls his eyes, letting out a short, dry chuckle.

Then—

Something shifts.

A slow, almost mischievous grin spreads across your lips.

“What kind of dream did you have?” you ask, lowering your voice slightly as you lean closer, your gaze locking onto his.

Before he can react, you move.

In one smooth motion, you swing your leg over him, then the other, settling yourself directly in his lap, your thighs resting on either side of his muscular legs.

His mouth parts slightly, frozen halfway open, one eye twitching as he stares up at you, completely caught off guard.

“Come on,” you push again, shifting slightly on his lap, your clothed core brushing against his crotch through his jeans.

“Did you have a wet dream?” you ask playfully, clearly teasing, not thinking anything of it — but the moment he flinches, looking away instead of snapping back at you, your smile falters just a bit.

“Did you really have a wet dream of me?” you ask again, this time more serious, your eyes searching his face.

“Piss off,” he mutters, avoiding your gaze.

“Oh my god… I want to know right now,” you nudge him again, more insistent this time.

“I ain’t telling you shit, now get off of me,” he says, though his hands find your hips, gripping them instinctively.

You place your hands over his, pressing them down, smirking slightly.

“You know… if you tell me what it was about… maybe I can help,” you shrug casually, as if you didn’t just drop that.

He stares at you, completely dumbfounded, like you just said the most insane thing he’s ever heard.

“You gotta be joking,” he says, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Why would I be? It’s not like I don’t find you hot or anything,” you add, shifting slightly again in his lap.

That stirrs something in him.

He hisses under his breath, his grip on your hips tightening without him even realizing it.

“I’m still not telling you,” he mumbles, jaw clenching.

“Okay…” you hum. “I’ll guess.”

You take a moment to think, then—

“Was I on all fours? Were you fucking me from the back? I know you like doggy style… or maybe something else? Like missionary? Or cowgirl?” you ramble, mostly to yourself, watching his reactions closely. “How about—“

“It was a goddamn blowjob, now shut up,” he groans, his head falling back against the couch with a dull thud.

“Oh,” you pause, blinking. “A blowjob,” you repeat thoughtfully, tilting your head slightly.

“How was I able to fit all of that in my mouth?” you add, genuinely thinking about it.

He groans louder this time, hands leaving your hops and dragging them down his face.

“You are killing me, woman,” he mutters, voice strained, making you giggle softly.

“So you want it?” you ask, watching him closely.

He makes a pause, completely baffled.

Then—

“The hell? Who asks their best friend to suck them off?” he snaps, glaring at you.

“Who dreams of their best friend sucking them off?” you shoot back instantly, raising a brow.

“Smartass,” he scoffs.

“Pervert.”

“Oh, I’m the pervert? Not you, who’s been grinding on me for the past minutes?” he shoots back.

“I only suggested it because you seem stressed lately,” you say, your tone softer now, but still teasing. “And you clearly don’t wanna talk about feelings. Maybe I can help some… other way… you know?”

He goes quiet.

Really quiet.

His brows pull together as he stares at you, his expression shifting into something more serious, more conflicted — something you can’t quite read.

You’ve never seen that look on him before.

Not like this.

There’s hesitation.

Something heavy sits behind his eyes.

“You better not make me regret this,” he mutters finally, his voice lower now.

Your brows lift slightly, tilting your head. You didn’t know what to make of this words.

“Wha— what?”

His hands tighten on your hips, making you shift against his crotch for the nth time.

“Get on your knees.”

“Now?” You ask baffled.

“Yes, now. I’m in the mood and it’s your fault,” he reminds you.

You bite your lip to repress a smile.

Instead of a snarky comment, you just nod quietly and get off his lap. He spreads his legs wider the moment you move, watching you closely as you lower yourself onto your knees, settling between his muscular thighs.

Your palms come up to touch them, fingers gripping the material of his jeans as you slowly move them up and down, feeling the tension in his body, trying to ease it just a little.

You take your time.

Slowly moving upward, dragging it out, making it feel like it takes forever to reach his crotch… then his belt.

You start unbuckling it, your movements slow, all while looking up at him — watching the way he stares down at you, jaw tight, lips pressed together, hands resting stiffly at his sides.

You slide the belt out of the way, then undo his zipper, finally revealing his black boxers. Something hard brushes against your hand and he hisses above you, his breath catching.

Your fingers dip under the material and drag it down, exposing his happy trail that leads down to his cock. His own hands come down to help, pushing his jeans and boxers lower, lifting his hips just enough. The fabric bunches at his thighs, out of the way.

And then—

His cock springs free.

Long. Thick. Prominent veins running along the length of it. The tip flushed a reddish color, already leaking with pre-cum.

“C’mon, dig in,” he mutters, a smirk tugging at his lips as his hand comes to tangle in your hair, pushing you slightly forward.

You don’t rush.

You lean in slowly, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin, feeling the way he reacts instantly — his breath hitching, a quiet hiss slipping past his lips as you glance up at him through your lashes.

Your tongue slides out, dragging along his length, long, intentional strokes, collecting the pre-cum as you go. His fingers tighten in your hair.

“Don’t— be such a tease, damn it,” he grits out, voice rougher now, the veins in his neck more visible as he looks down at you.

You let out a quiet chuckle, but you give in.

Enough teasing.

You part your lips and guide him in, taking him into your mouth slowly, inch by inch, relaxing your jaw as you go, until the tip presses against the back of your throat.

You pause there for a second, breathing steadily through your nose, adjusting — letting your body relax around him.

Then you start moving.

Slow at first.

Pulling back just enough before taking him in again, setting a rhythm, your tongue flattening along the underside, tracing the veins, working with each movement.

Spit and pre-cum mix together, making everything smoother, your lips sealing tightly around him.

All the while, your eyes stay on him.

Watching everything.

The way his teeth catch his lower lip. The flare of his nostrils. The crease forming between his brows as he tries to hold himself together. Low grunts slip past his lips, restrained, controlled — but you can tell he’s holding back.

That only makes you pick up the pace.

Your head starts bobbing more steadily, your movements more confident, more precise. Tears sting lightly at your eyes from the burn of your throat, but you don’t stop — you just adjust your breathing, keeping the rhythm consistent.

You want to hear him.

Really hear him.

“You happy now?” he asks, breath uneven, voice rough. “Having a mouth full of me?”

You let out a muffled moan around him in response, the vibration traveling through him as your tongue moves again, your pace never faltering.

“You greedy brat,” he chuckles, though his voice strains. He knows you — you like this, like putting on a show, like pulling reactions out of him.

His hips twitch upward when you increase your speed, your nails digging slightly into his thighs to steady yourself as his fingers tighten in your hair.

Sweat starts to bead at his forehead, sliding down as strands of blond hair stick to his skin.

“Mhm— keep— keep going,” he finally groans, his control slipping just a bit more.

You keep the same pace, consistent, precise, working him up without losing rhythm, your tongue and lips working together, spit and pre-cum already dripping down your chin. But is all worth it when you feel it—

The twitch.

The tension building.

A few more precise movements, a slight change in pressure, and then—

He breaks.

“Fuck, fuck, gonn a—“

His words are cut off as a low, deep moan escapes him. He releases, his body tensing as he spills hot loads of cum into your mouth. He closes his eyes at the feeling, barely able to keep his lips sealed.

For a moment, he doesn’t move, his orgasm washing over him, then — he finally looks at you. You were still on your knees, still sucking and slurping like your life depended on it.

“Fuckin’ hell— you’re takin’ everything,” he lets out a weak, breathy laugh. And it was true, you make sure to not let anything go to waste.

You suck him dry.

And he lets you — for a short while.

Only when the sensitivity kicks in does he tug at your hair, trying to catch his breath and helping you catch yours.

“Shit— too much—” he groans, needing another second to breathe, to recover as you pull away, licking your lips slowly, cleaning the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand as you look up at him.

Taking him in.

He’s leaned back against the couch now, hair messy, chest rising and falling steadily, his cock flushed and glistening, resting against his stomach now. His pants and boxers are still pushed down around his thighs as he spreads his legs, taking a lot of space like usual.

But he wasn’t the only one looking messy… he noticed your state too.

And fuck if it wasn’t the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

Your hair was deshiveled from his grabbing, your cheeks were flushed, lips plump and glistening with fluids… you looked so fucking pretty like this — on your knees for him, having his cum down your throat and looking at him with teary eyes — a sign of how hard you tried to take him.

You remain on the floor even if it wasn’t the most comfortable place, still close to him.

“So…” you finally break the silence softly.

His eyes snap back to yours, still catching his breath.

“Was this better than your dream?” you ask with a raised brow and a teasing grin.

But he won’t give you want to want. He already gave you enough.

He just scoffs at your question, rolling his head slightly to the side, trying to hide his smile.

“at least look in my eyes, you damn pervert,” he grumbles, kicking off his slippers and climbing onto the mattress right next to you.

“who, me?” you fake, putting on your best innocent face as you rub the spot he just flicked on your forehead.

“yeah! you!”

you let out a dramatic sigh. “look, it was just a coincidence that i put aaallll your shirts in the washer at the same time, and now you just happen to have to walk around shirtless.” you pause, shrugging as if it wasn’t a big deal.

“that sounds stupid once you say it out loud, and you know it.”

he just shakes his head, giving you an exasperated look.

“now i feel bad, kats. really, really bad,” you assure him, sliding closer to him. you don't hesitate as you climb right onto his lap, your palms quickly finding his pecs and giving them a soft squeeze.

a sudden silence falls over the room as you just keep squeezing his chest, completely unfazed by the utterly baffled expression spreading across his face. he stares down at you, totally speechless for a second.

“is this helping?” you ask, looking up at him with wide, hopeful eyes.

“hah?! how the fuck would this help me?!” he demands, his voice rising in annoyance — though you notice he doesn't actually push you off.

“well, i’m offering you support? it really looks like you need it,” you say with a bright smile, your palms still comfortably cupping his firm chest.

katsuki doesn’t need much of a fuse to explode, and that cheeky comment is the final straw.

“fuck off, i’m going to get one of your shirts to wear!” he yells, finally pushing you off his lap.

you roll over the mattress with a loud laugh, clutching your stomach.

“kats, no! wait! please!” you scream after him, trying to catch your breath.

“what now?!” he whips around to face you, his shoulders tense and his nerves already completely shot.

there is a brief, tense moment of silence. you look him up and down.

then—

“did you know your chest jiggles when you move around?”

his face flushes red. “that’s it! i’m taking your favorite shirt!”

“not the blue one!!” you shriek, sitting up in a panic.

“yes, the blue one!!!” he roars back, stomping off towards your closet.

a/n: i miss this man and his titties… 💔

“at least look in my eyes, you damn pervert,” he grumbles, kicking off his slippers and climbing onto the mattress right next to you.

“who, me?” you fake, putting on your best innocent face as you rub the spot he just flicked on your forehead.

“yeah! you!”

you let out a dramatic sigh. “look, it was just a coincidence that i put aaallll your shirts in the washer at the same time, and now you just happen to have to walk around shirtless.” you pause, shrugging as if it wasn’t a big deal.

“that sounds stupid once you say it out loud, and you know it.”

he just shakes his head, giving you an exasperated look.

“now i feel bad, kats. really, really bad,” you assure him, sliding closer to him. you don't hesitate as you climb right onto his lap, your palms quickly finding his pecs and giving them a soft squeeze.

a sudden silence falls over the room as you just keep squeezing his chest, completely unfazed by the utterly baffled expression spreading across his face. he stares down at you, totally speechless for a second.

“is this helping?” you ask, looking up at him with wide, hopeful eyes.

“hah?! how the fuck would this help me?!” he demands, his voice rising in annoyance — though you notice he doesn't actually push you off.

“well, i’m offering you support? it really looks like you need it,” you say with a bright smile, your palms still comfortably cupping his firm chest.

katsuki doesn’t need much of a fuse to explode, and that cheeky comment is the final straw.

“fuck off, i’m going to get one of your shirts to wear!” he yells, finally pushing you off his lap.

you roll over the mattress with a loud laugh, clutching your stomach.

“kats, no! wait! please!” you scream after him, trying to catch your breath.

“what now?!” he whips around to face you, his shoulders tense and his nerves already completely shot.

there is a brief, tense moment of silence. you look him up and down.

then—

“did you know your chest jiggles when you move around?”

his face flushes red. “that’s it! i’m taking your favorite shirt!”

“not the blue one!!” you shriek, sitting up in a panic.

“yes, the blue one!!!” he roars back, stomping off towards your closet.

a/n: i miss this man and his titties… 💔

“at least look in my eyes, you damn pervert,” he grumbles, kicking off his slippers and climbing onto the mattress right next to you.

“who, me?” you fake, putting on your best innocent face as you rub the spot he just flicked on your forehead.

“yeah! you!”

you let out a dramatic sigh. “look, it was just a coincidence that i put aaallll your shirts in the washer at the same time, and now you just happen to have to walk around shirtless.” you pause, shrugging as if it wasn’t a big deal.

“that sounds stupid once you say it out loud, and you know it.”

he just shakes his head, giving you an exasperated look.

“now i feel bad, kats. really, really bad,” you assure him, sliding closer to him. you don't hesitate as you climb right onto his lap, your palms quickly finding his pecs and giving them a soft squeeze.

a sudden silence falls over the room as you just keep squeezing his chest, completely unfazed by the utterly baffled expression spreading across his face. he stares down at you, totally speechless for a second.

“is this helping?” you ask, looking up at him with wide, hopeful eyes.

“hah?! how the fuck would this help me?!” he demands, his voice rising in annoyance — though you notice he doesn't actually push you off.

“well, i’m offering you support? it really looks like you need it,” you say with a bright smile, your palms still comfortably cupping his firm chest.

katsuki doesn’t need much of a fuse to explode, and that cheeky comment is the final straw.

“fuck off, i’m going to get one of your shirts to wear!” he yells, finally pushing you off his lap.

you roll over the mattress with a loud laugh, clutching your stomach.

“kats, no! wait! please!” you scream after him, trying to catch your breath.

“what now?!” he whips around to face you, his shoulders tense and his nerves already completely shot.

there is a brief, tense moment of silence. you look him up and down.

then—

“did you know your chest jiggles when you move around?”

his face flushes red. “that’s it! i’m taking your favorite shirt!”

“not the blue one!!” you shriek, sitting up in a panic.

“yes, the blue one!!!” he roars back, stomping off towards your closet.

a/n: i miss this man and his titties… 💔

“at least look in my eyes, you damn pervert,” he grumbles, kicking off his slippers and climbing onto the mattress right next to you.

“who, me?” you fake, putting on your best innocent face as you rub the spot he just flicked on your forehead.

“yeah! you!”

you let out a dramatic sigh. “look, it was just a coincidence that i put aaallll your shirts in the washer at the same time, and now you just happen to have to walk around shirtless.” you pause, shrugging as if it wasn’t a big deal.

“that sounds stupid once you say it out loud, and you know it.”

he just shakes his head, giving you an exasperated look.

“now i feel bad, kats. really, really bad,” you assure him, sliding closer to him. you don't hesitate as you climb right onto his lap, your palms quickly finding his pecs and giving them a soft squeeze.

a sudden silence falls over the room as you just keep squeezing his chest, completely unfazed by the utterly baffled expression spreading across his face. he stares down at you, totally speechless for a second.

“is this helping?” you ask, looking up at him with wide, hopeful eyes.

“hah?! how the fuck would this help me?!” he demands, his voice rising in annoyance — though you notice he doesn't actually push you off.

“well, i’m offering you support? it really looks like you need it,” you say with a bright smile, your palms still comfortably cupping his firm chest.

katsuki doesn’t need much of a fuse to explode, and that cheeky comment is the final straw.

“fuck off, i’m going to get one of your shirts to wear!” he yells, finally pushing you off his lap.

you roll over the mattress with a loud laugh, clutching your stomach.

“kats, no! wait! please!” you scream after him, trying to catch your breath.

“what now?!” he whips around to face you, his shoulders tense and his nerves already completely shot.

there is a brief, tense moment of silence. you look him up and down.

then—

“did you know your chest jiggles when you move around?”

his face flushes red. “that’s it! i’m taking your favorite shirt!”

“not the blue one!!” you shriek, sitting up in a panic.

“yes, the blue one!!!” he roars back, stomping off towards your closet.

a/n: i miss this man and his titties… 💔

“at least look in my eyes, you damn pervert,” he grumbles, kicking off his slippers and climbing onto the mattress right next to you.

“who, me?” you fake, putting on your best innocent face as you rub the spot he just flicked on your forehead.

“yeah! you!”

you let out a dramatic sigh. “look, it was just a coincidence that i put aaallll your shirts in the washer at the same time, and now you just happen to have to walk around shirtless.” you pause, shrugging as if it wasn’t a big deal.

“that sounds stupid once you say it out loud, and you know it.”

he just shakes his head, giving you an exasperated look.

“now i feel bad, kats. really, really bad,” you assure him, sliding closer to him. you don't hesitate as you climb right onto his lap, your palms quickly finding his pecs and giving them a soft squeeze.

a sudden silence falls over the room as you just keep squeezing his chest, completely unfazed by the utterly baffled expression spreading across his face. he stares down at you, totally speechless for a second.

“is this helping?” you ask, looking up at him with wide, hopeful eyes.

“hah?! how the fuck would this help me?!” he demands, his voice rising in annoyance — though you notice he doesn't actually push you off.

“well, i’m offering you support? it really looks like you need it,” you say with a bright smile, your palms still comfortably cupping his firm chest.

katsuki doesn’t need much of a fuse to explode, and that cheeky comment is the final straw.

“fuck off, i’m going to get one of your shirts to wear!” he yells, finally pushing you off his lap.

you roll over the mattress with a loud laugh, clutching your stomach.

“kats, no! wait! please!” you scream after him, trying to catch your breath.

“what now?!” he whips around to face you, his shoulders tense and his nerves already completely shot.

there is a brief, tense moment of silence. you look him up and down.

then—

“did you know your chest jiggles when you move around?”

his face flushes red. “that’s it! i’m taking your favorite shirt!”

“not the blue one!!” you shriek, sitting up in a panic.

“yes, the blue one!!!” he roars back, stomping off towards your closet.

a/n: i miss this man and his titties… 💔