Astrid

His gruffy voice doesn’t greet you when he places his keys on his own little hanger, but the way you peek from the kitchen doorway at the symphony of him, anyway, is almost Pavlovian. Wiping your hands on a plaid towel near you, your eyes finally catch sight of him.

Katsuki’s standing in the entryway, head bowed, hair damp with sweat and explosion smoke, shoulders pulled tight like he’s still bracing for impact. His gauntlets are clipped to his belt, hanging loose, his black shirt clinging to every line of him.

He looks absolutely wrung out. Your poor baby.

“Rough day?” you ask quietly.

He doesn’t look up, just huffs a laugh with no humor behind it. “Somethin’ like that.”

You pad over, slow, like approaching a spooked animal by the road at night. His eyes finally lift to you, and the soft, almost guilty way he looks at you tells you everything—he wants touch but won’t ask. He never asks.

Your fingers brush his forearm. Warm. Tense. Of course he doesn’t pull away.

“Come on,” you murmur, tugging gently on his left wrist. “Sit babe.”

He hesitates for half a second—pure stubborn instinct—then follows, sinking onto the couch with a grunt. His broad back curves forward, muscles still locked like steel cables.

You slide behind him on the cushions, knees bracketing his hips. He grunts when you wiggle your hips open against his waist; there must be a soft spot there, a bruise, a flimsy thing that makes him wince. You tuck the notion in the back of your head for later.

“Hi” you chant, opting to place a kiss on the frozen skin underneath his ear.

“Hi” he greets back. Tired, empty.

Your palms settle on his shoulders, kneading gently at the clothed skin of his traps first, letting the warmth of your hands melt into him.

Your Katsuki hates wintertime —he can’t help it. Nothing can keep him as warm as he wants, not even the fleece inseam of his costume. And you don’t blame him, it’s the same reason you hate summer, because you can’t cook down no matter what.

“I watched that video of you yelling at that fan.” You tell him, voice under the tone of a whisper.

Katsuki exhales, long, shaky, almost relieved at the way your hands work on his back, already drafting his response. “Tch, so damn close to my face, y’know i dont like it”

“I know baby, it’s alright now.”

You place a solemn kiss at his cheek, thumbs digging deeper, mini circles into his traps.

“Yeah,” he mutters, voice rough. “That’s it.”

His head drops forward. His fingers curl against his knees. Every time your thumbs dig into a knot, he shivers. Quiet and involuntary, like he’s letting go piece by piece.

“Keep goin’,” he murmurs, softer than you’ve heard him all week.

And you do as you're asked.

You lean in closer, chest brushing his back as you work another stubborn knot loose. His breath stutters. That’s how you know he’s finally, finally settling.

“Katsuki,” you whisper, just to make him turn his head a little—just enough.

He glances back over his shoulder, eyes hooded and soft in that rare, unguarded way he only gives you when he’s too tired to keep the walls up. His lips are parted, pouty in that natural way he’d deny until the grave, but you can see through the tiny facade covering his eyes.

You catch his chin with two fingers, coaxing him to face you fully. “Lean for a sec.”

He obeys before he can think better of it.

You steal a kiss—slow, warm, a tiny press of your mouth to his pouty lower lip like smoothing a wrinkle out of silk. He sighs into it, the sound low and gravelly, his lips chasing yours by instinct.

“Mm,” he mutters against your mouth, eyes half-closed. “Needed that.”

Of course he did. He always does.

You kiss him again, softer this time, then guide him back to the space between your legs, palms returning to his shoulders.

“Good,” you murmur into his hairline, letting your thumbs dig in deeper. “Now let me take care of the rest of you.”

He grunts something like agreement and drops his head forward again—already melting, already yours.

You can feel the exact second it hits him—the twitch in his shoulder, the way his spine stiffens like a cat sensing something’s off. Outside clothes. Couch. Contact. His personal hell.

“Katsuki,” you mumble, half amused, half pitying.

“Don’t,” he grumbles, already pulling away from your hands like the fabric of his suit is starting to itch his skin off. “I know. I know. I’m— fuck—” He scrubs a hand over his face. “I’m gross. Shouldn’t’ave even sat down.”

There it is. The shamey little afterthought he always tries to hide.

You slide your arms around him from behind before he can stand fully, palms flat against his full chest. 

“You’re not gross,” you remind him, voice low against his nape as you peck whatever skin your lips can capture. “You’re tired. And cold.” You nudge your nose into the side of his neck, stealing a small inhale of smoke, sweat, and winter air. “C’mon. Let’s get you in the bath.”

He doesn’t protest—just grunts, a small, defeated sound, letting you tug him up by the wrist again. His movements are too slow, too heavy, like he’s running underwater in a dream. He follows you down the hall, shoulders still tense but his hand warm and obedient in yours.

In the bathroom, the light is soft. You turn the tap, steam immediately blooming into the air, curling around the tiles of the tub. Katsuki hovers in the doorway, arms crossed, trying not to shiver.

“Sit,” you instruct gently, pointing to the closed toilet lid while the tub fills.

He obeys. Barely.

He watches you through half-lidded eyes as you test the water with your knuckles, adjust the temperature, pour in the bath salts he pretends he doesn’t like but always relaxes into anyway; vanilla, bubblegum, jasmine. Every now and then his gaze flicks to you—your hands, your face, how calm you look doing this for him.

You walk over and stand between his knees, fingers brushing the short, platinum spikes of his hair.

“Let’s get these clothes off, babe.”

A low, rough noise leaves him. Bone-deep relief, like he’s handing you the weight he’s been carrying all day. You peel his shirt up slowly, careful of the bruised spot on his ribs, which makes him wince and mutter a curse.

You kiss his forehead. “Later,” you promise. “We’ll talk about that later.”

He nods, leaning into the touch of your lips just enough to break your heart a little.

You help him undress the rest of the way and as always, he lets you, even lifts his arms when told, even steps out of his pants without fuss. Vulnerable in the way only exhaustion makes him.

It doesn’t matter if exhaustion is running him down tonight, you do, admittedly, love him a little more when he’s pouting and whining and being difficult either way.

When he finally sinks into the hot water, it hits him like utter, divine mercy. His head drops back against the tub edge, eyes fluttering closed, steam clinging to his lashes.

“Fuuucking shit,” he breathes out. “That’s good.”

You kneel beside him, brushing your fingers along his jaw, your thumb over the soft pout of his bottom lip.

“Told you, you’d feel better!” you murmur.

His eyes open just long enough for him to kiss your thumb, lazy and grateful, before drifting shut again.

“Stay?” he mutters.

You smile sheepishly “Of course”

You stay kneeling for a long moment—just watching him. His breathing evens out, his shoulders loosen, the harsh little lines around his eyes soften. He looks ethereal like this. Less like the world chewed him up or invaded his comfort zone and more like someone who deserves domestic softness.

Steam curls around both of you, hugging your wrists, warming your skin.

“Move it,” Katsuki snaps without opening his eyes. One big palm comes to playfully slap against your ass.

“Excuse me?” you tease.

“Get in,” he grunts. “Water’s gettin’ cold without you.”

You roll your eyes, but your growing smile gives you away instantly “You just want me as a space heater.”

“Yeah. And?” His lips curl into the laziest, most crooked smirk. “Get iiiin.”

You shed your clothes slowly, intimate in that quiet way you always forget makes him stare. He cracks one eye open as you lift your shirt, the other as your pants slide down your legs. He doesn’t comment, but the silence is heavy, hot even.

When you step into the tub, the water laps up your calves, your thighs, and he lifts his hands to guide you down—big palms bracketing your hips, warm even under water. You settle between his legs, your back sinking against his chest, his arms curling around you with a groan that sounds like relief and hunger mixed.

“Mmmmhm! Better,” he mutters against the side of your neck, breath damp on your skin.

You feel his lips, just barely brushing the slope of your shoulder. Not quite kissing—testing. Asking.

Are you in the mood? He definitely seems to be in it when he’s like this; it’s like tiredness flips the horny switch inside him.

You tilt your head back on his shoulder in answer. That’s all he needs.

He presses his mouth to your skin, slow and unhurried, the way people kiss something they thought they’d ever get to come home to again. His hands travel up your stomach, splaying gently over your ribs as though cataloguing every breath you take.

“You’re so warm,” he says, voice rasped from fatigue. “Feels good.”

“You’re thawing out,” you murmur back, threading your fingers through his damp hair, lightly enough to tickle. “Finally.”

He huffs a soft laugh, barely audible, and his lips find the spot beneath your ear—the same place you kissed him earlier. He lingers, letting his mouth rest there, letting himself settle.

“Katsuki,” you whisper, turning your head just enough to meet his gaze. His eyes are heavy-lidded, pupils a dark shade of red now, tender,  a little needy even.

You tilt up and kiss him slowly, the kind of kiss that feels like you’re both sinking deeper into hot water. His hands tighten at your waist and his breath stutters against your mouth.

He kisses you back, tired but still hungry for you, full of that quiet desperation he never voices after bad days but knows you can always see right through. His lips mold to yours like he’s been waiting all week —he kissed you twenty times over this morning before leaving for his agency— like it’s the first real thing he’s tasted all day.

When you pull back, just barely, he follows with another small kiss, then another, each one a few seconds longer than the last.

His forehead rests against the side of your jaw. “Don’t stop, I need my kisses” he says, voice gravel-soft.

Yeah, like he wasn't the one kissing you, you're the one who needn’t stop.

Nonetheless, his beauty saves him; You cradle his face in your hands, guiding his mouth back to yours for another mellow, lazy kiss, your thumbs brushing his cheekbones.

“I’m right here,” you promise against his lips. “I’m not stopping.”

He inhales; that’s the thing, the words, that finally let him breathe.

The water shifts around you both, warm and quiet. His hands, large and steady and so so bulky after a whole day of carrying his armory, roam over your stomach again, drifting lower in slow, appreciating sweeps with no urgency, just want. Just the simple, grounding need to feel you under his palms.

“Lemme take care of you too,” he murmurs, voice deepening, arms tightening around you from behind as he wiggles his fingers a tiny bit lower. Then, below that.

You lean back into him, letting your body fit perfectly to his, skin flushed from heat and touch.

“You are,” you whisper. “You always do.”

As Katsuki kisses your neck again—longer this time, a drag of lips that promises more, unhurried and certain, as his fingers start shimmying over your folds, tenderly flicking your clit a few times and you moan— the steam settles around you both like a blanket, you know he’s not going to like what you’re going to say next.

“So tonight I should take care of you Katsuki, baby,”

It takes all of your self control to wiggle away from him, when the standard promise of his careful hands is there. Eager to make you come apart in minutes, seconds. Mere moments with added tender movements. It’s mouth water at first thought, but it is, in fact, unfair to him.

You get out first, grabbing a towel from the heated rack and wrapping it around your body before reaching for another. Katsuki, who’s suppressing his whine, lifts his arms a little when you approach, eyes half-lidded, lips pulled into the smallest, most exhausted pout.

“C’mere,” you murmur.

“I am here,” he grumbles, but he leans into the towel anyway.

You knew he would throw a whole ass tantrum; the way he speaks shouldn’t be a surprise to you.

You dry his hair with gentle, slow squeezes, working the water out of the blond spikes. Steam rises off him in lazy waves. 

He hates the transition from hot water to cold air—always has—so when you drape the towel over his shoulders he gives a soft, miserable sound.

“You okay there, old man?” you tease.

“’M not an old man,” he snaps instantly, but it’s weak, tired, the corners of his mouth tugging downward in that stupidly adorable pout again. “Just cold.”

“Then let’s get you to the bedroom.”

You take his hand and lead him down the hall. His towel is barely secured around his hips and he keeps yanking it tighter with one hand like the air has personally wronged him.

When you push open the bedroom door, warm lamp-light spilling over the sheets and nod for him to lay down on the mattress, he still hesitates. He eyes the bed like it’s a crime scene.

“What now?” you ask, already amused.

“I’m drippin’,” he mutters, looking down at his damp towel like it’s a biohazard. “Don’t wanna get the sheets wet.”

“You’re wrapped in a whole towel, Katsuki.”

“Yeah, and what if it shifts?” he snaps back, defensive and cold and cranky. “Then what, huh?”

You arch a brow. “God forbid your bare ass touches your own bed.”

He shoots you a glare. “It’s cold.”

“You know what helps cold skin?” you say, stepping close, brushing your knuckles along his tricep. “Warm oil.”

“Yeah—great—on a bed that’s gonna get wet first,” he mutters, heat rushing to his face and ears.

“You’re impossible.” You huff a laugh. “Get on the bed.”

“No.”

“Katsuki—”

“If I lie down like this,” he gestures wildly at his towel, “I’m gonna freeze my balls off.”

“So take the towel off.”

His whole face scrunches. “I JUST SAID I’M COLD.”

You cross your arms. “Then what do you want, huh?”

He pouts. Actually pouts. A small, grumpy, miserable fold of his mouth.

“I want…” he grumbles, “I want you to turn the A/C on.”

You blink, then softly, you nod, grabbing the A/C remote to have him choose the temperature.

“26 is good Kats?”

“No,” he snaps, then quieter, “Yes.”

You laugh—soft and affectionate—and walk over, throwing the blanket back and sliding under it for a few seconds. Katsuki watches, arms crossed, tapping his foot like you’re taking too long.

“Okay,” you announce after warming your side. “Bed’s warm.”

But he still doesn’t move.

“What now?” you ask, exasperated.

He shuffles closer, fingers gripping the edge of his towel. “If I… take this off… you’re gonna have t’—you know—bring the blanket to me fast.”

You just stare at him.

“Katsuki,” you deadpan, “are you asking me to towel-to-blanket speed-run because you’re a chilly little baby?”

He juts his chin out, eyes narrowing. “I’m not a baby.”

“You kinda are right now.”

“Ohhh, Shut up and get the blanket ready.”

You’re laughing as you hold it open. “Fine. Okay. Drop it.”

He hesitates— Then grumbles something like, “Fuckin’… stupid winter…” and finally lets the towel fall.

The second it hits the floor, he makes the most pitiful sound and dives onto the bed, burrowing under the blankets like a feral animal escaping a snowstorm.

You cover him quickly, shaking with laughter.

“You done?” you ask.

“No,” he mutters into the pillow. “I’m cold and naked. Fix it.”

You roll your eyes fondly, heading to your dresser. “I’m warming up the oil, grumpy.”

“Good,” he growls, peeking out from under the blanket just enough to pout at you again. “And hurry.”

“I’m hurrying.”

“Hurry more.”

You grab the bottle and warm it between your hands, then shake your head at the sight of him—messy hair, red nose from the cold, blanket wrapped around him like a burrito, eyes tracking your every move like he doesn’t want to admit how badly he wants this.

“Alright,” you say, climbing onto the bed behind him. “On your stomach.”

He doesn’t move.

“Katsuki.”

“…’M warm like this.”

“Stomach. Now.”

He groans into the pillow, dramatic and suffering, then slowly rolls onto his stomach, the blanket slipping down his back just enough for you to straddle his hips and bare his shoulders.

“You’re ridiculous,” you murmur, drizzling the warm oil onto your palms.

He shivers at the sound, at the heat, at your tone.

But what he says is, “Just shut up and rub me.”

You laugh, leaning down to kiss the back of his scarred cheek.

“Gladly.”

Katsuki exhales the moment your hands touch him—just a long, broken sound that betrays how much the day has taken out of him. The warm oil glides under your palms, slick and golden, catching the low bedroom light as you spread it over the broad expanse of his back.

His muscles jump under your thumbs.

“Fuck…” he mutters, face buried in the pillow. “That’s—yeah. Right there.”

You smirk. “Didn’t even do anything yet.”

“You existing is doin’ it.” It’s muffled, defensive, like he hopes you didn’t hear it.

But you did.

You lean down, brushing a kiss to the nape of his neck, right where the damp hair meets warm skin. “You’re sweet when you’re exhausted.”

He grunts, mortified. “No I’m not.”

“Sweet or exhausted”

He grunts.

“Sure you are.”

“Shut up and keep… mmf—keep goin’.”

Your hands drag along the line of his shoulder blades, slow and purposeful, pressing into the tight knots that have been killing him for days. He lets out a sound—half growl, half whimper—and his hips shift just a little under you.

“You’re tense,” you mumble.

“Gee. Really,” he deadpans into the mattress. “I never woulda guessed.”

You slap his shoulder lightly and he gasps in response like you shot him.

“I’m injured,” he complains.

“You’re dramatic.”

“M’ cold also.”

“You’re under three layers of blankets, Katsuki.”

“Still cold,” he insists, lifting his head just enough to pout at you from over his shoulder. His hair sticks up in wet spikes; his cheeks are flushed, his expression is pure misery. “Fix it.”

You slide your palms down his sides, warming the skin, tracing the curve of his ribs. He shivers—violently.

“Katsuki,” you laugh softly, “you’re vibrating.”

“M’ freezin,” he says, clutching the blanket around himself like a Victorian ghost. “You gotta get closer.”

“Closer?”

“Like—” he gestures blindly behind him “—body heat. Science. Just get on me or somethin’.”

You bite back a smile. “You want me to lie on top of you?”

He slams his face back into the pillow with a groan. “Yes, gosh. Why’re you makin’ me say it out loud?”

You straddle him more fully, leaning down so your chest meets his back, letting the warmth of your body sink into him. He sighs—long, relieved, almost hurt with how good it feels.

“…There,” he says quietly, voice softening. “That’s better.”

Your lips brush the shell of his ear, slow and warm. “Really now?”

He shivers again—but this one’s different. Lower. Thicker.

You keep massaging him from above, letting your body melt over his, your palms working oil into every tense inch of him. Your thumbs drag down his spine, slow enough that he arches subtly into the touch.

“Feels good?” you whisper against his neck.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Yeah… keep doin’ that. Don’t stop.”

You shift, kissing the back of his shoulder, letting your mouth linger there. He exhales shakily, a little whine caught in the sound.

“You okay?” you murmur.

He nods against the pillow, but his voice is rough, thin at the edges. “Just… feels good havin’ you touch me,” he mutters. “All over.”

You keep your tone soft, coaxing. “Because you’re cold?”

“Because I’m—” He cuts himself off, jaw tensing. “Just keep touchin’ me.”

And so you do.

You slide your hands down until they cradle his hips, your palms warm, gentle, grounding. His breath stutters. His shoulders loosen. He melts under you like the winter didn’t even stand a chance when opposed to your hands

“Katsuki,” you hum, kissing the dip of his spine. “You’re warming up.”

“Yeah,” he mutters, “I fuckin’ noticed.” His voice is sleep-heavy, dripping with affection he’d deny tonight until the end of time. “You always… you know… get me warm.”

Your chest tightens in the sweetest way.

You lower yourself again, letting your whole body cover him, skin to skin, heat to heat. He groans softly, turning his head just enough to brush his chapped lips against your cheek, when you slot against him completely.

“Turn around babe, gimme a kiss,” he whispers.

You tilt his face up, and he kisses you—lazy, warm, needy-as-hell—mouth soft, lips still chilled from the outside air, tasting like steam and exhaustion and vulnerability he only gives you.

When you pull back, he’s staring, flushed and dazed.

You know what this is, reminiscents of before, his plea for you to take initiative without having to ask for it.

“Still cold,” he lies, blatantly so.

You laugh. “What do you want now?”

He grumbles, cheeks pink. “You know.”

You kiss him again—slow and promising.“Say it.”

He groans. “Babe.”

“Say it Katsuki.”

He buries his face in your neck, pouty and defeated.

“Stay on me,” he mutters. Quiet. So honest and raw “Stay and touch me.”

You smile against his hair. “Can’t say no to you…”

You stay draped over him for another moment, feeling his breathing slow under your chest. Katsuki Bakugo—the same man who detonates city blocks for a living—is quietly nuzzling into your collarbone like he’s trying to burrow into you for warmth.

You shift a little, just enough to get more oil on your hands. He instantly tenses.

“Wh—what’re you doin’?” he barks, voice muffled by pillow and pride.

“Relax,” you laugh, sliding your palms up his sides. “Just grabbing more oil.”

“Well, warn me next time,” he grumbles, ears turning a deep, telltale red. “Didn’t expect you to… move.”

You drag your thumbs down his spine again, slow as maple syrup, then gently wiggle them between his torso and the mattress, over the muscular lines of his ‘V’ He makes a sound. A very small sound. A sound he absolutely did not mean to let slip.

You grin. “You okay there?”

“Fine,” he snaps too quickly.

“You sure? Because you kinda—”

“Don’t say it.”

“—whimpered.”

He slams a fist into the mattress. “It wasn’t a fuckin’ whimper!”

“It was exactly a whimper.”

“Shut up.”

You lean down, kissing the side of his neck, fully worrying skin between your lips and teeth. His reaction is immediate, another whimper, another triumphant victory for you.

“Katsuki. Baby. You’re allowed to make noise.”

“I wasn’t makin’—ngh—noise.” His voice cracks mid-denial as your thumbs hit another knot in his lower back.

You bite back a laugh. “Do you want me to stop?”

He goes rigid. Absolutely stone still. Then, in a voice so tiny it might be illegal:

“…no.”

You soften instantly, smiling against his warm skin. “Thought so.”

You move down to his hips, working slow circles into the muscle there. His breathing picks up, shaky and uneven, his toes curling under the blanket like he’s trying not to explode over something as simple as you touching him. It’s adorable. Miserably sweet.

“Y’know,” he mutters into the pillow, “you’re makin’ this worse.”

“Worse?” you echo, amused.

“Yeah.” He wiggles—wiggles—like a stubborn cat trying to hide a shiver. “You’re makin’ me all… fuckin’…”

“Relaxed?”

“No!”

“Warm?”

“No—”

“Melty?” You chirp, wrapping your hands around his biceps and squeeze.

“Stop talking babe.”

You kiss his shoulder. “Do you want me to stop touching you?”

His hand shoots out behind him, gripping your thigh like you just threatened his life.

“No,” he growls. “You stop, I’ll die.”

Your heart squeezes. “Okay,” you whisper softly. “I won’t stop, I want a very alive boyfriend.” You slap his ass playfully “Turn around for me.”

You feel the change in him before you see it, the way his grip on your thigh tightens, the way his breath evens out like he’s bracing himself. Then Katsuki exhales through his nose, slow and controlled.

“…You’re playin’ unfair,” he mutters, dragging each word.

You smile against his ear. “I’m playing at all.”

That earns you a low huff — half-laugh, half-warning. “Yeah. And I’m losin’.”

He rolls beneath you, careful but deliberate, bringing you with him until he’s on his back and you’re hovering over his chest. The blankets tangle around his legs, the warmth you worked into him still clinging to his skin. His hair’s a mess, his cheeks flushed, eyes sharp now — awake in that unmistakable way, if you look down, or even sit down, you’ll feel how hard he is.

His hands settle on your waist though. Steady. Certain.

“C’mere,” he says, low. Not asking.

You lean in, and the kiss he gives you is different now — not rushed, not desperate. Slow and sure, like he finally stopped fighting the want underneath it all. His thumb presses lightly at your side, anchoring you there and his hips make an experimental buck against the blankets.

When he pulls back, it’s just enough to look at you.

“You keep touchin’ me like that,” he murmurs, mouth curving, “and then act surprised when I don’t wanna behave.”

You laugh playfully. “Oh, so this is my fault?”

“Absolutely,” he chuckles without hesitation. “You started it.”

His hands shift, drawing you a little closer, forehead tipping to rest against yours, but you still refuse to sit down on him.

“Don’t stop,” he adds, quieter now. “Feels… good. Havin’ you this close.”

There’s heat in it, but also something gentler, something honest.

You brush your thumb over his cheek. “I’m right here.”

His jaw tightens like he’s holding back a grin. “Good,” he murmurs. “’Cause I’m not done with you keepin’ me warm.”

You dip down, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth, then another to his jaw.

“Ohhhh….Bossy when you’re cozy,” you tease.

“Damn right,” he says, smirking up at you. “Not used to it by now?”

But his hands stay on your waist. Steady. Intent.

“Oh definitely,” you counter, pulling back just enough to watch his cheeks flush even deeper. “Like when you pulled me into the tub with you.”

“That was tactical!” he snaps, then immediately ruins the effect by threading one hand into the hair at the back of your neck, pulling you back down for a searing, deep kiss.

This kiss is different from the others. The tiredness is still there, but now it’s mixed with a surge of renewed focus, the kind of demand that only you seem to unlock. His mouth moves over yours with confidence, and you can feel the shift in his entire body—the tension hasn't vanished, but it's been repurposed into raw, undeniable want.

When he finally allows you a breath, he stares up at you, his eyes molten red and focused.

“You said you were taking care of me tonight,” he reminds you, his voice gravelly and low, a challenge wrapped in a statement.

“I am,” you confirm, smiling softly.

He moves one hand, letting his fingers trail down your side, over your hip, then resting on the curve of your butt cheek, giving it a light, warm squeeze that only makes you moan.

“This is you taking care of me,” he clarifies, his tone pure certainty. “And this is me letting you.”

You laugh, a low, pleased sound. “So, you’re gonna sit back and enjoy the ride?”

He snorts. “Would be a dumbass if i didnt.”

You lean down and capture his mouth again, letting this kiss be the answer. It’s slow at first, then deepens, his lips parting under yours, letting you in. You feel the blanket shift as he brings his legs up, hooking his ankles lightly behind your thighs, effectively locking you in place above him.

He gifts you with a new needy whimper then, when your ass glides over his throbbing cock, juuust once.

His hands leave your waist and travel up your —his— fuzzy pajama top, and over your sides, spanning your ribcage, his thumbs finding the soft underside of your breasts. The gentle way he touches you now, even with the obvious heat building, is what undoes you every time. It’s a quiet declaration of ownership mixed with profound tenderness.

You pull back, catching your breath, your chest rising and falling against his.

“Okay, hot stuff,” you whisper, brushing your thumb over his bottom lip. “Let’s start slow.”

He glares, the heat in his eyes betraying his patience. “Slow is relative.”

You smirk. “Good thing I’m an expert in your relativity.”

You lower yourself down, settling your weight fully onto him, letting your hips slot perfectly into the cradle of his. The gasp he lets out is involuntary, sharp, and so pleased.

“Fuck! Yeah,” he breathes, tilting his head back into the pillow. “Right there. Don’t move.”

You shift just a fraction, enough for your clothes slit to glide onto his length, eliciting a low, ragged sound of warning from him, and you feel a triumphant little shiver run through you. You’ve got him. Completely. Exhaustion has stripped him of his defenses and left him raw, needy, and yours to command.

You settle in, letting the friction build as you hump against him, listening to the rough sounds he’s too tired to keep trapped in his throat.

You lean down, lips hovering a breath above his ear.

“You still cold, baby?” you whisper.

He opens his eyes, looking directly into yours, his smirk slow and lazy and full of pure, confident desire.

“Not a damn chance.”

The confession in his eyes—that absolute, blazing need—is all the fuel you require.

“Good,” you breathe, letting the word sink into his ear. You deepen the glide, lifting your hips slightly before letting yourself sink back down.

The sound he makes this time isn't a whimper or a groan; it’s a choked, hungry hiss, like a fuse has finally been lit. His hands, which had been gently cupping your ribs, suddenly flex, digging in just enough to anchor you, possessive and urgent.

“Stop teasing, babe,” he rasps, his voice a low, burning plea against the quiet of the room. His head shifts restlessly on the pillow.

You ignore the demand, choosing instead to lean your forehead down to rest against his. Your bodies are flushed, slick with oil and heat, separated only by the thin, unnecessary layer of your clothing.

“You’re supposed to be relaxing,” you tease, pushing down on him until you feel his tip leak against your panties, your voice soft and breathless against his skin.

“This is relaxing,” he argues, the claim ridiculous and entirely truthful, given the way his hips are starting to subtly, uncontrollably rise to meet your rhythm. “Gonna relax better if you just—”

He cuts himself off with a sharp intake of breath as you shift your hips again, slower this time, grinding with deliberate, agonizing patience.

The slit of his tip catches the seam of your underwear and fuck if it doesn’t feel good. The cotton is wet by a patch, half you, half the precum oozing from him and each needy hump-hump-hump only gets you wetter.

By the time you’re whimpering too, slimy with your own need, he swears he can feel your puffy folds through the barrier of your panties. His palms, thick and calloused, come to grab on your ass cheeks with force, impatiently pushing you down on him as he pushes up right back against you.

That does it for you, your poor clit already throbbing, already aching from when you tried to escape his wandering fingers during your bath together.

“Oh fuck Katsuki,” you whine, your waist arching.

Katsuki’s eyes snap open, wide and desperate, a mixture of pure lust and tired surrender burning in the red depths of them.

“You like how hard you made me?” He asks, through a whisper and you nod with a gulp in response. “Yah really like having me naked under you? While you’re dressed?”

You nod again and he pushes your hips down on him one more time. “F-f-fuuuck, s’hard for me Katsuki.”

“You love making a mess outta me babe,” he says, voice so low it almost cracks “Can I be in control tonight?”

“But you’re—you’re tired”

“Im not gonna move, I just want you to put your pussy on my mouth, so I can get a taste. Now,” he demands, the word stripped of all aggression, reduced only to a singular, consuming need.

His dirty talking isn’t surprising, really, if anything, your core shakes when he gets so desperate and messy that he wants to be the one in lead. It trembles, even, when his thumb urgently comes to flick at your clit, absentmindedly through your panties.

You bite your lip at the feeling, but it doesn’t stop you from teasing him right back.

“Thought you didn’t like anything up in your face?”

“That doesn’t apply to you. I want you as all up in my face as possible!” He smirks crookedly, and bites his lower lip before looking at you from head to toe. “I’m gonna die again if you don’t get undressed”

You freeze, hips hovering inches above him, the sudden, demanding turn of his words snapping through the haze of your own escalating need. The way his red eyes devour your face, the lazy, confident smirk playing on his lips—it’s pure Katsuki, taking control when he knows you least expect it, pressing down hard enough on your clit to make your hips shake.

And then, his face contorts into a pout again.

“You’re ridiculous and sleazy,” you breathe out, but the protest has no heat, only a desperate, breathless tremor.

His gaze drops, fixating on your exposed, heaving chest, then lower, where the damp patch of your panties meets his skin.

“Am I?” he challenges, his voice dripping with seductive confidence. His fingers, still anchored deep on your ass cheeks, shift, pressing hard enough to bruise, tilting your pelvis just so. “Feel that, babe? All your fault. Now come here and fix it.”

He doesn't ask, doesn't plead anymore—he commands. And the very sheer authority in his voice, even whispered with exhaustion, is a fire that ignites your submission—but only for tonight— instantly.

You slide off his pulsing erection with a loud, slick sound that makes both of you groan. You scramble off him, knees sinking into the soft mattress, the movement clumsy and quick. The warm oil, and your own slickness makes the skin of your thighs glow in the low lamp-light.

Katsuki licks his lips at the sight, makes an audible gulp too.

You look down at him, spread out on the sheets, muscles defined by the soft light, his face flushed and his breath still ragged. He's magnificent, even in this state of vulnerable, post-bath surrender.

“Come on,” he urges, raising one hand, palm open, commanding your attention. “Put your knees on my shoulders. I wanna see you.”

You obey. You peel off your shirt with hurried movements, tossing it blindly onto the floor, and shuffle up until your knees rest on the pillow beside his head. You straddle his face—the curve of your mound heavy, pulsing, directly over his hungry, open mouth and the only barrier between you, your ridiculously wet panties.

You buck once against Katsuki’s mouth, to test the waters. And somewhere between being completely drunk on how soft his lips feel and the angry groan he lets out, you’re surprised to realise that, no, he does not think highly of your panties right now.

He wants them gone.

Is this an excuse for him to literally use his quirk on the seams of your hips to burn them away? No, not really, but it’s still just a plain pair, a replaceable one.

Does it make it any better that he smirks at you and says “Oops—” before yanking them from behind your ass and tossing them somewhere in the room? Well, yeah, that actually makes a tear drop down your pussy and right into his open mouth, the second he takes the first lick with the flat of his tongue.

Can you say no to him when he’s worked so hard today? No, no you can’t.

You brace your hands on the mattress beside his hips, heart pounding against your ribs like a caged bird. The air between you is thick, electric, waiting for the next touch.

Katsuki doesn't wait long, though.

He lets out a small, satisfied sound—a low, victorious grunt—before his tongue, warm and utterly confident, slides out and brushes the sticky, throbbing center of you. You gasp, your waist immediately arching, head falling back in pure, shocked pleasure. His tongue is hot, rough, and precise, all at once, right against your puffy clit. Right where you need it, working vigorously and sloppy.

“F-fuck, Katsuki,” you whine, fingers clenching the sheets.

“S’purfect” he murmurs, the sound vibrating deliciously against your sensitive folds. 

He hooks his hands low, right at the base of your hips, fingers digging in as if to stabilize his full course meal. He surges you down, locking your hips in space as his tongue alternates between fast kitten licks, and slow figure eights against your clit.

You’re whimpering now, a high, desperate sound that he wants to devour along with your cries. 

“Don’t—oh, god—don’t stop,” you beg, your climax already gathering, tightening in your belly.

“I won’t,” he promises, the words barely audible, punctuated by a deep, wet sound of his lips locking around your clit.

He shifts his focus, just a tad after you yelp, pressing a series of kisses against your dripping pussy precise pressure in each one, that sends a jolt of pleasure straight through your core. You cry out, loud and messy, your entire body trembling over his face, your hands blindly gripping his shoulders for purchase.

He doesn’t let go of his grip on your hips.

Instead, he anchors your hips tighter with his hands and begins to suck and tease further; you shift your weight, settling deep over his face. You can feel the frantic need rising in him, even through his focus on you. This isn't just about your pleasure; you were supposed to take care of him tonight.

Your eyes drift down from behind your back, catching the hard, veiny length of him jutting up between his thighs, hot and so impossibly thick. You reach out, your hand still slick with oil, and wrap your fingers around his shaft.

He groans into your pussy, a deep, muffled sound of surprise. The sudden focus on his cock sends a shockwave through his body.

“F-fuck,” he mumbles

You begin to stroke him, slowly, your rhythm perfectly counterpoint to the relentless pace of his tongue slurping up on your clit. You take your thumb, pressing it between his lips and your folds to gather some slick —your juices and his spit all mixed up— and then, you rush it, to his cock again. Your wet thumb finds the sensitive head of his cock, swirling over the tip, and he shudders violently.

He breaks his suction for a second, a sharp inhale, his voice tight against your skin. “Gosh. Don’t do that, babe.”

“Do what?” you whisper, leaning down, eyes locked on the spot where his mouth is ravaging you. You increase the speed of your hand, mimicking the urgency in his breath.

“Touchin’ me while you—” he chokes, unable to finish the sentence as his tongue hits a perfect spot, sending a jolt straight to your core.

Fuck, he should have known better than to talk with his mouth full.

You feel him surging beneath you, the perfect combination of exhausted tenderness and relentless need. “You’re getting harder,” you note, your voice low and breathless, emphasizing the pressure with your hand pistoning around his cock. “You like me touching you, don’t you, Katsuki?”

Pump, pump, pump, you’re jerking him up and down crazy good for how little you can think— fingers tight around him, wrist lazy so it doesn’t hurt, pace just perfect. Fuck, he’s going to come just by how viscerally good your pace is.

“Fuck yeah I do” he remembers to respond.

Wasn’t he supposed to be leading today?

Katsuki goes rigid beneath you, unable to speak, only able to communicate with the sounds tearing from his throat as he works his tongue and teeth, wanting you to lose first. Come first so he can enjoy being in control for once.

His hands leave your hips, reaching up to cup your breasts, fondling you, holding you close, messy, intimate, and claimed.

For you, the world narrows to the heat of his mouth, the pounding in your ears, the relentless pleasure. The way his thumbs graze over your nipples.

The tip of his tongue flicks at your clit, from left to right, bottom to the top and fuck—that’s it.

You collapse onto his face, shuddering violently as the impending doom of your climax rips through you, the heat and friction of him perfectly, brutally tuned to your need. You're gasping, slick, utterly ruined, bucking like crazy against his lips.

Katsuki doesn't stop, even through your throbbing release, only mellows down his work, sucking softer, licking barely there, until the last tremors fade. He lets you ride his face through your orgasm, lets you pump his cock at a lazy, slow pace, even anchor yourself through your last tremors before you come down.

You slide off him, collapsing onto your back on the warm sheets, breathing hard, your muscles shaking with the aftermath.

Katsuki lifts his head, his lower lip and chin shining with a stream of your release, eyes heavy and hooded with a potent mix of success and lust. He leans over you, damp hair falling into his eyes, and his mouth finds yours.

The kiss is soft, wet, and tastes overwhelmingly of you. It’s a messy, intimate transaction, a silent claim of lovers’ lips.

“Good girl,” he murmurs against your mouth, already half-asleep again, exhaustion flooding him now that he's sated his immediate need. He flops onto his back, manhandling you over his chest, and this time, your pussy is the perfect kind of sloppy as he grinds your hips against his.

“Was promised I’d sit back and relax, but somehow I'm doing all the work!?” Katsuki whines, pouting for the thousandth time tonight.

“You’re an asshole,” you whisper, burying your face in his neck, kissing the skin there.

“Yeah,” he grunts, his arm heavy around your waist, pulling you tighter. 

“‘M gonna ride it out of you”

Your heart shaped eyes land over your boyfriend’s gorgeous face. Your pointer finger slowly traces the line of his nose to his bottom lip, tugging it ever so slightly, before letting it flap back, and drawing an imaginary heart at his sharp cheek.

You simply ignore his pout, a triumphant, breathless smile curving your lips. Katsuki’s words are already dissolving into the deep, heavy sighs of satisfied fatigue, but his body still responds. He’s always so silly, when he wants to top you, always managing to find a way to still be topped, eventually. 

His hands, though less insistent now, remain hooked firmly on your ass cheeks, holding you in place atop his hips. One of your hands, slowly yanks his cock against you and fuck, it’s angrily throbbing in deep, flush red— you’d never leave him like that. Ever.

“I promised to take care of you tonight, didn't I?” you whisper, the question laced with a playful challenge.

You shift your weight, easing up just slightly, letting the tip of him catch some of your sticky juices, then begin to sink down on him—slowly. So agonizingly slow that the friction builds and stretches into a profound, needy ache.

You feel the perfect stretch of him filling you entirely, pushing past the initial pleasure and settling into something deep, desperate, each vein, each throb of him, echoes everywhere into your sugary walls.

He gasps, a sharp, choked sound that pulls him halfway back from the brink of physical tiredness. His eyes snap open, the fiery red immediately focusing on your face, now wide and startled, his lips pucker a little, accentuating how his top lip is fuller, rounder than the bottom one.

“Oh, fuck,” he breathes out, the word a warning and a plea all at once.

You begin to ride, slow, agonizing circles and bounces on his cock You grind your hips languidly, letting your squelching walls clench around him, milking every inch of him. 

Every friction point counts, every time his tip kisses your cervix coaxes another louder, even more lewd sound from both of you.

Your pace is measured, almost desperate in its need for more depth, more pressure, more of the delicious stretch of Katsuki. It’s a slow-motion unraveling, pulling the last strings of resistance from his body.

“See?” you whisper, leaning down until your mouth is right against his ear, your hips still rotating in that slow, grinding loop. “Told you I’d ride it out of you. Just lay back and take it, baby.”

He shakes his head, an immediate, guttural protest. He tries to push up, to take control of the pace, but you push him down, a hand between his big, strong pecs, preventing him. All he can do is tighten his hands on your ass, his fingers digging into your slick skin as he tries to anchor both you and himself, desperate for stability against your hypnotic movements.

You feel so impossibly tight, so scorching hot, every shlick shhhlick, shliiick sound of your hips colliding with his, every time his cock catches the spongy spots inside you that count, he wants to rut himself inside you at a pistoning pace.

“Too slow,” he rasps, teeth clenched, the muscle in his jaw jumping, even his eyes are glossy. “Go faster—please—”

The please is ragged, barely audible, a testament to how utterly ruined he is. 

How do you manage to do this to him every. Single. Time?

You ignore him, riding deeper, slower. Circular. You tilt your hips, finding that specific, perfect spot that sends a desperate whine tearing from your own throat, the one that makes your tummy feel like you’ve swallowed every star in the sky.

“No,” you answer, your voice low and trembling. “We’re taking our time. I wanna feel every single inch. Every single second.”

You lean down, pressing a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss to his neck, letting your teeth graze his sensitive skin. He groans, a sound of profound suffering and his hips twitch under you, responding to your rhythm despite his commands.

Your own release begins to coil, building slowly this time, through a euphoric numbness, pulling your body taut with thick, relentless tension. You look down at him, seeing the sheer lustful pride in his red eyes as he realizes you’re going to climax again while he’s still half-spent.

“Katsuki,” you breathe, your voice a ragged plea, signaling your impending collapse. “Rub my clit baby, you ain't too tired for that, right?”

Katsuki shakes his head in response, right before you pluck his thumb in your mouth and tuck it between his navel and your already abused clit. 

“Don’t move anything else,” you warn.

Katsuki lets out a hoarse sound, a mixture of surrender and furious, helpless passion. He knows he can’t speed you up, can’t stop you, but at least, at least you want him to work you to your climax.

That’s why, he doesn’t waste a second to do what he does best—He starts working his thumb, a fast, tight circle that immediately throws your careful rhythm into chaos. The dual sensation of his cock inside you and the sharp, targeted assault on your clit—is overwhelming.

You gasp, a high, broken sound, your hips seizing up for a second before they plunge back down with panicked urgency, trying to ride the wave he’s creating.

“F-fuck, Katsuki!” you cry out, throwing your head back onto the openness of the room, your hands instinctively grabbing his thighs, trying to hold on as the world spirals.

“You asked for it,” he manages, the words a strained, triumphant whisper beneath you. His breath is hitching again, his own senses pulled back to the edge by your reaction. He’s pushing you over with each swirl of his thumb on your clit, and the feeling is clearly driving him wild too.

You feel the mind numbing pressure in your gut build again, and desperate to get Katsuki to feel the same, your hand extends behind you, cupping his balls into your palm.

His moan is, the least to say, heavenly.

But when he wishes to sleazily rut his hips into you— your grip tightens involuntarily, giving a desperate squeeze as you try to cope with your own pleasure.

He groans long from the depths of his chest—a sound of pain mixed with raw arousal—the fleeting sensation from your hand matching the agony of the pleasure he’s forcing onto you.

“Easy, babe,” he warns, his voice tight, but the rubbing on your clit doesn’t stop—it only gets faster, harder, more insistent. He is fucking you to the edge and coaxing your screams the whole way there.

Your control is gone by now. You are sobbing, whispering pleas against his skin, —when did you manage to lay your head on his chest and let him start pistoning inside you is beyond you— lost in the noise and the friction.

“I’m—oh, God—I’m coming, Katsuki! I’m coming!”

Katsuki lets out a broken whimper, and his thumb presses down hard, relentlessly, as your orgasm rips through you. You clutch his balls tighter, your hips seizing up, your entire body trembling as the waves crash.

You sink into him, shuddering violently, your breath torn short from your lungs.

And fuck— he’s almost there. He’s only a few, slow thrusts behind.

Thrust, thrust, thrust thrust, Slowly in, out, catching all your slimy wetness into his tip before bullying your poor pussy with it again, sinking it punishingly deep inside you, while you’re pulling him for a lazed out afterglow kiss already.

Thrust,thrust—fuck, the smootching of your lips slotting against his—thruuuust. Your pussy clenches down on him like a vice. And thaaat’s it. His cum starts spilling out of him in thick white ropes, coating every single tight space inside your abused pussy.

His breath tears through his lungs like he’s just finished a ten-mile sprint.

He collapses further into the pillows, a dead weight of satiation, your heart pounding a furious rhythm against his. You press your mouth to his neck, kissing the skin there—wet, salty, and tasting of victory.

He lifts his free arm, heavy and protective, hooking it around your back and squeezing you tight, pressing you deeper onto his core.

“Feeling better Katsuki baby?”

“Fucking finally,” he manages, the words a strained, low gasp right beside your ear. His voice is raw, stripped of all pretense, laced in orgasmic relief and mayyybe some underlying exhaustion.

You lie still for a long moment, letting the feeling sink in; the warmth of his spent body radiating all around you, the comfortable weight of him still deep inside and your pulsing pussy clenching around him as his cum drips out of you.

Ah yes, heaven on a Thursday night.

Katsuki grunts, grabbing the blanket in order to cocoon both of you in it and you simply snuggle into him, your heart finally slowing. He smells of vanilla and sex and safety.

“Katsuki?” you murmur.

“Mm?”

“You falling asleep?”

“Fuck no,” he lies instantly, slurring around the edges. “M’awake.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah… jus’ resting my eyes…” He nuzzles into your arm. “And my face.” He inhales softly. “You smell good.”

“I love you Katsuki, sweet dreams.”

“I love you too, hope you dream of me.”

Katsuki massages you (nsfw)

~All rights reserved: @/strawberry-nugget, 2025. Please do not copy, over write or steal my work // the second image in the banner is my own edit, do not steal!

A/N: 1) this is the last fic I post as bnha airs. I’ve been crying non stop like I’m in the middle of a messy breakup because of it rn…. Anyways, yes this was based on the three seconds of footage where Katsuki was screaming at that fan. 2) Yes I know everyone in my fics has been exhausted lately, it’s because I know working overtime in the winter sucks the soul out of you.

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