Summary: Dating Eijiro Kirishima means accepting three unavoidable facts.
He sheds broken pieces of costume fabric all over your apartment. He says “manly” with complete sincerity at least fifteen times a day. The more insulting you are to him, the more affectionate he becomes.
You discovered the third one completely by accident. Now it’s become a problem.
Word Count: 1.7k
“You’re staring again,” you mutter from the kitchen.
Kirishima doesn’t even attempt denial from where he’s sitting at the counter.
“Can you blame me?”
“Yes,” you say immediately. “Very easily, actually.”
His laugh rumbles low and warm through the apartment. You risk a glance over your shoulder and instantly regret it.
He’s still half-dressed from patrol, black compression shirt clinging to his chest with sweat, red hair damp from a rushed shower. Fresh scars line his arms in pale silver streaks beneath the kitchen lights. He looks unfairly handsome in the casual, careless way only pro heroes seem capable of after fourteen-hour shifts.
Worse, he’s looking at you like you’re the best thing he’s seen all day. Disgusting behavior.
“You’re smiling,” Kirishima says.
“And you’re hallucinating.”
“You definitely are.”
You point your knife at him while chopping vegetables. “Keep talking and I’m poisoning your dinner.”
His expression softens immediately into something unbearably fond.
“There you are.”
You narrow your eyes. That tone always gets you. It’s like he’s been waiting for your attention all day and finally got it.
“You’re weird,” you tell him.
Kirishima props his chin in his hand, completely relaxed beneath your judgment. “Yeah, but you like me weird.”
“Debatable.”
“You moved into my apartment.”
“Rent in this city is criminal.”
He grins. “Sure, whatever you say sweetheart.”
You hate when he calls you sweetheart. Mostly because you like it.
—
Living with another pro hero means your schedules rarely align correctly.
Some nights you barely see each other outside exhausted greetings and shared showers before collapsing into bed. Other times you get entire evenings together, stretched soft and golden between patrols.
Tonight falls somewhere in the middle.
You’re tired down to the bone. Your shoulder aches from overuse. The villain you arrested earlier nearly dislocated your wrist, and the press conference afterward lasted long enough to qualify as psychological warfare.
By the time dinner is done, he’s watching you with that careful look again.
“What?” you ask.
“You’re hurt.”
“I’m fine.”
“I don’t believe you.”
You click your tongue and carry your plate toward the couch. Kirishima follows a second later, large and warm at your side. The cushions dip beneath his weight. For a few quiet minutes, the only sounds are the television and the scrape of forks against plates.
Then his fingers brush your wrist gently, “Lemme see.” You don’t pull away, which is probably answer enough.
Kirishima turns your hand carefully under the living room light. His thumb presses lightly along the swelling near your wrist joint, expression tightening with concern.
“You should’ve wrapped this.”
You sigh dramatically. “Eijiro, it’s almost like I had a difficult day.”
His mouth twitches upward.
“Sorry,” he says, sounding entirely too pleased with your tone.
You stare at him. There it is again. That stupid little spark in his eyes every time you snap at him. At this point, you’re almost certain he’d wag his tail if evolution allowed it.
He laughs softly as he stands to grab the first aid kit.
Watching him move around your shared apartment still feels strangely intimate sometimes. There’s something deeply domestic about Kirishima in sweatpants, rummaging through cabinets while humming under his breath.
You remember him at sixteen—loud, eager, desperately trying to become someone brave. Now he’s twenty-five and one of the top heroes in Japan, broad-shouldered and steady, confidence worn naturally instead of forced.
But some things never changed. He still loves openly. He still throws his whole heart into people. Especially you.
Kirishima kneels in front of the couch, first aid kit balanced beside him.
“Hand.”
You offer it reluctantly.
“So dramatic,” you mutter as he starts wrapping your wrist.
“You love me.”
“Unfortunately.”
His smile grows brighter.
You immediately regret speaking.
The thing about dating Kirishima is that affection transforms him into sunlight. Every tiny bit of love you hand him gets reflected back tenfold. Sometimes it’s overwhelming. Sometimes it makes your heart flutter in ways you don’t know how to explain.
“You know,” he says while adjusting the bandage, “Bakugo called me earlier.”
You groan instantly. “Why?”
“He asked if we were still together.”
You blink. “What? Why would he ask that?”
Kirishima’s shoulders shake with laughter. “Apparently you threatened somebody during a meeting today.”
“It wasn’t that serious. They mistook my tone.”
“Yeah, but this time you said—and I quote—‘I already have one loud idiot to deal with at home. I’m not adopting another.’”
You bury your face in your hands mumbling, “Oh my god.”
“He sounded genuinely concerned for me.”
“He should be.”
Kirishima laughs harder.
You peek through your fingers just in time to see him looking at you with unbearable adoration.
Again.
You glare at him while he finishes taping your wrist securely.
His hands are massive compared to yours now, palms rough with old scars and constant training. Despite his size, he touches you with startling care, aware of his own strength. When he’s done, he presses a quick kiss against your knuckles.
Despite this being a regular occurrence, your stomach still flips anyway.
“Done,” he says.
You inspect the wrapping critically. “Mediocre work at best.”
Kirishima’s eyes light up, “You think so?”
“Oh my god,” you mutter, leaning forward to give him a kiss. “There’s actually something wrong with you.”
He leans forward against the couch cushion, smiling lazily now. Comfortable beneath your scrutiny.
“You know what it is?” he says.
“What?”
“You’re only mean to people you trust. I figured it out a while ago,” he says quietly.
The words slip out, “Shut up.”
“You’re softer with me,” he says.
You scoff. “Objectively false.”
“Nah.” He rests his chin on the couch beside your leg, looking up at you. “You’re honest with me.”
He’s right. Unfortunately.
You don’t soften your words around him because you never feel like you have to earn his affection. Kirishima takes every sharp edged comment and holds it gently in his hands, never asking you to become easier to swallow. He’s the only person who’s ever made cruelty feel unnecessary.
“You’re being weirdly insightful,” you mutter.
“Occupational hazard.”
“You punch buildings for a living.”
“And yet.”
You stare at him for a long moment. Then, you sigh and reach down, threading your fingers through the hair at the back of his head. Kirishima melts instantly. His eyes close halfway as you scratch lightly against his scalp, expression going soft and sleepy in seconds.
“Oh,” you say flatly. “That’s just humiliating.”
He smiles without opening his eyes. “Don’t stop.”
“You’re like a giant stray dog.”
“A manly stray dog.”
“You’re lucky you’re pretty.” The words leave your mouth casually. The effect is catastrophic.
Kirishima’s eyes snap open. Slowly, very slowly, red spreads across his cheeks.
“You can’t just say stuff like that outta nowhere.”
You blink at him. “You literally call me beautiful every day.”
“Yeah, but it means more when you say it.” Kirishima watches you carefully, still flushed. Then he smiles again, small this time. Softer.
“You know,” he says quietly, “I really like when you’re mean to me.”
You groan immediately. “We are not having this conversation again.”
“I’m serious!”
“I know. That’s the problem.”
He laughs beneath your hand.
“It’s not the meanness,” he admits after a second. “Not really.”
“Then what is it?”
Kirishima shrugs one shoulder. “I like knowing you’re comfortable with me, that you love me.”
He says things so simply sometimes. No games. No hidden meanings. Just direct emotional truth delivered with complete sincerity. You don’t know how he survives in hero society without getting eaten alive. Then again, maybe that openness is exactly what makes people love him.
“You’re such a sap,” you murmur.
“There it is,” he says fondly.
You roll your eyes, but your fingers never leave his hair.
Outside your apartment window, the city glows restless and loud. Sirens echo faintly in the distance. Somewhere out there, tomorrow’s problems are already waiting for both of you. But here, in the warm spill of apartment light, Kirishima looks peaceful.
All because you insulted him a little and touched his hair. Absolutely unbelievable.
“You know,” you say after a while, “if anybody else enjoyed being verbally abused this much, I’d recommend therapy.”
Kirishima grins. “But not me?”
“Nah.” You tug his hair lightly just to hear him laugh. “You’re too far gone, beyond professional help.”
His smile turns helplessly affectionate. Then he pushes himself up from the floor, large hands settling on either side of you against the couch cushions.
“You done being mean to me?” he asks softly.
You tilt your head. “Depends.”
“On what?”
“How badly do you want a kiss?”
Kirishima stares at you for exactly one second before kissing you immediately. You snort against his mouth. His hands slide carefully to your waist, touch familiar and secure. He kisses like he does everything else—with his whole heart involved. No hesitation. No restraint in the affection behind it. When he pulls back, he’s smiling again.
“You’re happy,” you accuse.
“Very.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“And you love me anyway.”
You sigh dramatically, looping your arms around his neck.
“Yeah,” you mutter against his mouth. “Tragic, honestly.”
Kirishima laughs softly before kissing you again, warm and bright enough to make the entire apartment feel full of his sunlight.
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The Neighbor Downstairs - Part One - Katsuki Bakugou x Reader
Summary: After a brutal overnight shift leaves you barely able to keep your eyes open, all you want is a hot bath and a few hours of sleep. Instead, you accidentally fall asleep in the tub and flood the apartment beneath yours. You wake up to furious pounding on your door from none other than pro hero Katsuki Bakugo. But when the smoke clears and the shouting dies down, you discover the explosive hero living downstairs isn’t nearly as cruel as his reputation suggests. With his bed ruined, his apartment soaked, and nowhere else to sleep, one exhausted mistake leads to him sleeping in your bed.
Word Count: 2.5k
By the time you finally clocked out, the world had already started to blur around the edges.
The fluorescent lights above your workstation had long since burned themselves into the backs of your eyes, and every muscle in your body felt hollowed out. Shift work had a way of stripping a person down to survival instincts. Eat when you remember. Sleep when you can. Repeat until your body stops feeling like your own.
Tonight had been worse than usual. Someone called out halfway through the shift. Then another emergency came in right before closing. Then paperwork. Always paperwork.
The kind of exhaustion settling into your bones wasn’t ordinary tiredness anymore. It felt heavier than that. Like your body was operating several seconds behind your brain.
Driving home felt dangerous. Maybe you should have called an uber. The city outside your windshield glowed in soft smears of neon and rain slick pavement while your head leaned against the seat for just a second too long between intersections.
Your fingers drumming weakly against the steering wheel. There was an ache in your shoulders. The desperate thought repeating itself over and over. Hot bath. Glass of wine. Bed.
That was all you wanted. Nothing else mattered. By the time you dragged yourself into your apartment building, your legs barely felt attached to you anymore.
The elevator ride was silent except for the low mechanical hum and your own exhausted breathing. Your reflection in the mirrored wall looked half-dead. Hair a mess. Eyes dull. Uniform wrinkled from too many hours trapped inside it.
The hallway outside your apartment was quiet. Most people were asleep by now. Probably including the pro hero living downstairs. He seems to quiet down around 9 PM.
You’d spoken to Katsuki Bakugo exactly four times since moving into the building. The first time had been accidental eye contact in the lobby. The second was when he held the elevator open with an irritated click of his tongue after watching you nearly miss it. The third was a brief “Morning,” exchanged while checking mail. The fourth involved him glaring at someone for smoking too close to the building entrance while you awkwardly thanked him afterward.
That was the extent of your relationship. Which honestly suited you fine. Bakugou was intimidating even off duty. He wasn't exactly loud, at least not the way the media painted him. He was intense though. Everything about him felt sharp. Sharp eyes. Sharp posture. Sharp voice.
The apartment greeted you with darkness and silence. There was no TV, no music, no one waiting for you.
You dropped your bag near the door without bothering to put it away properly. Your shoes followed somewhere behind you in the hallway. Your jacket landed on the kitchen counter instead of the hook three feet away.
You couldn’t bring yourself to care. The exhaustion swallowing you whole was almost delirious now.
Your bedroom light flickered on briefly before clothes started hitting the floor one piece at a time in a careless trail toward the bathroom. Normally you’d fold them. Usually you’d at least attempt to maintain some level of organization.
Tonight felt beyond “usual.”
You turned the bathtub faucet as hot as it would go, steam immediately curling upward into the cold air. The sound of rushing water filled the room.
The wine could wait.
The bath couldn’t.
You stepped into the tub before it had even finished filling, sinking down into the heat with a groan that felt pulled from somewhere deep inside your chest. Your muscles screamed in relief. The water climbed slowly around you while your head tipped back against the porcelain edge.
You were finally warm. You closed your eyes for what felt like only a second.
Then—
BANG. BANG. BANG.
Your entire body jerked violently awake. For one disoriented moment, you had absolutely no idea where you were. Another pounding rattled through your apartment door.
“HEY!”
A man’s voice. It was angry, very angry.
You lurched upright too fast, water sloshing violently over the edge of the tub.
Oh no. Oh no. No you did not. The faucet was still running, the water spilling over the edge.
Horror crashed through your exhausted brain all at once as you scrambled out of the tub, nearly slipping on the soaked tile floor.
The bathroom was a disaster. Water spilled across the floor in shimmering waves while the tub overflowed steadily onto the tiles.
“Shit—shit—”
You twisted the faucet off hastily before grabbing the nearest towel and wrapping it around yourself with trembling hands.
The pounding on the door came again.
“OPEN THE DAMN DOOR!”
Your stomach dropped.
Bakugou. Of course it was Bakugou. He lived right below you, the water must have made its way through the floor and into his apartment.
You rushed to the door, feet splashing lightly across the wet hardwood floor. By the time you yanked the door open, your heart was hammering with equal parts panic and exhaustion.
Bakugou looked furious. Actually furious. His ash blond hair messy from sleep, black t-shirt wrinkled, jaw tight enough to crack stone. His eyes burned sharp red beneath the dim hallway lights.
Water dripped steadily from the sleeve of his shirt.
“You flooded my fucking apartment,” he snapped.
“I am so sorry—”
“There was water dripping on my face!”
“I hear you- I just fell asleep!”
“You fell asleep?!” The words exploded out of him immediately, rough with frustration and interrupted sleep.
Then he stopped. His expression shifted. He still looked pissed. But something in his face changed the longer he looked at you standing there wrapped in a towel, hair damp, eyes unfocused with exhaustion.
You must have looked terrible, absolutely hideous.
“You look like hell,” he muttered.
“Right.”
“You drunk?”
“No. I’m tired. I just got home from work.”
His gaze lingered on your face for another second too long. Then past you, towards the water still creeping slowly out of the bathroom doorway.
Bakugou exhaled sharply through his nose.
“Jesus Christ.”
“I’ll clean everything,” you said quickly. “I’ll pay for damages or whatever happened, I swear, I just please don’t be mad.”
Your words tangled together halfway through the sentence. You were so tired. Embarrassment crawled hot beneath your skin.
Bakugou rubbed one hand down his face, visibly trying to decide whether he wanted to yell more or go back to bed.
Eventually he sighed, “Get dressed first before your dumbass catches a cold.”
You blinked at him. You almost forgot you were standing in just a towel. You nodded quickly and disappeared back into the apartment.
—
Ten minutes later, you followed Bakugou downstairs carrying towels, cleaning supplies, and enough shame to sustain you for the rest of your life.
Bakugou unlocked his apartment door with sharp, clipped movements, visibly still irritated despite the exhaustion weighing down his posture. The hallway light spilled briefly across the side of his face, catching against the hard line of his jaw before he pushed the door open and stepped aside for you to enter first.
The apartment was quiet. It wasn’t the comfortable kind of quiet either. It was the sort built from long absences.
You noticed immediately how clean everything was. Not a single dish in the sink. No clutter on the counters. Shoes lined neatly near the entrance. The air smelled faintly like smoke residue and detergent.
Sparse. That was the first word your exhausted brain latched onto. Sparse, but lived in just enough to prove someone occupied it regularly.
A dark couch sat against one wall facing a large television. A few framed hero awards hung beside the kitchen entryway, their polished surfaces reflecting the dim apartment lights. There were weights stacked neatly in one corner. A folded hoodie thrown over the armrest.
The apartment looked exactly like Bakugou did—sharp, practical, efficient. You barely had time to absorb any of it before Bakugou stalked past you toward the hallway.
“It’s worse back here,” he muttered.
The bed was ruined.
“Oh,” you breathed.
Water had soaked completely through the mattress, dark patches spreading across nearly the entire thing. The blankets were drenched. One pillow dripped steadily onto the hardwood floor below.
You physically recoiled.
“Oh my god. It’s so bad.”
Bakugou clicked his tongue sharply from beside you, “Yeah. No shit.”
“I am so, so sorry.”
You moved automatically, exhaustion momentarily overridden by guilt as you hurried toward the bed. Your hands pressed uselessly against the soaked comforter before immediately pulling back.
The mattress squelched faintly beneath the pressure. This was mortifying, actually mortifying.
“I’ll replace it,” you said immediately. “I swear to god, I’ll buy you a new mattress tomorrow.”
Bakugou leaned against the doorframe with crossed arms, red eyes heavy with interrupted sleep.
“You don’t gotta panic.”
“I flooded your bedroom.”
“Accidents happen.”
“You literally got rained on indoors.”
That earned the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t a smile but it was close enough to startle you anyway. For the next several minutes, the two of you worked in relative silence.
You stripped soaked sheets from the mattress while Bakugou grabbed extra towels from somewhere deeper in the apartment. The entire room smelled damp now, humid air sticking unpleasantly to your skin.
Saving the mattress was hopeless.
You both knew it. Still, you tried. Maybe because standing there squeezing water from his blankets into the bathtub felt easier than confronting how badly you’d messed up.
Your body ached with exhaustion the entire time. Every movement felt sluggish, delayed by fatigue and embarrassment.
“You’re gonna pass out standing up,” he said eventually.
“I’m fine.”
“You almost drowned your downstairs neighbor because you fell asleep in the tub. How does that even happen?”
You winced. “Okay. Fair. I got in the tub and I closed my eyes for what I thought was a moment then I woke up an hour later.”
Bakugou sighed through his nose before glancing at the couch in his living room. Even from the bedroom doorway, you could see how short the couch actually was. Bakugou was broad-shouldered and tall enough that his feet would probably hang over the edge.
“Okay, hear me out. Stay in my apartment for tonight. You can take my bed, I’ll sleep on the couch. This is my fault and I don’t want you out on the streets exhausted because your upstairs neighbor flooded your bed.” You ramble, the words slipping out before you could reconsider.
Bakugou hesitates before speaking, “The hell I am.”
“You don’t fit on the couch.”
“And you do?”
“My couch is bigger. I can survive one night.”
“No.”
The answer came instantly. Firm. Reflexive.
You stared at him tiredly.
“Bakugou.”
“I’m not kicking you outta your own bed.”
“You’re not kicking me out. I’m offering.”
“You worked some nightmare shift and can barely keep your eyes open.”
“And I flooded your apartment.”
Silence. Bakugou looked irritated by the logic.
You pressed the advantage, “C’mon it would be cruel to leave a pro hero without a bed after ruining his mattress,” you said. “People would write articles about me.”
“Hah.”
“You can stay until the replacement comes.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“Please. I need to make this up to you. You are welcome to never talk to me once your new mattress arrives.”
The exhaustion in your voice must have done something because Bakugou finally stopped arguing.
“…Fine,” he muttered at last. “One night.”
Relief flooded through you, “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me, dumbass. You’re the one giving up your bed.”
You ignored that. Mostly because your brain was beginning to shut down again in real time. Together, you carried what remained salvageable upstairs.
The hallway felt quieter now. It was late. The building itself had settled into deep nighttime silence while both of you dragged exhaustion behind you like heavy chains.
Inside your apartment, the earlier chaos still lingered faintly. The smell of lavender soap hanging in the air.
Bakugou stood awkwardly near the entrance while you gathered fresh blankets from your bedroom.
“Seriously,” you said while shoving clean sheets into his arms, “I’ll buy a new mattress tomorrow. I mean it.”
“I heard you the first five times.” He grumbles.
“You can stay here until it comes.”
Bakugou looked like he wanted to argue again. Then he took you in for the first time since coming upstairs. You were no longer wracked with adrenaline.
Your hair was damp, your posture was sluggish, you even blinking slowly like staying conscious was physically difficult. His expression tightened slightly.
“…You always work yourself half to death?”
You laughed weakly. “Unfortunately.”
The apartment fell quiet afterward.
You suddenly became hyperaware of everything. Bakugou was standing in your apartment holding your spare blanket. The fact that one of Japan’s top heroes was about to sleep in your bed because you accidentally flooded his apartment.
None of this felt real.
“I’m gonna clean up first,” you muttered eventually. “Bathroom’s yours after.”
Bakugou grunted something that sounded vaguely agreeable.
By the time you stepped into the bathroom, your body felt almost disconnected from your brain. You washed quickly. The warm water helped slightly, though exhaustion still sat impossibly heavy beneath your skin. You scrubbed your face, changed into soft sleep clothes, and brushed your teeth mechanically.
Through the thin apartment walls, you could hear faint movement outside. Cabinet doors were opening. Was he rooting through your stuff? Whatever. You couldn't bring yourself to care.
You emerged from the bathroom nearly twenty minutes later to find most of the lights dimmed. Bakugou stood near your bedroom doorway, one large hand rubbing tiredly at the back of his neck. Your bed looked strange with someone else sitting on the edge of it.
Stranger still when that someone was Katsuki Bakugou.
He glanced up immediately when you entered the hallway.
“Are you sure about this?” he asked. His voice sounded rougher now. Less sharp around the edges.
You nodded. “I’ll survive the couch.”
You pointed vaguely toward the bathroom. “Feel free to get cleaned up.”
Bakugou rolled his eyes but obeyed without argument.
You stared blankly at the couch in your living room. It suddenly looked much more uncomfortable than usual.
Fantastic.
You grabbed one of the spare blankets and collapsed onto it anyway, too exhausted to care about comfort anymore. Your body sank heavily into the cushions.
The apartment lights were low enough now that everything blurred soft around the edges. Somewhere down the hallway, water still ran steadily through the bathroom pipes.
Then silence. There were a few quiet footsteps. There was something oddly careful about the way he walked. Deliberate. Quiet despite his size.
The bathroom light clicked off. You kept your eyes closed as Bakugou moved through the apartment. You felt the pause when he reached the living room.
“Hey,” he said softly.
You hummed weakly without opening your eyes. “Do you need another blanket?”
“No,” he murmured.
“…Thanks for letting me stay.”
You almost thought you imagined it. By the time you forced your eyes open slightly, Bakugou had already disappeared into your bedroom. The door remained cracked open.
After some quiet shuffling of sheets, your apartment returned to silence. For the second time tonight, sleep hit you instantly.
Note: This fic is currently in progress! I am up to part seven as of 5/23. All parts are linked on my masterlist or you can click on the link to the next part at the bottom of each post <3
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The Neighbor Downstairs - Part Seven - Katsuki Bakugou x Reader
Part One <3 | Part Two <3 | Part Three <3 | Part Four <3 | Part Five <3 | Part Six <3
Summary: After a brutal overnight shift leaves you barely able to keep your eyes open, you accidentally fall asleep in the tub and flood the apartment beneath yours. You wake up to furious pounding on your door from none other than pro hero Katsuki Bakugo. He's forced to stay overnight, in your bed. Now that his mattress has been delivered, he's staying in his apartment.
Word Count: 2,298
You woke slowly to the sound of cabinets closing somewhere down the hallway. You had stopped setting an alarm with Katsuki here. His movement around the apartment always woke you up.
For a few sleepy seconds, you stayed half buried beneath warm blankets while pale morning light filtered softly through the curtains. Rain from the night before had finally stopped sometime before dawn, leaving the apartment quiet, aside from Katsuki.
The other side of the bed was empty. The blankets there were still rumpled and warm enough to tell you he hadn’t been gone long.
Your eyes lingered there longer than necessary.
Memories from the night before came flooding back in slow, dangerous pieces. His voice saying your name low and rough in the dim bedroom. The warmth of his arms carrying you down the hallway. The way his shoulders had tensed when you called him Katsuki for the first time. The soft quietness in his voice when he answered goodnight.
You groaned quietly into your pillow before dragging one arm over your face dramatically. This was getting bad. Because somewhere over the last week, Katsuki had stopped feeling like your loud downstairs neighbor and started feeling like something else entirely. Something your body had apparently already grown attached to.
The apartment felt different when he was in it. It felt lived in. You hated how quickly you’d gotten used to that.
Eventually, the smell of coffee dragged you out of bed. You shuffled slowly into the hallway still dressed in sleep clothes, exhaustion clinging stubbornly to your limbs while sunlight spilled softly through the apartment windows.
As always, Katsuki was already awake.
He stood in the kitchen wearing a black shirt and gray sweatpants, one hand wrapped loosely around a coffee mug while the other scrolled through something on his phone. Morning light caught against the sharp edges of his profile, softening him just slightly beneath the golden glow filling the apartment.
The coffee pot already sat half empty. Domesticity looked unfairly natural on him.
Katsuki glanced up the second he heard your footsteps.
“You look terrible.”
Your tired voice came out rough from sleep.
“You say that every morning.”
“Because it keeps being true.”
Despite the insult, he reached for another mug automatically before pouring coffee for you too. Like it was routine now. The realization settled quietly between the two of you. You accepted the mug from him with sleepy hands.
“Thanks.”
He nods. The apartment stayed in a soft quiet afterward. The kind of silence built from too many shared mornings lately.
You leaned against the kitchen counter sipping coffee slowly while your brain struggled to fully wake up. Katsuki remained nearby, occasionally checking his phone between long drinks from his own mug.
Every now and then your eyes drifted toward him accidentally. Toward the slight mess of his hair from sleep. Toward the faint marks of exhaustion left beneath his eyes after long patrol shifts all week. Toward the broad shape of him standing comfortably inside your kitchen like he belonged there.
Today he was moving back downstairs. You tried not to think too hard about how much you already hated that.
Reality arrived anyway.
Katsuki started collecting the last of his things from around the apartment while you forced yourself awake enough to help.
Still in pajamas and carrying coffee, you followed him around gathering small pieces of the past week one item at a time. His charger disappeared from beside the bed. His hoodie came off the couch arm. Extra blankets got thrown into the laundry. Every object removed made the apartment feel a little emptier. A little quieter.
Katsuki balanced a box against one shoulder while you carried another downstairs behind him.
The hallway between your apartments suddenly felt far too short.
His apartment door stood open already by the time you reached the bottom floor. Warm light spilled out into the hallway while the faint smell of fresh paint still lingered from maintenance repairs earlier in the week.
Inside, everything looked mostly normal again.
The new mattress had fully expanded overnight and now sat neatly made in the center of the bedroom. The room no longer smelled damp or flooded. Fresh paint covered the repaired section of wall beside the window.
It was like none of it had happened at all. Except it had.
You quietly helped Katsuki finish putting things back where they belonged. Neither of you talked much while working.
There was something strangely intimate about moving through his apartment together in comfortable silence. You’d spent enough time around each other lately that moving naturally around the same space no longer felt awkward. That realization probably should’ve concerned you more than it did.
Katsuki disappeared briefly into the bedroom carrying another box while you lingered awkwardly near the kitchen.
Your eyes drifted slowly across the apartment. Everything looked good again, much better than the night you flooded it.
You swallowed quietly. “Katsuki?”
“Yes?” He stepped back into the hallway doorway a second later.
Your fingers tightened slightly around the blanket still resting in your arms. “Sorry again.”
His brows furrowed faintly. “What for?”
You glanced around the apartment helplessly. “The flood.”
The words felt ridiculous now after everything that had happened over the last week. Either way, guilt settled heavily.
“And the apartment’s fixed.” His voice stayed firm. Certain. As if he genuinely didn’t want you blaming yourself anymore.
You looked down quietly at the folded blanket in your hands. “It still sucked.”
A beat of silence passed. Then he spoke, “You making me sleep upstairs wasn’t exactly torture.”
Warmth spread embarrassingly fast through you.
You looked up just in time to catch the faintest hint of embarrassment flicker across his face before he clicked his tongue sharply and looked away. Your lips twitched upward despite yourself.
The atmosphere became lighter after that. There wasn’t much left to organize anymore. The apartment looked put together again.
Katsuki leaned against the kitchen counter while you stood awkwardly near the doorway, neither of you seeming particularly eager to acknowledge that there wasn’t really a reason to stay anymore.
Finally, you rubbed one hand awkwardly against your arm.
“Well… I should probably head back upstairs.”
Katsuki nodded once.
Neither of you moved immediately.
“Lock your door.” He said with a gruff voice.
There it was again. That rough concern hidden beneath practicality.
“You too.” You smiled faintly before finally stepping back into the hallway.
The apartment upstairs felt too quiet afterward. You noticed it as soon as you stepped in. There was no movement in the kitchen. No television running in the background. No Katsuki moving around before dawn while coffee brewed. Just silence.
The emptiness followed you throughout the entire day.
You caught yourself listening for footsteps that never came. At one point while making lunch, your body automatically reached for a second plate before your brain caught up.
By evening, the loneliness had settled into something dull and persistent. It wasn’t dramatic, just uncomfortable.
The television flickered softly across your dark living room while you sat curled beneath a blanket trying unsuccessfully to focus on some random show.
Your phone buzzed suddenly against the couch cushion beside you. You grabbed it lazily. A text from Katsuki.
Your heartbeat immediately betrayed you.
Katsuki: Made extra food. Come get it before I throw it out.
Katsuki: I know you can’t cook for shit anyway so you’re probably starving.
You stared at the message for a second before rolling your eyes hard enough to hurt yourself. The insult at the end felt so aggressively unnecessary. Because if Katsuki Bakugou wanted to bring you dinner, apparently he had to disguise it as an attack.
You smiled faintly while standing from the couch. The hallway downstairs felt familiar by now.
Katsuki opened the apartment door before you even knocked properly. He’d been expecting you. Warm light spilled into the hallway around him while the smell of food drifted faintly through the apartment behind him.
“You took forever.”
“It’s been like two minutes. I had to put my shoes on.”
“You’re calling slippers shoes now?”
He stepped aside enough for you to enter halfway while grabbing a container from the kitchen counter.
Katsuki handed you the tupperware container. “There.”
“Oh thanks.”
For a second, neither of you moved.
You stood awkwardly near the doorway holding warm food against your chest while Katsuki looked at you expectantly from deeper inside the apartment. Like he assumed you’d leave now.
The realization settled awkwardly between the two of you almost immediately.
You stood just inside the apartment doorway holding the warm tupperware container against your chest while Katsuki remained a few feet away near the kitchen counter with his own plate in one hand.
Neither of you moved.
The television hummed quietly somewhere behind him, muted evening light flickering softly across the apartment walls of the living room.
Katsuki glanced toward you briefly before looking away again, expression settling into that carefully neutral look he wore whenever he clearly had something to say but refused to actually say it aloud.
You shifted awkwardly near the doorway.
“Well,” you started slowly.
The silence stretched. Both of you were waiting for the other person to decide something first.
Your fingers tightened slightly around the food container. Part of you wanted him to say something. Stay. Sit down. Eat with me. Anything.
But Katsuki was still Katsuki. He wasn’t the kind of person who invited people to stay outright. Not because he didn’t want to but because somewhere underneath all the sharp edges and roughness, vulnerability still seemed difficult for him.
And you weren’t about to invite yourself into his apartment either. Not after he’d only just gotten his space back.
So instead, you stood there for another quiet second while the warmth from the tupperware seeped slowly into your hands.
Then finally, “Thanks for the food.”
“Tch. Don’t make it weird.”
Despite the familiar response, his eyes flicked toward you again briefly. Lingering.
You forced yourself to take a small step backward toward the hallway.
Katsuki stayed where he was. One hand resting loosely against the kitchen counter. His apartment looked warm behind him beneath the soft lighting. The sight made leaving unexpectedly difficult.
You swallowed quietly. “Goodnight, Katsuki.”
Something softened faintly in his expression hearing his first name again. Quickly, almost impossible to catch.
“…Night.”
You stepped back into the hallway after that.
The apartment door remained open for another second longer than necessary before finally closing quietly behind you.
The walk upstairs seemed strangely long tonight.
You moved slowly down the hallway toward your own apartment while the warm food container rested against your palms.
Your chest ached in that dull quiet way it had all day. Somewhere over the last week, you’d gotten used to sharing space with him. Now, every moment apart felt noticeable.
The apartment upstairs greeted you with silence again.
You kicked your shoes off near the doorway before wandering into the kitchen to grab a fork. The rooms still felt too still around you, the television left off, the couch empty, no movement anywhere besides your own.
Maybe you should get a cat or something to fill the silence. No, no rash decisions. That was a ridiculous thought.
Your eyes drifted automatically toward the hallway before you could stop yourself. A part of your brain still expects Katsuki to emerge from your bedroom or kitchen.
You settled onto the couch eventually with the tupperware container balanced in your lap while soft city light filtered through the apartment windows.
The food was still warm. Katsuki probably timed it intentionally. The thought made warmth spread faintly despite yourself.
The smell was rich and savory. Comforting in the way homemade food always was after a long day.
Your first bite nearly made you groan out loud. It was annoying how good his food tasted.
The television played quietly while you ate alone on the couch, though your attention kept drifting elsewhere. Toward the thought of Katsuki probably sitting on his own couch eating dinner too.
Maybe he was watching television. Maybe he was sitting in the same kind of silence.
You cleaned the container slowly afterward before finally grabbing your phone from the couch cushion beside you. Your thumb hovered over the screen for a second.
You: Thanks for dinner. It was really good.
You: I’ll have to repay the favor another day.
The message sat marked as delivered.
Then eventually, with the apartment growing later and quieter around you, you pushed yourself up from the couch and started getting ready for bed.
The routine felt empty tonight.
You brushed your teeth beneath harsh bathroom lighting while exhaustion settled heavily into your limbs.
There were no sarcastic comments tossed through the hallway while brushing your teeth beside each other half asleep.
The absence of those things felt embarrassingly noticeable now.
You changed slowly into sleep clothes afterward, dragging tired hands through your hair while moving through the darkened apartment with sluggish exhaustion pulling at your body.
The bedroom greeted you quietly when you finally stepped inside. The bed looked too large again. You frowned faintly at that thought before crawling beneath the blankets anyway.
Cool sheets wrapped around you. His scent still lingered faintly across the pillows and blankets.
It was a nice, comforting smell.
You rolled onto your side slowly, face half buried against the pillow while city lights glowed dimly through the curtains nearby.
You’d probably have to wash the sheets soon. The thought drifted lazily through your tired brain.
You didn’t move to change them tonight. Instead, you pulled the blankets a little closer around yourself and let the lingering warmth of him follow you quietly into sleep.
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The Neighbor Downstairs - Part Six - Katsuki Bakugou x Reader
Part One <3 | Part Two <3 | Part Three <3 | Part Four <3 | Part Five <3
Summary: After a brutal overnight shift leaves you barely able to keep your eyes open, you accidentally fall asleep in the tub and flood the apartment beneath yours. You wake up to furious pounding on your door from none other than pro hero Katsuki Bakugo. He's forced to stay overnight, in your bed. Due to a delay in mattress delivery, he stays a few more nights. Now you're sharing a bed and you apparently cuddle in your sleep. He'll be returning to his apartment soon.
Word Count: 3,285
A sharp knock at your apartment door dragged you halfway out of sleep, confusion still heavy in your brain. Beside you, Bakugou groaned quietly into his pillow before immediately sitting upright the second the knocking came again.
Years of early patrols had apparently conditioned him into instant awareness. Meanwhile, you remained face down on the mattress trying to remember your own name.
The bed shifted beneath his weight as he stood, separate blankets tangling loosely around both sides of the mattress. The room felt cool without his warmth nearby.
Bakugou dragged one hand through his messy hair before stalking toward the bedroom door with visible irritation.
“What idiot’s here this early…” he muttered.
You heard the front door open distantly while exhaustion kept you buried beneath the blankets for another few minutes. The apartment stayed quiet aside from muffled voices in the hallway and the scrape of something heavy being dragged across the floor.
A few seconds later, Bakugou reappeared in the doorway carrying a box so large it nearly brushed both sides of the hallway walls.
Your eyes widened slowly. The mattress. Right.
You pushed yourself upright sleepily while Bakugou maneuvered the massive box farther into the apartment. The cardboard groaned softly every time it scraped against the hardwood floor, his footsteps heavy but controlled despite the awkward size.
The sight of it made something uncomfortable twist quietly in your chest.
This was it. The replacement mattress. The final step before everything went back to normal.
Bakugou leaned the box carefully against the hallway wall before crouching beside it to inspect the labels. You watched him silently from the bed.
The loose black shirt he slept in hung low across his shoulders, wrinkled from sleep while pale sunlight caught against the sharp lines of his arms. His expression remained tired and slightly irritated in that familiar way he always looked before coffee.
Somehow, over the past week, that expression had become comforting. It was familiar. Dangerously familiar.
Bakugou ripped open the instruction packet attached to the plastic wrapping with visible impatience.
“What?” you asked sleepily.
He held up the paper without looking at you. “Says it needs at least twenty four hours to fully expand.”
You blinked. “…Seriously?”
“Memory foam crap.” He sounded personally offended by the concept.
You sat there quietly for a second, processing the words. One more night. One more night of shared dinners and sleepy mornings and hearing him moving around your apartment before dawn. One more night of him being there.
Bakugou glanced toward you finally. “What.”
You shook your head immediately. “Nothing.”
His eyes lingered on you a second longer before looking away again.
The rest of the morning passed slower than usual. Neither of you mentioned tomorrow directly. Still, the awareness sat quietly beneath everything.
It lingered while Bakugou made coffee in your kitchen like he’d been living there for months instead of days. It followed you while brushing your teeth beside each other in the cramped bathroom space. It stayed there while he unfolded the mattress downstairs later that morning, both of you watching silently as it slowly expanded across the frame.
The apartment downstairs looked almost normal again now. The walls were dry. The floor was clean. It smelled faintly of fresh paint from when the repairs were done. Only the giant new mattress still wrapped in plastic made the room feel unfinished.
Temporary.
You stood near the doorway with your arms folded loosely over your chest while Bakugou cut through another layer of packaging. The mattress slowly rose beneath the plastic with a soft hissing sound.
“There,” he muttered. “Fixed.”
The words should’ve felt relieving. Instead, your chest tightened strangely. Being fixed meant it was over. You looked away before that thought could settle too deeply.
By early afternoon, the apartment upstairs had fallen quiet again.
Bakugou left briefly for patrol paperwork while you got ready to meet friends for dinner later that evening. You had made the plans assuming he’d already be gone by tonight.
Now, while standing in front of your closet trying to decide what to wear, the idea of leaving the apartment suddenly felt oddly disappointing.
You frowned faintly at yourself in the mirror. This was ridiculous. It wasn’t like Bakugou was disappearing forever. He literally lived downstairs.
Your gaze drifted unconsciously toward the living room where one of his hoodies remained tossed over the couch arm from yesterday. The apartment already looked less temporary than either of you probably intended.
By the time evening finally arrived, rain had returned again outside. It was drizzling. There was enough rain to blur the city lights beyond the apartment windows.
Bakugou was already home when you emerged from your room dressed to go out.
The television flickered quietly across the dim apartment while he sat stretched across one end of the couch reviewing something on his phone. His boots rested beside the coffee table, hair still slightly damp from a shower.
He looked up immediately when he heard you. “You’re leaving?”
“Yeah.” You grabbed your jacket from near the door. “I made plans earlier this week before I flooded everything.”
No argument. No visible reaction at all, really. The apartment suddenly felt strangely quiet anyway. You pulled your shoes on slowly near the doorway while Bakugou’s attention drifted back toward the television.
“Try not to miss me too much,” you teased lightly.
“Tch.” He scoffed. His eyes stayed on the screen. “Apartment’ll finally be peaceful again.”
“You’re gonna be devastated without me around.” You teased.
“I survived before.”
“Barely.”
That finally earned a quiet snort from him. You hesitated near the doorway afterward longer than necessary.
“I shouldn’t be out super late.”
Bakugou only waved one hand dismissively without looking away from the television. “Whatever.”
The evening with friends passed comfortably enough. You ate too much food. You shared drinks between stories and complaints about work schedules, relationships, and everyday life.
You laughed more than you had in weeks.
The alcohol settled pleasantly through your system by the end of the night, leaving your body warm and relaxed while the edges of exhaustion softened comfortably around your thoughts.
You weren’t drunk. Just tipsy enough that the city lights seemed gentler while the taxi carried you home through wet streets.
The apartment building lobby felt warmer than outside, soft music humming faintly somewhere near the front desk while you stepped toward the elevator slightly unbalanced.
By the time you reached your apartment floor, your coordination had deteriorated enough to make unlocking the front door unexpectedly difficult.
You missed the keyhole twice. Then the door suddenly opened from the inside. Bakugou stood there already looking irritated. His eyes narrowed immediately the second he saw you leaning against the doorway.
“…You’re drunk.”
“I’m not drunk. I’m just a little tipsy,” you corrected.
The second you stepped forward, your foot caught awkwardly against the floor. Bakugou caught your arm before you could stumble fully.
“You’re terrible at this.”
“You moved the floor.”
“I absolutely did not.”
Warm hands steadied you carefully while he pulled you fully inside the apartment. The smell of detergent lingered faintly in the warm air while rain tapped softly against the windows beyond the living room.
The lights were still on. Bakugou was awake despite the fact it was well past when he normally slept.
You blinked toward him slowly while shrugging your jacket off clumsily. “…Did you wait up?”
“Tch. No.” He answered immediately. Too fast.
You smiled tiredly. “You’re a bad liar.”
Bakugou ignored that entirely while shutting and locking the apartment door behind you.
“How’d you get home? You didn’t drive did you?” He almost sounded concerned.
“Taxi.”
Some visible tension left his shoulders at the answer and he nodded.
The apartment felt safe and warm. Your body relaxed further the deeper you moved into the familiar space.
Bakugou disappeared briefly into the kitchen before returning with a glass of water already waiting in one hand.
“Drink.”
You tilted your head at him in protest. He gave you a glare that could kill. Begrudgingly, you accepted it while collapsing onto the couch cushions with a quiet sigh.
“You’re bossy.”
“You can barely stand.”
“I’m sitting now.”
“That’s probably safer.”
You laughed softly beneath your breath while taking several obedient sips of water.
Bakugou settled onto the opposite end of the couch afterward, one arm stretched across the back cushions while the television flickered dimly across the apartment.
The room glowed soft gold beneath low lighting. Outside, rain continued steadily against the windows while distant headlights reflected across wet streets below.
For a while, neither of you talked much. You simply sat there together in comfortable silence while exhaustion and alcohol slowly settled heavier into your limbs.
Then your gaze drifted toward him again. Towards the familiar sharp angles of his profile illuminated by television light.
Tomorrow, he’d go back downstairs.
“You’re gonna miss me,” you murmured quietly.
Bakugou looked over immediately.
“What.”
“You heard me.”
“I’m not.” He protested.
You smiled into your water glass.
“All this,” you gestured vaguely around the apartment, “gone tomorrow.”
“Dramatic.”
“You’ll miss me bothering you.”
“Nope.”
“Movie nights?”
“No.”
“Dinner?”
“I cook better alone.”
“Wowwww. You don’t care for me at all.”
Bakugou looked faintly smug about that answer. You laughed softly again before sinking deeper into the couch cushions.
“I think I’ll miss you a little.” The words slipped out of your mouth, easier than expected. Maybe because of the alcohol. Maybe because tomorrow suddenly felt too close.
Bakugou went quiet beside you.
The television continued flickering softly while rain tapped against glass and somewhere downstairs pipes rattled faintly through the building walls.
You looked toward him slowly. Bakugou’s eyes were already on you. Something unreadable settled behind them. Something quieter than usual.
Your heartbeat stumbled strangely. The atmosphere in the apartment shifted subtly around the conversation.
You looked away first.
“Tipsy people overshare,” you muttered.
Eventually, Bakugou leaned forward enough to grab the empty water glass from your hands once you finished.
“Do you need food?”
“Nah. I’m not hungry.”
“You’re going to wake up feeling like death.”
“That’s future me’s issue.”
“You’re annoying.” He says, crossing his arms.
“You care deeply.”
“I absolutely don’t.”
“You waited up.”
Bakugou shot you an immediate glare. “You have terrible survival instincts.”
“That’s basically concern.”
“It’s basic human decency.”
“You barely have that.”
The corner of his mouth twitched faintly before flattening again. Conversation drifted slower after that.
You talked half aimlessly while exhaustion settled heavier across both of you, words occasionally slurring together slightly whenever sleepiness pulled harder at your brain.
Bakugou listened more than he spoke. He still stayed even when he could’ve gone to bed an hour ago. Even when your stories stopped making complete sense.
At one point, you called him Bakugou again absentmindedly.
His expression tightened. “Quit calling me that.”
You looked slowly towards him. “Hm? Calling you what?”
Bakugou looked away briefly. Then back. The tension across his shoulders suddenly looked almost uncomfortable.
“…Just call me Katsuki.” The words themselves were simple. Gruff. Almost reluctant. Somehow, that made them feel more vulnerable.
Your heartbeat thudded unevenly against your ribs. Bakugou guarded himself carefully. Everything important about him stayed buried beneath sharp words and irritation and controlled distance. Yet here he was. Offering you something personal anyway.
Your throat suddenly felt tight.
“Katsuki,” you repeated quietly. The name settled warmly between you.
His jaw tightened faintly while the tips of his ears colored slightly pink beneath the apartment lighting.
Neither of you spoke for several long seconds afterward. The silence no longer felt accidental. You were both aware of it.
Then Bakugou stood abruptly from the couch.
“Alright,” he muttered roughly. “Bed. Before you pass out down here again and I have to carry you.”
You smiled slowly. “Yes, but I insist you carry me to bed. Seeing as I can barely stand.”
Bakugou paused briefly in the hallway.
“Please Katsuki?”
His shoulders tensed slightly at hearing it again. Katsuki.
The name settled warmly through the apartment in a way that still felt new. Personal. For a second, he stayed standing there in the hallway with his back toward you, broad shoulders stiff beneath the dark fabric of his shirt.
Then he clicked his tongue sharply beneath his breath. “You’re impossible.”
You grinned lazily from your spot on the couch, exhaustion and alcohol making everything feel pleasantly soft around the edges. “That’s not a no.”
Katsuki glanced over his shoulder finally, red eyes narrowed with the same familiar irritation he always wore whenever he was pretending not to care too much about something. Unfortunately for him, you’d started getting better at reading him lately.
His irritation wasn’t real. He was embarrassed, maybe. There was reluctant affection hidden beneath layers of grumbling and attitude. But not real annoyance.
Katsuki stared at you another second longer before sighing heavily through his nose. “Tch. Fine.”
Victory! You immediately held both arms out toward him dramatically from the couch cushions.
“Excellent choice.”
“You’re acting like you’re dying.”
“I’m delicate.”
“You walked into your own front door twenty minutes ago.”
“I’m just going with what you said. As you said earlier, I can barely stand. I require assistance to get to bed.”
Katsuki muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like idiot while stalking back toward the couch.
Even half asleep and tipsy, you could still appreciate how unfairly solid he looked standing over you. Freshly showered earlier that evening, hair softer than usual, broad shoulders blocking out part of the television glow behind him.
Get yourself together. Tomorrow he’d be downstairs. Tomorrow this would stop being normal.
“C’mere.” Warm hands settled against your arms before you could process much else. Then suddenly you were moving.
A startled laugh escaped you as Katuski hauled you upward with insulting ease, one arm hooking beneath your knees while the other steadied your back automatically.
“Wow,” you muttered. “You really can carry me.”
“Tch. You weigh nothing to me.”
The apartment tilted slightly from the sudden movement, enough that instinctively your hand grabbed loosely at the front of his shirt for balance.
You sobered up quickly. This was close- closer than usual. Close enough to feel warmth radiating through the fabric stretched across his chest. Close enough to smell faint traces of smoke and detergent clinging to his clothes.
Katsuki adjusted his hold slightly when you shifted. Carrying you was far more natural than it should’ve been.
“You know,” you mumbled sleepily while he carried you down the hallway, “you’re very nice for someone who yells all the time.”
“I’m not nice.”
“You practically tucked me in the other night.”
“You pass out everywhere.”
“Still counts.”
The hallway lighting cast soft shadows across the apartment walls while he carried you toward the bedroom with slow, steady footsteps. Katsuki carefully nudged the bedroom door open wider with his shoulder before stepping inside.
The room glowed dimly beneath the bedside lamp you’d forgotten to turn off earlier. Your shared bed looked mostly undisturbed aside from the separate blankets still dividing the mattress down the middle.
The sight made warmth curl faintly through you again. Ridiculous. You were getting emotional over blankets now.
Katsuki crossed the room before lowering you carefully onto the edge of the mattress. The second your feet touched the floor again, the room swayed slightly.
You frowned.
Bakugou crossed his arms immediately. “You’re definitely drunk.”
“I’m not, really. I didn’t drink that much.”
“You can’t focus your eyes.”
“Yes I can. I’m looking right at your stupid face.”
Despite the constant insults, he stayed close while you awkwardly attempted to remove your shoes without falling sideways off the bed.
Unfortunately, balance was not on your side. The mattress shifted suddenly beneath you when your balance tipped too far to one side. Before you could fully fall, Katsuki’s hand caught your shoulder firmly.
Your breath caught embarrassingly for half a second.
“There you go,” he muttered dryly. “Real graceful.”
“You caught me.” You smile.
“Barely.”
His grip lingered another second longer before letting go. You became strangely aware of every small thing after that. The warmth of the room. The soft rustle of fabric while Bakugou moved around grabbing things for you before you could manage yourself. A glass of water placed carefully on the nightstand. Your charger plugged in. One of the blankets pulled back while he silently prepared the bed.
The domesticity of it all hit unexpectedly hard. His care was hidden beneath irritation and grumbling.
Meanwhile, Katsuki focused on literally anything except your face while helping you function through your tipsiness.
“Can you at least change before passing out?” he asked finally.
You blinked toward him slowly from where you sat on the edge of the bed. “…Maybe.”
His eyes narrowed. “That’s not confidence.”
“I’m sleepy.”
“No shit.”
Still muttering under his breath, Bakugou eventually shoved one of your sleep shirts toward you from the dresser. “Move.”
You laughed quietly while accepting it. The room spun less now, exhaustion overtaking most of the alcohol haze while your limbs grew heavier by the minute.
Katsuki disappeared briefly into the bathroom to give you privacy while you changed slowly into sleep clothes with all the coordination of someone functioning on approximately one brain cell. By the time he returned, you’d somehow managed to get tangled halfway into your blanket already.
His expression flattened immediately. “How’d you even manage that?”
“I’m talented.”
“You’re a hazard to yourself.”
He stepped forward to untangle the blanket from around your legs before you accidentally launched yourself off the side of the mattress.
Your laughter softened into something quieter afterward. He kept doing small things like this. As if it was natural to take care of you now. When did you become so needy?
Katsuki finally tugged the blankets properly over you once you settled beneath them, movements rougher than necessary only because he clearly hated being watched while doing so.
The mattress dipped slightly beside you while he adjusted one of the pillows behind your head. Then he reached toward the bedside lamp. Before turning it off, he paused. You looked up at him sleepily.
The warm lighting softened the sharp edges of his features in ways daylight rarely did. Without his hero gear and constant scowl, he looked younger tonight.
This ended tomorrow. You would no longer sleep in the same bed. The thought hurt more than it should have.
Maybe the alcohol loosened your thoughts too much. Maybe exhaustion stripped away too many defenses. Because before you could stop yourself, the words slipped free quietly.
“…I’m really going to miss this. You.”
Katsuki went still.
The rain outside filled the silence softly while distant traffic hummed below the apartment building. For a moment, neither of you moved. Then finally, Katsuki exhaled quietly through his nose.
His eyes flicked away briefly before settling back on you again.
“…Yeah,” he muttered roughly.
Just one word. He meant it. You could hear it in his voice.
The atmosphere between you shifted again briefly. Katsuki cleared his throat abruptly before reaching over to switch off the bedside lamp. Darkness settled softly across the room afterward, broken only by faint city light filtering through the curtains.
You heard him moving quietly around the other side of the bed while exhaustion finally dragged heavier at your body. The mattress dipped moments later as he climbed in beside you beneath his separate blanket. The familiar warmth of another person nearby settled naturally through the darkness now.
There was no awkwardness or tension.
You stared sleepily toward the ceiling while rain continued tapping softly against the windows.
Then, quietly, “Goodnight, Katsuki.”
Silence lingered briefly beside you. Then the soft rustle of blankets and finally, “…Night.”
Note: Comment saying you'd like to be tagged if you want to be added to the tag list for this series! Longer update today because I had extra time at work. Likes, reblogs, and comments are much appreciated <3
The Neighbor Downstairs - Part Eleven - Katsuki Bakugou x Reader
Part One <3 | Part Two <3 | Part Three <3 | Part Four <3 | Part Five <3 | Part Six <3 | Part Seven <3 | Part Eight <3 | Part Nine <3 | Part Ten <3
Summary: After a brutal overnight shift leaves you barely able to keep your eyes open, you accidentally fall asleep in the tub and flood the apartment beneath yours. You wake up to furious pounding on your door from none other than pro hero Katsuki Bakugo. He's forced to stay overnight, in your bed. Now that his mattress has been delivered, he's back to staying in his apartment.
Word Count: 2,101
The next morning, the first thing you did after waking up was check your phone. The memory of the previous day hit you all at once. Your compliment, the silence after, and the look on Katsuki’s face.
You called his face pretty. For a long moment, you considered never leaving your apartment again. Unfortunately, you had to go to work.
You slowly dragged yourself out of bed.
A few minutes later your phone buzzed with a message from Katsuki. You stared at it suspiciously. It was as if he somehow knew exactly what you were thinking about.
The conversation that followed throughout the morning was surprisingly normal. Painfully normal. There was no mention of yesterday. Instead, there was just the usual routine the two of you had somehow developed.
Small messages exchanged between responsibilities. It consisted of comments about work, reminders to eat, and occasional insults.
By lunchtime, it almost felt like yesterday hadn't happened at all. Almost.
Meanwhile, downstairs, Katsuki was trying very hard not to think about it. Unfortunately for him, thinking about something and trying not to think about something often produced the exact same result.
His injuries were healing. The bruising remained visible. The cuts were already beginning to fade. His shoulder still felt stiff whenever he moved it too quickly. Which was exactly why he'd been assigned lighter patrol duties for the day. At least it wasn’t desk work.
He found himself back at his apartment much earlier than usual. The moment he stepped through the door, his phone buzzed. You had texted him again.
Katsuki glanced at the notification. He was already halfway through a response before he consciously thought about responding. It was becoming a problem. One he preferred not to examine.
A knock at his door arrived shortly afterward. Katsuki opened it without checking. Only one person knocked like that. Sure enough, Kirishima stood on the other side.
A wide grin immediately appeared. "Dude."
Katsuki sighed, "What?"
"I heard you got sent home."
"I'm not dying."
"I didn't say you were."
"You were thinking it."
Kirishima laughed. He always managed to bring energy with him wherever he went.
The redhead stepped inside. His eyes immediately began wandering. He was taking inventory.
Katsuki recognized the look and he hated it. Kirishima wasn't stupid and lately there had been more than a few things around the apartment worth noticing. Katsuki hadn't thought much about the things in his apartment. At least that was until someone else was seeing them.
There was a coffee brand he normally didn't buy, a container of leftovers sitting in the fridge and an extra mug drying beside the sink.
His phone buzzed again. Kirishima's eyes immediately darted toward the sound. Then toward Katsuki and back to the phone.
His grin widened.
"No." Katsuki already knew where this was heading.
"I didn't say anything."
"You were about to."
Kirishima laughed again. The bastard wasn't even trying to hide it.
The afternoon passed surprisingly quickly. Kirishima stayed longer than expected. At first they talked about work. Then your name entered the conversation, entirely by accident.
Your messages continued arriving throughout the afternoon. It wasn’t constant but often enough that Kirishima noticed.
They just kept coming. Eventually he stopped pretending not to notice.
"Sooo." Kirishima said, drawn out.
Katsuki immediately narrowed his eyes. "No."
"You don't even know what I'm asking."
"I absolutely do."
Kirishima looked far too entertained. The conversation somehow became significantly more annoying after that. Katsuki spent most of it threatening violence while Kirishima spent most of it laughing.
As evening approached, Katsuki eventually moved into the kitchen to cook. It gave his hands something productive to do. The familiar motions settled his thoughts. He chopped the vegetables, added seasoning, and prepared the rice.
The sounds of cooking gradually filled the apartment. Kirishima watched from the living room. He found the entire thing entertaining. It was especially so when Katsuki prepared two portions without thinking about it.
The second portion was placed carefully into a container. Ready to go upstairs later, like usual. The realization hit a little late.
By the time there was a knock at the apartment door, dinner was finished.
His expression didn't change. Kirishima's did.
"You invited someone?"
"Shut up. I didn’t invite anyone."
The door opened and you stepped inside still wearing work clothes and looking exhausted. Your attention immediately landed on Katsuki. Then it shifted toward Kirishima.
Surprise crossed your face. "Oh."
The response slipped out before you could stop it.
Kirishima stood, far too excited. "I remember you. I’m Kirishima."
You introduced yourself. His handshake was enthusiastic. His smile somehow even more so. Within seconds he was already talking. The conversation moved quickly after that.
You accepted the container Katsuki had prepared, thanked him, and then readied yourself to leave.
Kirishima had other plans. "You should stay."
You blinked. "What?"
"Stay." Kirishima pointed toward the table. "We already have food."
You looked between an annoyed Katsuki and a determined Kirishima. The apartment suddenly felt awkwardly small.
You found yourself caught somewhere in the middle.
A moment later you were sitting at the table. You still weren't entirely sure how it happened.
Dinner was an experience. It wasn’t necessarily bad, just chaotic.
Kirishima asked questions. So many questions. Most were harmless while others had a hint of suspicion behind them. A few made Katsuki immediately threaten him which only encouraged him further.
You learned stories about Katsuki's agency. Kirishima learned more about the apartment flooding incident. Katsuki suffered.
By the end of the meal, the atmosphere had settled into something surprisingly comfortable. The kind of ease that only happened when people genuinely enjoyed each other's company. Even if one of those people would never admit it.
Eventually the evening began winding down. Kirishima finally stood, stretching dramatically.
"Alright." He pointed toward the door. "I should leave before he kills me."
"Good idea." You laughed.
Kirishima grinned. Before leaving, his eyes flicked between you and Katsuki. Once, then twice. Long enough to be suspicious but not long enough to comment. Thankfully.
A moment later he disappeared into the hallway. The apartment grew quiet for the first time all evening.
You stood as well, holding your now empty container. "I should probably head upstairs."
"Mhmm."
The familiar hum somehow sounded softer than usual. You moved toward the door. Pausing briefly before opening it.
"Thanks for dinner."
Katsuki looked away. "You’re welcome." A beat passed. "Get home safe."
The words slipped out automatically. Both of you froze for half a second because home was quite literally one floor above him.
Your smile appeared before you could stop it.
"I'll do my best not to trip and fall going up the stairs."
Katsuki groaned immediately.
You laughed all the way up the stairs.
~~~~~
For the first time in what felt like weeks, your schedules refused to cooperate.
It started innocently enough. A late shift for you. An early patrol for Katsuki. Then there were more. Before either of you realized it, three days had passed with little more than text messages exchanged between work and sleep.
The routine you'd both accidentally built had been disrupted. You didn’t have the time for shared dinners, television, or coffee downstairs before work. There was no dropping by each other's apartments under increasingly flimsy excuses.
There were just messages. Only small ones scattered throughout the day. You felt connected but not satisfied. The realization annoyed both of you for entirely different reasons.
You missed having someone to tell stories to at the end of the day. Katsuki missed the quiet familiarity of your company.
The fourth day wasn't much better.
You had plans after work. A few coworkers had organized a small get together after their shift. Just food, drinks, and an excuse to complain about work somewhere that wasn't actually work. You'd agreed before realizing how little free time you'd had lately.
The evening ended up being surprisingly fun. Several hours passed filled with laughter, stories, and enough workplace gossip to last the rest of the month.
By the time you headed home, the city was dark.
Your phone buzzed while you waited for the elevator. A message from Katsuki. You smiled before you could stop yourself.
The conversation continued all the way upstairs. Meanwhile, downstairs, Katsuki was having a perfectly reasonable reaction. Which was to say, he was annoyed. It wasn’t because you were out with coworkers. That was fine, normal. The problem was how often he'd found himself looking at his phone, waiting for a response, wondering if you had gotten home yet.
The realization irritated him immensely because none of that should matter. Yet somehow it did.
His apartment felt strangely quiet. The television played in the background. Dinner dishes sat drying beside the sink. Everything looked exactly the same yet it felt emptier than usual.
Katsuki blamed Kirishima for putting thoughts in his head.
A knock sounded at his door. His eyes immediately shifted toward it. Then toward the clock. If it was you, you were later than usual.
He opened the door and you stood there. You looked a little tired, still carrying the lingering energy of someone who'd spent several hours socializing.
"Hey." You smiled.
Katsuki stepped aside automatically. You entered without hesitation just like you had done before.
The familiarity of it settled something unpleasantly warm in his chest. He ignored it.
The conversation started easily. You settled onto the couch while talking about your evening. You discussed your coworkers, work stories, and various disasters that apparently occurred while trying to organize everyone's schedules.
Katsuki listened. Well he tried to. One particular detail continued appearing throughout the conversation. A name. Again and again. One of your coworkers.
The way you talked about them wasn't unusual. At least not from your perspective. You described funny conversations, inside jokes, and shared frustrations about work. Completely normal things. The sort of stories friends collected naturally.
Katsuki, unfortunately, was working with incomplete information. Which meant his brain began filling in gaps. Very poorly.
You smiled while telling a story. You mentioned how your coworker had bought your coffee earlier. Mentioned how they'd stayed late to help with something. Mentioned how they always remembered small details.
Perfectly harmless observations. Yet somehow each one made Katsuki's expression become increasingly difficult to read.
You remained completely oblivious. The story continued. Katsuki listened and gradually convinced himself he wasn't interested. Not even slightly.
Katsuki was far too good at hiding his emotions but something seemed off.
"What?" His eyes immediately narrowed.
"You've got a look on your face."
"I don't."
"You do."
"I don't."
You laughed softly. The familiar back and forth felt nice after several days of barely seeing each other.
The apartment settled into comfortable silence afterward. Neither of you seemed eager to end the evening.
Eventually your eyes drifted toward the clock. It was later than you'd realized.
A sigh escaped you. "I should probably head upstairs."
Katsuki's expression tightened briefly. So briefly most people would have missed it. You didn't.
Still, you stood. The past few days finally started catching up with you. You moved toward the door, pausing near the entryway. The conversation felt unfinished somehow. As if there had been something both of you wanted to say but hadn't.
Before you could figure out what that might be, Katsuki spoke. His voice sounded casual. "There's a movie coming out this weekend."
You paused. Turning back toward him. Katsuki looked away suddenly fascinated by literally anything else.
Your eyebrows lifted. "Oh? You’re inviting me to a movie."
The silence stretched long enough to become suspicious.
Finally, Katsuki sighed, annoyed. "Do you want to go or not?"
The question hung awkwardly in the air. Something about this silence felt different. Maybe it was because he was asking and not connected to convenience.
Your smile appeared before you could stop it. "Yeah. I’ll go."
Katsuki looked relieved for a moment before it was replaced by his usual scowl.
"Tch."
You laughed. The sound filled the apartment, warm and comfortable.
Neither of you noticed the significance of what had just happened. Maybe you did and maybe neither of you wanted to examine it too closely. Either way, as you headed back upstairs later that night, one thought lingered quietly in the back of your mind.
You were looking forward to the weekend. Far more than you probably should have been.
Downstairs, Katsuki sat back down on his couch after you left. The apartment felt a little less empty than it had earlier. Which was probably a problem. One he chose not to think about. At least for tonight.
Note: It's been a minute oops... Comment saying you'd like to be tagged if you want to be added to the tag list for this series! Likes, reblogs, and comments are much appreciated <3
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The Neighbor Downstairs - Part Ten - Katsuki Bakugou x Reader
Part One <3 | Part Two <3 | Part Three <3 | Part Four <3 | Part Five <3 | Part Six <3 | Part Seven <3 | Part Eight <3 | Part Nine <3
Summary: After a brutal overnight shift leaves you barely able to keep your eyes open, you accidentally fall asleep in the tub and flood the apartment beneath yours. You wake up to furious pounding on your door from none other than pro hero Katsuki Bakugo. He's forced to stay overnight, in your bed. Now that his mattress has been delivered, he's back to staying in his apartment.
Word Count: 3,389
The next morning arrived far too early. You only became aware of it when sunlight crept across your face and your phone buzzed somewhere beneath the blankets.
Still half asleep, you blindly reached for it. There was one new message, sent hours ago.
Katsuki: Didn't break in.
Katsuki: You gave me a spare key.
Katsuki: Dumbass.
You stared at the screen for a moment before letting your head fall back against the pillow.
Right. The spare key. You had completely forgotten about it.
During the apartment repairs, you'd given him a copy so he could get into your apartment while maintenance worked downstairs. Somewhere between accidentally becoming part of each other's daily routine, neither of you had remembered to return it.
Or maybe neither of you had wanted to bring it up.
The thought settled awkwardly in your chest.
You rolled onto your side and looked around the bedroom. The room looked normal yet traces of Katsuki still lingered. There was a bottle of hot sauce beside your stove, a mug he’d left behind, and an empty spot on the couch where you had spent evenings together.
The apartment felt simultaneously full of him and lacking him. A contradiction that was becoming increasingly frustrating.
You buried your face briefly into your pillow. Why couldn’t you stop thinking about him?
Across the city, Katsuki was having a day that wasn't much better.
Patrol stretched on beneath a bright blue sky while crowds moved steadily through busy sidewalks below. Dynamight landed atop another rooftop after handling a minor disturbance several blocks away.
His work should have had his full attention, it usually did. Today though, his thoughts kept drifting. They drifted upstairs, back to a certain idiot who couldn’t wake up to save their life.
He pulled his phone from his pocket expecting a response by now. Nothing. No new messages.
His eyes lingered on the screen for half a second before shoving the phone away again. A minute later he was annoyed with himself. Five minutes after that he checked again.
The cycle repeated throughout the entire day.
Every time something mildly amusing happened he wanted to message you. His thoughts kept going back to you every time the patrol slowed down enough for his thoughts to wander.
His mind always circled back to the same place. Back upstairs. Back toward you. More specifically, back towards the things he couldn’t seem to say.
That was the irritating part. Katsuki wasn't confused about his feelings. Not really. He just wasn't sure what to do with them.
He liked spending time with you. It was more than that, he missed it when he couldn’t. He missed your terrible cooking, missed your commentary during television, missed hearing you movies around upstairs, missed having an excuse to check in on you.
That thought alone was enough to make him scowl.
Meanwhile, your day passed far more productively.
Mostly because you spent a concerning amount of it thinking about what to make for dinner. You'd spent many days benefiting from Katsuki's cooking. The least you could do was attempt to repay him. Even if your culinary abilities remained a little more than questionable.
By early afternoon, you finally sent him a message.
You: Come upstairs after patrol.
The response arrived several minutes later.
Katsuki: Why?
You: It's a surprise.
Katsuki: That's usually a bad sign.
You laughed out loud.
The rest of the afternoon disappeared into grocery shopping and cooking. Well, you attempted to cook. You tried your best. You really did.
The kitchen became progressively messier as time passed. Ingredients were spread across countertops and spices accumulated near the stove.
You made Katsuki's portion separately. You made it spicier, far spicier than your own. You nearly coughed yourself to death testing the sauce. Perfect.
Eventually the apartment filled with warm aromas. The dinner wasn’t perfect but respectable. Probably. Hopefully
By the time evening arrived, everything was ready. The knock came shortly after sunset.
You opened the door. Katsuki stood there for a moment looking exhausted. Patrol always seemed to carve visible fatigue into his shoulders after particularly long days. Even still, his eyes immediately drifted toward the smell coming from the kitchen.
Suspicion appeared instantly. "The hell did you make?"
You stepped aside. "I made dinner duh."
His expression somehow became even more suspicious.
The meal actually went better than expected. Which surprised both of you. Katsuki sat at your small dining table while examining his plate like it might bite back.
You watched nervously from across the table. He took one bite. Then another. Then another. There were no visible signs of suffering.
Katsuki glanced up, "It's edible."
You groaned. "That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."
He continued eating without saying anything. Which honestly said far more than the insult. He even finished the entire plate.
You considered it a victory.
After dinner, the two of you naturally migrated toward the couch. The television flickered softly across the apartment while city lights glowed beyond the windows. Neither of you paid much attention to the actual show.
The atmosphere felt comfortable. You settled deeper into the couch cushions. Katsuki occupied the opposite end. You were not touching but close enough to feel each other’s presence.
The episode played quietly in the background. Before you could stop yourself, you snickered softly.
You glanced toward him. A smile tugged faintly at your mouth.
"You know..."
His eyes narrowed. That was never a good start. You continued anyway.
"If this keeps up..."
You gestured vaguely between the two of you.
"Dinners. Watching television. You making me food. Me making you food."
Katsuki looked increasingly wary. You smiled.
"People are going to think we're dating."
Silence.
The television continued playing somewhere in the background. A character on screen said something. Neither of you heard it.
Your smile slowly faded because suddenly the joke didn’t feel funny anymore. Not with the way Katsuki had gone completely still beside you. Not with the way your own heart had started beating noticeably faster. The room felt warmer, smaller.
Your eyes drifted toward him. Katsuki was staring straight ahead at the television, completely expressionless.
Several long seconds passed.
Maybe that had been a bad joke.
Maybe—
"Uh huh." The sound broke the silence abruptly.
Katsuki leaned forward, grabbing the remote, increasing the television volume slightly.
"Your actor's an idiot."
You blinked. "What?"
"The guy on the screen." His eyes never left the television. "He's obviously the killer."
He just changed the subject. Intentionally. Warmth and disappointment tangled together confusingly inside your chest. You let out a quiet laugh. The tension eased slightly.
"You don't even pay attention to this show, You don't know who's guilty."
"I do."
"You absolutely don't."
Katsuki smirked faintly.
The conversation moved on after that. The moment remained, lingering quietly beneath everything else, neither forgotten nor addressed. That almost felt worse.
Later that night, long after Katsuki left for his own apartment and the television had been turned off, you found yourself replaying those few seconds over and over again.
The silence. The look on his face. The way neither of you had laughed. The way it hadn't actually felt like a joke at all.
Downstairs, Katsuki lay awake longer than he should have, staring at the ceiling, thinking about the exact same thing.
~~~~~
The next morning started much earlier for Katsuki than it did for you. Before dawn had fully broken over the city, he was already awake, getting ready to patrol.
His apartment remained dark except for the dim kitchen light illuminating the counters. Outside, the streets were still mostly empty. Most of the city hadn't started moving yet.
Katsuki preferred quiet mornings like this. They lacked the usual crowds and reporters.
Coffee steamed from a travel mug while he finished assembling the last pieces of his hero gear. The routine was automatic after all these years. Buckles tightened. Equipment checked. Gloves secured.
His phone sat on the counter nearby. His eyes drifted toward it once. Then away. Then back again. No new messages. Of course not. You always slept in on your days off.
Unfortunately, the rest of the morning did not improve his mood.
The villain himself hadn't been anything particularly noteworthy, just reckless. He was the kind of criminal that caused more damage through stupidity than actual planning.
An explosion had gone off far too close during an otherwise routine confrontation. Not enough to seriously injure Katsuki. Not even close. It was enough to annoy him though. Shrapnel had caught his arm. A chunk of debris had clipped his shoulder. Something else had managed to split the skin along his jaw.
It was nothing requiring concern. Yet somehow he'd ended up sitting in a medical office while a medic wrapped bandages around injuries that would probably be healed within a few days.
"You need to rest." The medic insisted.
"I'm fine."
The medic had not been impressed. Neither had his supervisor. The resulting argument ended exactly how Katsuki expected. Poorly. By late morning he'd been sent home against his wishes. Again.
The second he stepped through his apartment door, he felt some of the tension leave his shoulders. The silence helped calm the irritation flowing through him.
He dropped onto the couch and tilted his head back against the cushions. The apartment was still. The clock on the wall ticked quietly. For a few minutes, he simply sat there.
Then his thoughts betrayed him. Again. His gaze drifted toward the ceiling. Toward the apartment directly above his, towards you. Most annoyingly, toward the conversation from the night before.
‘People are going to think we're dating.’
The words had lodged themselves somewhere in the back of his mind and refused to leave. Neither of you had laughed. Neither of you had treated it like a joke. That was a problem.
A knock sounded at his door. Katsuki already knew who it was. The timing alone gave it away.
He considered ignoring it. Briefly.
Then another knock came, slightly more hesitant this time. With a sigh, he pushed himself off the couch and crossed the apartment.
The door opened. You stood there still looking half asleep. Your hair wasn't entirely cooperating. One sleeve of your shirt looked slightly twisted. You clearly hadn't been awake long.
The second the door opened, you started talking.
"Katsuki, about last night—" Your gaze remained focused somewhere near the floor. The words sounded rehearsed as if you'd been thinking about them all morning.
You continued speaking while staring at the welcome mat. Then, halfway through your sentence, you looked up and immediately stopped speaking.
The concern hit your face so quickly that it almost startled him. Your eyes widened and the apology vanished completely.
"What happened to your face?"
Katsuki resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "It's fine."
You stared.
The scrape across his jaw was probably the most noticeable injury. The bruising had already started darkening beneath his skin. That combined with the bandages wrapped around his forearm, the damage looked worse than it actually was.
Unfortunately for him, you seemed entirely unconvinced.
"What happened?" You insisted.
"Patrol."
"Katsuki. Give me a real answer."
"It's fine."
"No, it's not."
He immediately knew he was losing this argument. Your expression had changed and concern had settled into every line of your face. The kind that was impossible to dismiss.
You folded your arms. "Katsuki."
His eye twitched.
"You look terrible."
"Thanks."
"You know what I mean."
"Tch. I'm fine."
"You keep saying that but look at you." You looked him over again, gesturing to his entire body.
"Because it's true."
You took inventory of every injury. Of the scrape along his neck, the bruising on his jaw, the stiffness in his shoulder, the bandages covering his arm, and the way he seemed to favor one side.
Your expression only became more stubborn. Then you pointed into the apartment. "Move."
"What?"
"I'm coming in."
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
You stepped forward. "Katsuki. Move out of my way."
The look you gave him was entirely too familiar by now. He'd seen it before. It usually came right before you ignored something he said.
His shoulders slumped. Which you took as permission and walked inside. The apartment looked exactly like his apartment always did. It was neat with everything in its proper place. Everything except for the discarded hero gear sitting near the couch.
You disappeared briefly into the bathroom.
Katsuki frowned. "What are you doing?"
No answer.
A moment later you returned carrying a first aid kit.
His frown deepened. "Oh, absolutely not."
"You have bandages coming loose."
"They're not necessary."
"Yes they are."
To his dismay, one corner had started peeling away. Katsuki regretted everything. A few minutes later, he found himself sitting on the couch while you settled beside him.
You weren’t touching, just close enough to work. The apartment fell quiet. Sunlight spilled across the living room floor.
The only sounds came from the occasional rustle of bandage packaging and the city noises filtering faintly through the windows.
You reached carefully for his arm. The first touch was light, almost hesitant like you were expecting him to pull away. Your fingers brushed his wrist gently. Katsuki went completely still.
You didn't seem to notice. Your attention remained fixed on the bandage. The skin beneath it was already starting to heal. Still, you carefully peeled the loose wrapping away.
Your fingers occasionally brushed his forearm. Small accidental, insignificant touches. You stared a few seconds too long at his arm before you snapped yourself out of it.
Katsuki stared straight ahead because looking at you seemed like a terrible idea.
You leaned slightly closer, trying to get a better look. Your shoulder bumped his arm. Neither of you commented on it.
"There." You adjusted the fresh bandage. "That looks better."
"Hn."
Your eyes narrowed. "Hn?"
"It looks fine."
"You are the worst patient. You’re totally ungrateful."
Katsuki almost smiled. Your attention then shifted toward the scrape on his jaw. His mistake was allowing that to happen. Now you were staring, evaluating, planning. Absolutely not.
"No." He said gruffly.
"You don't even know what I'm asking."
"I do."
Your eyes rolled.
"Just hold still for me."
"No."
Two minutes later he was, in fact, holding still. Mostly because arguing had proven pointless.
You moved closer. Much closer. Close enough that he could see individual eyelashes. Close enough to notice the concentration furrowing your brow. Close enough to feel your breath brush lightly against his skin.
You remained completely focused on the injury, oblivious.
A cotton pad brushed carefully against the scrape. Your fingers steadied his jaw. The contact lasted only a few seconds. Katsuki suddenly became very interested in a spot on the opposite wall.
The apartment remained painfully quiet. Your hand lingered for just a moment while checking the cleaned cut. Then finally withdrew.
"There. All clean." You sounded satisfied. "It's not deep."
"I told you."
"You also said everything was fine."
"It is."
Your eyes narrowed again. He was beginning to recognize that look. Eventually your attention shifted toward the bruising on his shoulder. Katsuki immediately knew where this was heading.
"No."
You ignored him.
"You really should ice that."
"It doesn’t hurt."
“Mmm, really?” You hummed, pressing down into the bruise. He let out a hiss of discomfort. You stood up.
He watched with growing suspicion as you walked toward the kitchen. A minute later you returned carrying an ice pack.
"You planned this."
You looked entirely unrepentant. "Yeah and you lied about not being in pain."
He sighed dramatically. You handed him the ice pack. Then sat back down. This time slightly closer than before.
The conversation drifted into easier topics. Small things like work, patrol, and the weather. This type of conversation had become surprisingly normal.
At some point you ended up making tea and later, lunch because you apparently couldn't help yourself. Katsuki complained the entire time and then drank the tea and ate lunch.
Hours seemed to pass far more quickly than either of you expected. Eventually, though, the reason you'd come downstairs resurfaced.
The apology for last night. The room had grown quiet again.
You stared into your mug. "Katsuki?"
"Hm?"
Your fingers tightened slightly around the ceramic. "About last night."
The words hung between you. Neither of you looked at each other.
You swallowed. "I didn't mean to make things weird."
Silence followed yet again. Then Katsuki sighed. The sound wasn't annoyed, just tired.
"It's fine." You looked up. His expression remained frustratingly unreadable. "No one's thinking about it."
The statement felt suspicious. Mostly because you'd spent the entire morning and some of last night thinking about it.
Katsuki sounded sincere.
His eyes shifted toward you. "Told you not to worry about it."
You stared at him for a moment. Then nodded slowly. The answer wasn't satisfying. It felt unfinished like there was something more he wanted to say.
The sunlight had shifted noticeably by the time you finally stood from the couch. Several hours had somehow disappeared.
The mugs sat abandoned on the coffee table. The dishes from earlier had been cleaned and put away. The ice pack rested forgotten beside Katsuki after having served its purpose.
You brushed your hands against your pants and glanced toward the apartment door.
"I should probably let you rest."
Katsuki grunted. Whether that was agreement or simply acknowledgment was impossible to tell.
You moved toward the entryway while he remained on the couch. The lingering concern that had driven you downstairs had settled somewhat now that you had talked.
As you reached the door, your eyes drifted back toward him one final time. The bruising along his jaw stood out in the afternoon light. So did the cuts that littered his skin. It wasn’t severe or permanent yet seeing them there bothered you.
Katsuki had always looked larger than life. The evidence that he could still get hurt sat strangely within you.
Before you could stop yourself, the thought slipped out. "It's a shame."
Katsuki looked up immediately. "What is?"
You gestured vaguely toward his face. "The injuries."
His eyebrow lifted.
"They messed up your pretty face." The words left your mouth so casually that it took your brain a full second to catch up with what you'd actually said.
You both froze and for a brief moment, the apartment was still.
Heat rushed immediately into your face.
"Oh." Your eyes widened. "Oh no."
You stared at the floor. "I didn't mean—"
"Tch." The sharp sound cut you off.
When you risked looking back up, Katsuki was staring at you with an expression somewhere between annoyed and bewildered. A faint flush had appeared high across his ears. You weren't sure if that made things better or significantly worse.
"Watch your damn mouth." The response came out rougher than usual. He seemed angry or maybe flustered? It was hard to tell.
You pressed a hand against your face. "I was trying to be nice."
"It was stupid."
"It was a compliment."
"It was weird."
"It wasn't weird."
"It was absolutely weird."
Despite his words, Katsuki looked away first. Which felt suspiciously like losing the argument.
You smiled despite your embarrassment. "Anyway." You reached for the doorknob. "I hope it heals soon."
Katsuki crossed his arms. "Yeah."
The response sounded noticeably less annoyed than before.
You pulled the door open. "Try not to get blown up again."
"Get upstairs."
The familiar order made your smile widen. You stepped into the hallway. The apartment door started closing. Just before it shut completely, you heard Katsuki mutter something beneath his breath. Something suspiciously close to idiot.
The door clicked shut. You stood in the hallway for a moment afterward, staring at it. Then slowly turned toward the stairs. The smile remained the entire walk back upstairs.
Meanwhile, inside the apartment, Katsuki dropped his head back against the couch cushions and covered his eyes with one hand.
The bruise on his jaw didn't bother him. The cuts didn't bother him. The shoulder would heal. None of that was the problem. The problem was that one stupid comment had lodged itself firmly inside his head.
Pretty face.
He hated how warm his ears still felt. And he hated that part of him that hoped you'd say something like that again even more.
Note: Wow two days in the fic in one chapter- crazy. Comment saying you'd like to be tagged if you want to be added to the tag list for this series! Likes, reblogs, and comments are much appreciated <3
The Neighbor Downstairs - Part Five - Katsuki Bakugou x Reader
Part One <3 | Part Two <3 | Part Three <3 | Part Four <3
Summary: After a brutal overnight shift leaves you barely able to keep your eyes open, all you want is a hot bath and a few hours of sleep. Instead, you accidentally fall asleep in the tub and flood the apartment beneath yours. You wake up to furious pounding on your door from none other than pro hero Katsuki Bakugo. He's forced to stay overnight, in your bed. Due to a delay in mattress delivery, he stays a few more nights. Now you're sharing a bed and you apparently cuddle in your sleep.
Word Count: 1,909
The first thing Bakugou became aware of that morning was warmth. The second was weight. It wasn’t heavy, just present. Pressed carefully against his side beneath the blankets.
For several long seconds, he stayed half asleep, brain slow and unfocused. The apartment remained quiet aside from the soft breathing beside him and the distant hum of traffic several stories below.
Then his phone started vibrating against the nightstand. Bakugou’s eyes snapped open immediately.
Years of patrol schedules and emergency calls had trained his body into instant awareness no matter how exhausted he was. His hand shot toward the phone automatically before the noise could continue long enough to wake the person beside him.
The person beside him?
His brows furrowed faintly. Only then did he fully process the warmth curled against his side. You had shifted closer sometime during the night.
At some point, likely unconsciously, you’d moved across the mattress searching for warmth after he’d stolen most of the blanket. One arm rested loosely against his waist beneath the covers while your head had ended up dangerously close to his neck.
You were asleep, still completely unaware.
Bakugou stared down at you silently while his phone continued vibrating angrily in his hand.
There was just enough space between the curtains for weak morning light to spill across the bed in pale streaks, illuminating the exhausted softness still lingering across your face.
Your breathing remained slow, steady, and trusting. For some reason, that made something in his chest stir. He muttered under his breath. The sound barely disturbed you. If anything, you shifted slightly closer against his side.
Bakugou went rigid instantly. His brain stopped functioning for approximately half a second. It wasn’t because of the contact itself. He wasn’t some awkward teenager incapable of handling physical closeness.
This was different somehow.
It was soft, sleepy, unintentional. You were curled against him like it was natural. Your unconscious form trusted him.
His phone buzzed again. Right, Kirishima.
Bakugou dragged one hand down his face tiredly before carefully trying to untangle himself without waking you. It turned out to be significantly harder than expected. The second he shifted too far away, you frowned faintly in your sleep and instinctively followed the warmth he’d been stealing from you all night.
His heartbeat kicked unpleasantly against his ribs.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he muttered quietly.
Eventually, after far more effort than should’ve been necessary, Bakugou managed to slide out from beneath your grip. The mattress shifted softly under his weight as he stood, immediately grabbing the blanket he’d apparently stolen during the night.
You curled tighter the second cool air hit. Bakugou clicked his tongue quietly before throwing the blanket properly back over you. Your expression relaxed almost instantly.
Annoying. Deeply annoying.
His phone buzzed for a third time. Bakugou finally turned and stalked toward the living room before answering.
“What.”
Kirishima’s voice burst loudly through the speaker, “Finally! Dude, I thought you died or something.”
“Unfortunately not.”
“You sound half asleep.”
“It’s six in the damn morning.”
“Yeah, because we’ve got patrol paperwork later?”
Bakugou rubbed at his eyes tiredly while leaning against the kitchen counter. Behind him, your apartment remained quiet and dim, soft morning light slowly spreading across the living room.
Kirishima kept talking, mostly about work schedules and agency nonsense Bakugou barely cared about this early in the morning. Unfortunately, one specific thought kept dragging his attention away from the conversation entirely.
The way you were breathing against his shoulder. The way you’d instinctively moved closer in your sleep.
Bakugou scowled harder at absolutely nothing.
“…You listening?” Kirishima asked finally.
“Obviously.”
“…You sound weird.”
“No I don’t.”
“Tired?”
“Yes.”
“You sleep okay?”
Bakugou stared flatly toward the hallway leading back to your bedroom. “…Shut up.”
Kirishima laughed immediately. Bakugou hung up on him.
The apartment settled back into silence afterward. He stayed standing there for another minute longer than necessary, arms crossed loosely over his chest. Then, he sighed heavily and started making coffee.
By the time you finally woke up properly, the apartment smelled warm and familiar already. It smelled of coffee, toast, and something faintly sweet.
You stretched slowly beneath the blankets, blinking against the soft sunlight. You rubbed at your eyes tiredly before eventually dragging yourself toward the kitchen.
Bakugou stood at the stove already fully awake as always. He looked annoyingly functional for this early in the morning. His back faced you while he flipped something in a pan with practiced precision.
The domestic sight barely even surprised you anymore.
“You’re up early like always,” you mumbled.
Bakugou snorted quietly. “You’re up late.”
“Some of us enjoy sleeping.”
“Some of us have jobs.”
“I also have a job.”
“Debatable.”
“What does that even mean? You’ve seen me go to work and come back!” You retort.
He ignores you.
You yawned while reaching for one of the coffee mugs he’d already set out automatically.
Looking over the apartment again, it was almost like Bakugou lived there. His things were scattered naturally throughout the space and no longer looked out of place. Even the kitchen itself felt subtly different now that he’d apparently taken over cooking duties whenever possible. Maybe you should scold him for leaving his things all over the place.
“Maintenance called yesterday,” Bakugou mentioned while plating breakfast. “My apartment's almost dry. They just need to finish the final touches on my ceiling.”
You blinked toward him over your coffee mug, “Really?”
“Hn. They’re finishing most of it today.”
Relief mixed strangely with disappointment somewhere in your chest. You decide to ignore the second feeling for now.
“That’s good.”
Bakugou glanced toward you briefly.
“I’m gonna check it after patrol,” he muttered.
You nodded before speaking, “I’ll come with you.”
Bakugou looked mildly surprised by the answer before covering it with his usual expression.
“...Okay. You can do that.”
The rest of the morning passed quietly after that.
By afternoon, the two of you stood inside Bakugou’s apartment downstairs while industrial fans hummed loudly in the background. The room smelled faintly like fresh drywall and cleaning supplies now instead of soaked carpet.
Most of the damage had finally been repaired. The flooring looked dry again. The walls had been patched. His bedroom no longer resembled a disaster zone.
There was still plenty left to clean.
You spent nearly an hour helping Bakugou reorganize his limited furniture and sort through things that had been moved during repairs. The apartment remained warm from the giant drying fans running nearby, forcing both of you into lighter clothes while cleaning.
Bakugou worked with the same intense focus he seemed to apply to literally everything. He was fast, efficient, and slightly aggressive towards the dust. At one point you caught him glaring at a water stain like it had personally insulted his bloodline.
“You know staring at it won’t make it disappear faster.” You say, gesturing to the mess.
“It’s ugly.”
“It’s drywall.”
“It’s ugly drywall.”
You laughed softly while wiping down one of the shelves nearby. The sound echoed lightly through the apartment. For a second, Bakugou’s eyes flicked toward you in that brief distracted way they’d started doing more often lately. Like he was catching himself paying too much attention.
A quiet knock sounded suddenly at the apartment door. It had been left unlocked. Moments later, Kirishima entered and soon after froze in the doorway. His eyes moved between Bakugou, you, and the cleaning supplies. It looked surprisingly domestic.
“Oops,” he said immediately.
Bakugou’s face already looked murderous.
Kirishima rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Sorry— uh I didn’t realize you were busy.”
“We’re cleaning,” Bakugou deadpanned.
“Right. Totally.” Kirishima nodded. He did not sound convinced.
Kirishima’s eyes drifted briefly toward you again before widening slightly with visible realization.
“Oh my god.”
Bakugou narrowed his eyes dangerously. “Don’t start.”
“Have you been staying with them?”
“No.”
“Yes you are,” you answered automatically before your brain caught up.
“Oh my god,” Kirishima repeated louder this time. “You guys are together.”
“No we’re not,” both of you answered instantly.
The synchronized response only made Kirishima look more convinced.
“Wow,” he muttered. “That’s actually worse somehow.”
Bakugou looked moments away from detonating the entire apartment building out of irritation.
“We’re not dating,” you tried explaining while heat crept embarrassingly into your face. “His apartment flooded… I flooded his apartment.”
“Because someone fell asleep in a bathtub,” Bakugou added.
Kirishima stared. “…That somehow raises more questions.”
The conversation spiraled from there. Mostly because Kirishima clearly thought the situation was the funniest thing he’d experienced all month. By the time he finally left, Bakugou looked exhausted in an entirely different way than usual.
“You have terrible friends,” you informed him.
“You flooded my apartment.”
“That is so not related!”
“It’s related to everything.”
Even so, there was no real irritation left behind the comment anymore. By the time evening settled fully outside, the two of you had drifted naturally back upstairs again.
Back into routine. Dinner, television, shared space.
The apartment lights dimmed low, the city beginning to sleep, the atmosphere settling warm and quiet around both of you.
It felt way too natural now. Dangerously natural. Which was probably why the comment from Kirishima lingered awkwardly in the back of your mind all evening despite neither of you acknowledging it again.
Eventually, the two of you started getting ready for bed.
You were halfway through fixing the blankets on the bed when Bakugou suddenly spoke from behind you.
“Separate blankets tonight.”
“Huh?” You questioned.
Bakugou looked aggressively focused on adjusting his pillow instead of making eye contact. “We’re using separate blankets.”
“…Why?”
He doesn't reply.
You crossed your arms. “Bakugou. Answer me.”
He looked deeply offended by the fact you were making him explain himself.
“You cuddle in your sleep,” he muttered.
“I absolutely do not. I’ve never done that before.”
“You were practically on top of me this morning.”
Heat flooded into your face.
“…What. No I wasn’t.”
Bakugou looked equally irritated and uncomfortable now that he’d actually admitted it out loud.
“You kept moving closer because I had the blanket,” he grumbled. “So we’re using separate ones.”
You stared at him. Mortified.
Bakugou clicked his tongue sharply when you didn’t respond immediately. “Quit making that face.”
“What face?”
“That one.”
“I was asleep! It’s not my fault that I was cold, you blanket thief.”
“Yeah. I noticed.”
Your embarrassment somehow got worse.
Without another word, you immediately turned and walked toward the closet before this conversation could continue another second longer.
Behind you, Bakugou snorted quietly beneath his breath. Which honestly felt rude considering he was the one stealing blankets.
You grabbed an extra comforter from the closet and tossed it toward him with as much dignity as possible. Bakugou caught it easily.
The two of you settled into bed afterward with significantly more awareness than the night before. Separate blankets now divided the mattress neatly down the middle.
A physical barrier against apparently unconscious cuddle attempts. Lovely.
Beside you, Bakugou shifted slightly beneath his blanket.
“You move too much,” he muttered.
“I’m trying to get comfortable.”
“Hn.”
Despite everything, the tension in the room felt softer tonight.
The mattress dipped subtly every time one of you adjusted positions beneath separate blankets, quiet awareness lingering between both sides of the bed.
That night, you both fell asleep quickly. You might just miss this when he leaves.
Note: It may be a couple days before the next update. I must return to work </3 If you'd like to be tagged when I update, comment below!
I'll Always Answer - Shoto Todoroki x Drunk Reader
Summary: After a long night of irresponsible drinking with Mina, Kirishima, Sero, and a very unwillingly responsible Bakugou, you end up repeatedly drunk-calling Shoto Todoroki. While the rest of the group spirals into chaos, Shoto quietly pieces together the reader’s location from their rambling calls and goes to pick them up himself. Through rain soaked streets and late night exhaustion, he takes you home and patiently cares for them. He makes sure they drink water, stay warm, and eventually get some sleep while listening to their drunken thoughts and accidental confessions.
Word Count: 2,342
The rain had started sometime after midnight.
Not enough to flood the streets or send people scrambling for cover, but enough to leave the city painted in reflections. Neon signs blurred against wet pavement, headlights streaking gold across slick roads, the whole downtown district glowing softly beneath a layer of mist.
Inside his apartment, Shoto Todoroki sat in silence.
The television played quietly in the background, muted more than watched. A half-finished report rested open on the table beside him, untouched for nearly twenty minutes now. His focus had drifted elsewhere long ago, dulled by exhaustion after another patrol that had stretched too far into the night.
His phone buzzed against the coffee table and Shoto glanced down automatically.
Your name popped up. His brows lifted slightly. He answered after the third ring.
Static noise greeted him first. Loud music. Someone yelling in the background. Glass clinking. Then your voice crashed through the speaker, warm and loose around the edges.
“Shoootto!”
His expression flattened instantly in recognition. You were drunk. Very drunk.
“I think,” you announced solemnly, “that fish probably get thirsty. What do you think? I mean they’re like underwater but they have to get thirsty right?”
Shoto leaned back into the couch cushions, eyes drifting toward the rain-streaked windows.
“Probably,” he answered.
You gasped softly, as if he had revealed some great truth. “I knew it.”
Somewhere behind you, he heard Mina Ashido cackling loud enough to distort through the speaker. Kirishima shouted something unintelligible immediately afterward, followed by what sounded suspiciously like a chair tipping over.
Shoto closed his eyes briefly, “Where are you?”
“You sound tired,” you said instead.
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“You always sound like that,” Bakugou’s voice barked sharply somewhere nearby. “Give me the damn phone before you call him again.”
You let out an offended noise before the line abruptly disconnected.
Silence returned to the apartment.
Shoto stared at the darkened screen for a moment before setting the phone back down. Then it buzzed again. He answered immediately this time.
“You hung up on me.” You pouted.
“You hung up on yourself.”
“Oh.” Your voice lowered into something thoughtful. “…That makes sense.”
Shoto could practically picture your expression. The slow blinking. The distant concentration. The way your face probably looked warmer than usual by now, softened by alcohol and exhaustion.
“You should go home,” he said.
“We are home.”
Bakugou yelled in the background again. “No the hell we aren’t.”
You ignored him completely.
“Did you know Sero can still do handstands while drunk?”
A crash sounded immediately afterward.
“Never mind,” you murmured.
Shoto rubbed at his temple. The calls continued for the next twenty minutes. None of them made much sense.
One was entirely dedicated to asking whether his left side got colder in winter. Another involved you whispering dramatically about how Kirishima had cried over a karaoke song. At one point you forgot why you called entirely and spent nearly a full minute breathing into the phone while trying to remember.
Shoto answered every single time. Not because he particularly enjoyed late night drunken conversations. But because each call grew slightly less coherent than the last. And because beneath your slurred words and wandering thoughts, he could hear it clearly now, you were getting tired.
Eventually, during the sixth call, he heard rain. Real rain. Close enough to the phone microphone to sharpen.
“You’re outside,” he said immediately.
“Mhm.”
“Why?”
“Bakugou said fresh air would stop Mina from throwing up in his car.”
“That sounds logical.”
“It did at the time.”
Shoto stood from the couch. The city lights stretched beneath his apartment windows, distant and cold.
“Tell me where you are.”
You hummed thoughtfully. “No.”
“…Why not?”
“Because,” you replied carefully, “you’re busy. You sound busy at least.”
There was something strangely sincere about the way you said it. Not dramatic. Not self-pitying. Just genuinely concerned.
“You called me six times.” He deadpanned.
“Seven.”
He checked the call log.
“…Seven.”
“I think that means you secretly like me.” You teased.
His hand paused against the counter. Silence filled the line for half a second too long. Then Bakugou’s voice exploded somewhere nearby.
“JUST TELL ICY-HOT WHERE WE ARE BEFORE YOU FALL INTO TRAFFIC.”
You gasped quietly. “Bakugou, that’s rude.”
“It’ll be rude when I leave your dumb ass here.” He replies.
That was enough information.
Shoto already knew the district Bakugou preferred when dragging the others out drinking. There were only three bars in that area loud enough for Kirishima and Mina to willingly spend hours inside.
By the time he grabbed his coat, he was already fairly certain he knew which one.
—
The streets smelled like rain and asphalt.
Shoto arrived twenty five minutes later to find exactly what he expected. Complete chaos.
Mina sat dramatically sprawled across a bench beneath the awning outside the bar, one heel abandoned somewhere several feet away. Sero leaned halfway against a vending machine, still somehow holding a conversation despite clearly being on the verge of unconsciousness. Kirishima was enthusiastically apologizing to a parking meter.
And Bakugou looked one inconvenience away from committing homicide. The moment he spotted Shoto approaching through the rain, relief and irritation crossed his face simultaneously.
“Finally.”
You looked up from where you sat on the curb. Your expression changed instantly. It was subtle. Softer than surprise, warmer than simple recognition. It was the kind of look people got before they realized they were doing it.
“Shoto,” you breathed.
Rain dotted your hair and shoulders. Your clothes were damp from the mist in the air, your eyes glassy beneath the streetlights.
Shoto stopped directly in front of you, “You’re soaked.”
“So are you.”
“I have a higher cold resistance than you.”
You stared up at him for several long seconds before nodding slowly.
“…Right. Because of your face.”
Bakugou snorted. Shoto ignored him.
“Can you stand?”
“Yes.”
You immediately proved yourself a liar by stumbling halfway sideways the moment you tried. Shoto caught your arm before you hit the pavement. Your hand clutched briefly at the front of his coat for balance.
He was warm. Even through the fabric, you could feel the heat radiating from his skin. He could feel the alcohol, rain, and exhaustion on you.
You blinked up at him slowly. “You’re very pretty.”
Mina made a scandalized choking noise somewhere in the background. Bakugou burst out laughing. Shoto’s expression did not visibly change, but the tips of his ears warmed slightly beneath his hair.
“You’re drunk,” he said calmly.
“I’m observant.”
“You’re intoxicated.”
“You have nice eyes.”
“Very intoxicated.”
Still, his grip on your arm never loosened. Bakugou shoved your bag toward him a moment later.
“Congratulations,” he muttered. “You’re the favorite.”
“I never said that,” you protested weakly.
“You called him seven times.”
“What?! You’re lying.” You seemed genuinely startled by that information.
Shoto took your bag silently. “I’ll take them home.”
Bakugou looked almost insultingly grateful. “Good. I don’t think they’ve had anything but alcohol all night.”
“I can tell.”
Your gaze drifted between them sleepily while the rain continued falling around the group in silver streaks.
“You guys are shaped weird.”
“That’s enough alcohol for you forever,” Bakugou informed you flatly.
Shoto guided you carefully toward his car before you could wander into traffic. You went willingly. Mostly because every few steps your shoulder drifted against his and warmth spread through you.
He tried not to think too hard about that.
—
The drive back was quiet save for the sound of rain. It tapped steadily against the windshield while the city passed by outside in blurs of color and reflected light. You sat slumped against the passenger seat, head tilted toward the window, talking intermittently whenever a thought drifted through your mind.
Most of it made very little sense. At one point you spent nearly five minutes wondering aloud whether All Might ever got recognized at grocery stores. Another involved a deeply serious debate about whether soba counted as soup.
Shoto answered every question patiently. Not because the conversations mattered. Mostly because you seemed calmer whenever he did. By the time they reached his apartment building, your words had started slurring together more heavily.
Walking upstairs proved difficult.
You were stubborn about doing it yourself, but your balance deteriorated further with every step until eventually Shoto simply placed a steady hand against the middle of your back and guided you forward carefully. The contact made you unusually quiet.
His apartment was warm when he opened the door. Soft lighting illuminated the entryway, muted and clean compared to the noise of the city outside. You stood just inside the doorway blinking slowly while he removed his shoes.
Then your gaze wandered around the apartment. “It smells like you.”
Shoto paused. “…What does that mean?”
“Cold.”
You wandered further inside before he could respond, slow and unsteady.
Shoto followed immediately. “You need water first.”
“I need sleep.”
“You need both.”
He guided you toward the kitchen, pressing a glass into your hands once he was certain you were stable enough not to drop it. You stared down at the water suspiciously.
“I think this is boring.”
“It’s water.”
“Exactly.”
Shoto waited. You eventually drank it anyway, mostly because he continued standing there silently until you did.
His apartment settled into a strange kind of stillness afterward. The storm outside deepened gradually, rain tracing softly against the windows while the city lights flickered below. Somewhere in the distance, sirens echoed faintly before disappearing again into the night.
You sat curled into the corner of his couch beneath a blanket he had draped over you, still talking quietly despite your increasingly obvious exhaustion. Shoto remained nearby, not exactly hovering, just watching you.
He was making sure you stayed awake long enough to drink more water. Making sure your breathing stayed even. Making sure your dizziness didn’t worsen.
Caretaking came strangely naturally to him now. Years ago he might have struggled with it. Might have stood awkwardly at a distance, uncertain what to do with visible vulnerability. But adulthood had softened some of those sharp edges.
You tilted your head suddenly. “Can I ask you something?”
“You already are.”
A sleepy smile crossed your face, “There he is.”
“…What does that mean?”
“The funny version of you.”
Shoto frowned faintly.
“I wasn’t aware there were multiple versions.”
“There are. For sure.”
You pointed vaguely toward him beneath the blanket.
“There’s work Shoto. Quiet Shoto. Angry Shoto. And…” your eyes drifted half shut, “…the one I like best.”
Something warm twisted unexpectedly beneath his ribs.
You were drunk. He knew that. Drunk people said things without filters. Without caution. Still, hearing it spoken aloud left him strangely unsteady.
You looked at him through heavy-lidded eyes, “I think I’ve liked you for a long time.” You were being dangerously sincere.
Shoto went still. Not because he didn’t know how to answer but because he did. And because you were drunk enough that any response right now would feel unfair.
“…Sorry.” Your expression shifted slowly when he stayed silent too long.
“You don’t need to apologize.”
“Don’t pretend you didn’t hear it.”
“I’m not pretending.”
He crouched slightly in front of the couch then, just enough to meet your unfocused gaze properly.
His voice remained calm. Steady. Careful. “But I’m also not taking advantage of this conversation while you’re intoxicated.”
You blinked at him slowly. “…That’s very honorable of you.”
“It’s normal.”
“No,” you murmured. “It’s very you.”
You reached toward him then, movements sluggish with exhaustion, fingers brushing briefly against the sleeve of his shirt. Shoto allowed it. He allowed a brief touch and nothing more.
Your hand remained there loosely for several quiet seconds before your eyes drifted closed again.
“You’re warm,” you whispered sleepily.
His throat tightened faintly. The irony of hearing that from someone else never really faded. He had spent years trying to separate himself from one half of his own power had left strange marks behind. Even now, warmth still felt like something carefully measured rather than naturally possessed.
Yet here you were half asleep, drunk and completely unguarded. Somehow you were still looking at him like he was something gentle.
Shoto adjusted the blanket higher around your shoulders.
“You should sleep.”
“Mmmm.” You hummed.
“You can stay here tonight.”
Your eyes opened slightly again. “…Will you still be here when I wake up?”
The question was so quiet he almost missed it beneath the rain.
His answer came immediately, “Yes.”
That eased something in you instantly. Your breathing slowed gradually after that, body sinking deeper into the couch cushions while exhaustion finally overtook the remaining effects of alcohol. Within minutes, your grip on his sleeve loosened completely. You fell asleep.
Shoto stayed there a while longer anyway.
The apartment remained dim and quiet around him, illuminated only by scattered city light and the pale glow from outside the windows. Rain continued tracing softly against the glass while he studied your sleeping expression in silence.
He reached carefully for the abandoned water glass on the table nearby before setting it aside. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, he brushed a damp strand of hair away from your face. His hand lingered only a second before withdrawing again. You shifted slightly beneath the blanket but didn’t wake.
Shoto exhaled softly through his nose. There were many things he still struggled to say aloud. Feelings that remained difficult to untangle properly even now.
But this? This was simple. You called him. Again and again and again. And every single time, he answered. He would always answer.
Somewhere along the way, without him fully noticing, that had become instinct. Something immediate and unquestioned.
You trusted him enough to reach for him first. And maybe, if he was being honest with himself, he liked that more than he should.
Outside, the rain continued falling steadily over the sleeping city.
Inside the apartment, Shoto remained beside you long after midnight passed, quietly working on his reports in the soft glow of the storm, glancing over at your sleeping form occasionally.
Notes: Wowww- two posts in one night? Reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated! Please feel free to send me requests <3
