Ur♡vity

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x Reader (second person)

Setting: Post-graduation, Bakugou household

Warnings: NSFW themes (implied), emotional angst, unrequited feelings

The bed creaked underneath them, not from weight but from rhythm.

(Y/N) lay back, her skin flushed and slightly sweaty, golden strands of Katsuki’s hair tickling her neck as he leaned in closer—lips ghosting her collarbone like a prayer. His breath was heavy, worshipful, trembling with something raw and real. He didn’t say it aloud, but she could feel it pressing down on her chest like a weight:

He was in love. Desperately.

And she wasn’t.

“Fuck, I love you,” he whispered, half under his breath, like maybe if he didn’t say it too loud, it wouldn’t shatter her.

(Y/N) blinked at the ceiling, her arms limp around his neck. She bit back the urge to flinch. Instead, she arched her hips a little, distracting him. His brain short-circuited in response. Always did. It gave her a few seconds to dodge the silence that always came after those words.

He thought she loved him back.

But (Y/N) didn’t fall. She never had.

She only felt it—something close to it—during sex, when everything blurred and his voice was in her ear, calling her “baby” in that gruff, vulnerable way, and his hands held her like she was precious. For those moments, she could pretend the hollowness in her chest wasn’t there.

And that made her feel even worse.

Because Katsuki Bakugou was perfect. Not textbook perfect—hell no—but her kind of perfect. Smart, built like a Greek god, surprisingly tender when he wanted to be. He'd deck a guy for just looking at her wrong. He’d burn the whole world down if she asked.

And the sex? God. Next-level. Out-of-body. Enough to make her rethink religion.

But no amount of affection, no number of toe-curling orgasms, could force her heart to beat the right way.

Not for him.

Not yet.

Maybe never.

They lay tangled together under crumpled sheets, his arm thrown lazily over her waist like he didn’t want to let her go even in sleep. She stared at the ceiling, awake. Eyes dry. Mind loud.

His room still looked like a teen’s. Despite being 20 and a Pro Hero now, Katsuki Bakugou still lived in the Bakugou household. Mitsuki refused to let him go. Said she’d have no one to yell at. Said she needed someone to glare at during breakfast.

And take embarrassing photos of.

Case in point—just last week, (Y/N) had woken up post-makeout session to find a picture of her and a shirtless Katsuki posted on the fridge like some weird family shrine. Mitsuki had laughed and winked. (Y/N) had died inside.

Katsuki stirred beside her, tightening his grip in his sleep, murmuring her name like it was sacred. Like it meant something.

“(Y/N)... stay...”

She closed her eyes.

He was going to propose soon.

She knew it.

He’d been acting weird. Googling stuff. Dropping lines like “just wait ‘til summer” and “you like emeralds, right?” She’d even caught him measuring her ring finger while she was napping on his lap.

The idiot was so obvious. So sincere.

And she didn’t know what to do.

It wasn’t like she meant to get into this deep.

When he confessed—indirectly, aggressively, very Bakugou-like—she legit thought it was a joke. Like one of those Tsundere “I don’t like you, dumbass, I just want you around all the time and get jealous when you talk to other guys” jokes.

She’d laughed. Said “Sure, why not.”

Then he kissed her like his world was ending and beginning at the same time.

And she didn’t have the guts to say no.

Not when his eyes looked like that.

Not when he’d waited years.

So she stayed.

And she stayed.

And she let him believe she was all in.

Because breaking his heart? Hurting him when he’d been nothing but good to her? It felt like stabbing a puppy.

A very hot, temperamental, emotionally constipated puppy.

So she kissed him back.

Told him “me too.”

And now he was probably picking out a ring that cost more than her apartment.

“You okay?” he murmured, half-awake, dragging his lips across her shoulder.

“Mhm,” she lied.

Katsuki rolled onto his back with a sigh, arms folded behind his head, hair a wild halo on the pillow. “I’m thinkin’ we should go out tomorrow. Just us. Somewhere nice.”

“Sure,” she said.

“Like a restaurant. Fancy shit.”

“Mhm.”

“Dress nice.”

She glanced at him. “Why?”

“No reason.”

Liar.

He grinned at the ceiling. All teeth and mischief and affection. “Dumbass.”

She turned her face away, hiding her eyes.

“I love you,” he said again, softer this time.

(Y/N) let the silence sit between them. Heavy. Loud. Dangerous.

“I know,” she said finally.

That was the most she could give.

And maybe—just maybe—he wouldn’t notice how little it really was.

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