Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Screenwriting is rotten work. Maybe not for everyone, but definitely for you. You’re too much of a fixed mind to move fluidly through a craft that only sisters your own, not twins it. Your talent is novels, prose. Not, well.. Scripts. 

You conquer it of course, stubborn as you are, but it’s much more of a jagged journey than your usual smooth lines of work. You’re an author, a damn good one at that, especially if we’re going by book sales alone. 

Your gift is your thoughtful mind, pouring out onto each word and practically drowning your pages with life and wisdom and— you just can’t do that with scripts. Not in a way that you’re used to, at least. Script writing is much more concise than your typical writing style, neat and to the point; it’s up to the actors and directors to convey most of the emotion, to breathe life into your words. 

You can’t complain too much though. 

Your success through writing has skyrocketed your career from freelance writer with a steady receptionist day job to professional novelist and screenwriter, all within a span of two years. Of course, you’d been writing for much longer than two years, but the general consensus of your success, the clusterfuck of publishings and book signings and film adaptation approvals et cetera, had happened within about two years. 

By the time you finally worked up the nerve to self-publish your first novel, you already had the sequel messily drafted, lumpy and wet and awaiting its true sculpture. You didn’t want to pour into the dream just yet. You clung to it like a mother to her newborn babe, shielding precious eyes and weak lungs from the world. Only after waiting with bated breath, and a nervous twitch of the eye that didn’t leave you for weeks, you finally had your answer. Some criticism, yes, as expected.. But something stronger, the sweet that accompanied the salt. Adoration, awe, critical acclaim. Urging you to keep going. 

So you did. 

It all happened so quickly, a bit too quickly for you to wrap your head around— But there you go again, complaining. You’re just.. stressed. So stressed and so, so tired. 

New money makes an indent in your pockets and floods your new lifestyle; a cushy penthouse overlooking the city, stylish shoes that you’ve always had to adore from afar, fresh groceries happily stocked within your fridge and cabinets. You relish the life your budding career grants you, dripping with disposable income and disposable time. Few great minds make it to this place, this comfortable wealth. You’re so lucky. And still, so tired. 

“It’s just the nerves. And that tight ass of yours. When’s the last time you got laid, anyway?” Drawls a voice from beneath your covers, slow and muddled with sleep. 

Hitoshi’s been up for hours at this point, but his voice is the kind that’s always sleep riddled, crackling with the sparks of a slow-burning winter fire. He lounges in your bed without enough decency to even pretend that he’s on his way towards wakefulness, his limbs splayed with the laze of a sated cat. 

You scoff at his blunt words and smack a palm down onto his big forehead, delighting in the offended hiss that rises in his throat, “Oh, fuck off. I’m not dick deprived.” 

You feel his bushy eyebrows furrow beneath your palm. 

“Mhm.. You sure?” The layered muscles that cord his sides slide over his rib cage as he moves to sit upright, and your eyes track the movement. Your hand falls from his forehead when he fully rises. 

You’ve grown up studying him, his voice, his hair, his quirk. No matter how close you press to him, a lizard soaking in the warmth of a sun-hot stone, you’ll never get used to his developing hero’s body. It seems like every time you see him he’s presenting you with a new gash, or bruise, or patch of muscle that you wouldn’t even have known existed without his flexing form giving you a live example. Sometimes, you worry that his heroism will eat at his body until there’s nothing for you to grasp onto. 

His skin prickles with goosebumps under the touch of your fingers feathering a glide across the expanse of his ribs, tracing a crooked line of beauty marks as if connecting stars within a constellation. Your hand is slapped away with a dorky chortle. 

“Yeah, I’m sure.” 

“Doesn’t seem that way, with you feeling me up and all.” 

You would snap back with a quick remark, something stupid and silly, probably involving feeling his mom up— But you’re too tired to put forth the effort, so all he gets is an excessive eye roll. 

Hitoshi has been a constant, albeit snarky, presence in your life, dating as far back as middle school. All those years of experiencing each other’s awkward phases and hostile teen angst, holding hands through the darker pits of your lives, formed a sibling bond between the two of you. Your connection was blood bound and heady with love. 

The tweens at your shared middle school took much interest in you, but it was shallow and artificial at best. The new, pretty foreign girl with a cool quirk would be the perfect arm candy for those who wished to leash you like some stray dog. 

Your quirk wasn’t a total powerhouse, nor was it feeble enough to earn you any teasing. The ability to grow plants of different species from nothing but your intentions, their roots and stems and buds weaving and lacing into existence at your will. When barefoot, your feet left impressions on the earth, swooning flora into springing from the dirt at the touch of your soles. In the absence of your stride, such flora would fade into nothingness, plant matter dusting to be blown away by the wind. The nature you brought into existence only survived without you if conjured up with a specific, intentional purpose. 

It was enough. Pretty enough, unthreatening enough, to gain certain affections and pursuits of friendship. 

You’re sure that if you trained, if you pushed your limits and wished upon each breath of life your plants took as they were brought into the world, you could make your quirk into something savage. 

A growth of incapacitating fungus from an assailant's brain, thrashing vines tipped with the curled threat of a cat's claws in place of thorns, sickeningly sweet secretions that lured men to bow at your feet— but you were no hero. You were no villain, either. You’re a writer, a poet. A lover. A friend. 

A friend especially to Hitoshi. He was outcast when you met him, a “villainous freak”, they so fondly referred to him as. His quirk wasn’t pretty or unthreatening enough to get by, it was too tough to chew and swallow. With him being a victim of multiple schoolyard scraps and taunts, you were surprised by their gall to label anyone else but themselves as villainous. 

When you stood up for Hitoshi, jumped in to save him from the onslaught of cruel mockery and quirkist bullshit, thick cactus spines rising from the dirt in bitter clusters, you became the freak’s bitch friend. And, well, you both became outcasts. 

It was better that way. 

“Seriously though, you seem lonely lately. You’re always busy working, and I don’t get to see you as much as I want to. Plants can’t be decent enough company,” He stretches his last few words through a yawn, easily dodging the clustered arm of a Burro’s Tail succulent that thrusts out from its resting place in your skylight to swat at his head. 

Your plants have gained a sentience throughout the many years of you honing your plant care; developing character, interests, and the ability to communicate with you. Their personalities shine through to most anyone, curious touching and mischievous prodding, but only you can truly feel their connection to the spiritual realm of consciousness. You are made of the water and sun and minerals that nourish their life, you are of them and they are of you. 

That’s what they tell you at least, through an odd sense of whispers, as if being spoken into your skin and climbing up your nerves to send their message to your brain. 

They don’t quite like their presence being downplayed by Hitoshi, the human boy that they watched sleep in your bed tonight and many other nights, but they feel fond of him nonetheless. Their fond annoyance washes over you in phantom, emotions trickling up your arms and along the spokes of your spine like drops of rain sliding up the glass of a window pane instead of down. 

“Mm, I guess.. Maybe I can borrow Denki for a night? I’ll put that electricity to good use, make him charge my vibrator,” You tease halfheartedly, having trudged away from the comfort of your bed with a quiet groan of limbs, now scrounging around in your dresser for a pair of lounge shorts. 

“Uh, yeah. That’s a great idea actually. If we tag team him then maybe he’ll tire out for once.” 

Your laughter falls short when you realize it’s singular and not joined by his own humored snort, turning scandalized at his flat face, “Ew, Toshi! I was joking! I don’t want your sloppy seconds.”

“Well. I would let you go first. I am a gentleman—“ 

His rebuttal gets cut short by the sports bra you fling at his face, huffing as you pass him on your way to your bathroom. 

“I’m showering. Don’t insinuate that I should fuck your boyfriend ever again. You’re nasty.” The words are serious, but your tone isn’t. You’re more grossed out than annoyed or offended. 

“You insinuated shit first! And, by the way, who says insinuate in normal conversation? You’re such a nerd.” 

His laughter rings from your bedroom, and by the sound of the mattress dipping under his weight, you can tell he’s laid down once again. To think that such a lazy sardonic sloth of a man would make such a dedicated hero is amusing. 

The next time he speaks, you’re already halfway through your wash routine, humming around the sweet musky scent of your body scrub and bath oils. With your new income, you’ve taken strides to provide yourself with great skincare and body products, giddy with all the lotions and potions sitting along the shelves. The bathroom door is left ajar and steam slips through the opening in great wispy clouds of moisture. 

“Actually.. why don’t you just get a sugar baby? You have enough disposable income to feed a twink or two.”

“Ha! Yeah, I’d make a fucking great sugar mommy,” Humor paints your tone.

“I’m serious,” His voice creeps further towards you and the sound of his heavy palm against the bathroom door frame is hard to miss, “I have a.. friend. Who might need a bit of cash. And, to be put in his place.” 

Your brows furrow at his tentative tone. A friend? He didn’t sound very confident in that proclamation. And Hitoshi hadn’t mentioned any ‘friend’ of his that was looking for a sugar mommy, let alone any friend of his that you haven’t personally met. 

You pause for a moment to rinse suds of soap from your face, closing your eyes under the spray of water. It’s an intentional silence, as you know sudden quiet in a conversation makes Toshi antsy. You’ll meticulously pull answers out of him, if you have to. 

“Do I know this friend of yours?” 

“Err, not personally. I’m sure you know him, though.. He’s a bit of an infamous hero.” 

“A hero?” You scoff without much thought. What infamous hero needs extra spending money? “Who, your mentor? I wouldn’t mind taking him for a spin.” 

“Oh, fuck you. No,” Hitoshi groans at the continuing bit that follows him even after high-school. 

You hadn’t both attended UA, it was never a goal or passion of yours to go to some gaudy hero school with a bunch of stuck up pricks. Of course, you supported Hitoshi fully, showing out at each sports festival with an obnoxious T-Shirt that had his unamused face boldly plastered on the front (courtesy of his sweet momma). He wasn’t particularly thrilled by the display at the time, embarrassed by the ruckus you and his mom made from the crowd, but you knew deep down he appreciated the enthusiastic support. 

Unbeknownst to you, Hitoshi started training with that scruffy Underground Hero shortly after his show of passion at the first Sports Festival you attended. His extra lessons left less and less hours of the day for him to spend time with you after school, eating junk while studying for upcoming exams, watching hour long let’s plays on youtube and running over the lore of the games shortly afterwards. 

You didn’t want to make a big fuss over it, you knew that when Toshi went off to UA you would slowly start to lose the best parts of him to his dream, and you were fine with that. You wanted him to make it, to be a hero, to knock 'em dead. To find some purpose in his quirk instead of cursing it to the winds. You just didn’t think you would lose him so soon.  

After a spontaneous, tense conversation with the boy, one in which you found yourself crying and pleading with him to at least tell you why he’s grown so distant, he caved. Everything spilled out in a matter of minutes, like he had been itching for an excuse to give himself up. 

Apparently, he kept his training a secret from you through some self-fulfilled promise. Something about the humiliation he would feel if he failed, the vulnerability that would trail him, more so than it already did. If he never told anyone what he was striving for, what he was working his body to the bone for, then he wouldn’t have anyone looking down on him when he didn’t attain it.

That was fucking stupid, and you told him so. 

Shortly thereafter, you found yourself lounging on a gym mat that appeared to never be rid of sweat, in a particularly dull training room, your eyes shifting back and forth to track the agile movements of the men sparring before you. You didn’t care for the smell of heated bodies, nor the occasional grunts of pain or struggle which sounded a lot filthier in your ears than their own, but you were supporting Hitoshi. You sucked up any whining, happy to be included, and made yourself busy with homework while they grappled at each other. 

“My sister” Hitoshi had introduced you as in the process of persuading Aizawa into letting you sit in on a few of their training sessions, and though the crabby Pro twitched an eyebrow at the sight of your obviously-not-related appearance, he obliged. 

“Okay, I get it. He’s so hot and dark and brooding. I would be up his ass too,” You’d teased later over excessively healthy smoothie bowls, bought begrudgingly, albeit sweetly, by the Underground Hero who was currently absent from the table. 

“Shut up! He’ll hear you!” Hissed Hitoshi through a whisper, smacking a freshly-calloused hand over your mouth just in time for Aizawa to return to the in-shop lunch table with a small stack of napkins. 

“What.” Suspicion laced his tone at the sound of your barely muffled cackles, his word sounding more like a demand than a question. 

“Nothing,” Shinso answered with the sly deceit of a fox. “She’s stupid. Thanks for the smoothie bowls.” 

You delighted in the dynamic of the two, and returning to the dingy mat room or open field to watch your friend and his mentor train became common. You didn’t hide how attractive you found Aizawa from Hitoshi, but you respected the man when he was present and didn’t intrude on his authority. He became a constant presence in your life too, you suppose, through common relations and eventual familiarity. The ceramic cat pot he unceremoniously gifted you for your most recent birthday still sits on your windowsill, a Blue Myrtle-Cactus protruding from the pot in place of the cat’s tail. 

“Who then?” The last thorough rinsing of your body brought your shower to an end, your hand reaching past the silky curtain to fumble for a clean towel. The sound of Shinso’s respectful retreating footsteps left you alone again, giving you space to dry your naked body off and change into fresh clothes. 

“Hm. He’s.. How about I set you up on a blind date?” 

“God. He’s that fucked?” 

“No no, he’s hot. You’ll definitely think he’s attractive. I just think you’ll pussy out if I tell you who he is.” 

“Oh whatever, just tell me. Is this something you set up already? He wants to meet up with me?” 

Shinso puffs a sigh through his mouth, absentmindedly playing with the bulbous beads of a String of Pearls plant that hung above his head. The stems curl around his fingers with a touch of sentience. “No, but I'm saying that I definitely can set it up. Come on, you know I'm always right.” 

“Mm,” You hum in reply around the toothbrush in your mouth, making quick work of brushing your teeth and pulling with coconut oil afterwards. The silence ticks on until Hitoshi can’t help but interrupt it. 

“So, yes?” 

You’re facing him again once you exit the bathroom, your hands on your hips in a show of stubbornness. He meets your stare with a sly grin, holding his hands up in the universal gesture of ‘Well?’. It was so easy to give into Hitoshi, the slick bastard. 

Your eyes trace the creases in your bedsheets, rumpled and occupied by Shinso’s body throughout the night. The last time he slept over had been weeks ago, and since then, you hadn’t had anyone in your bed but yourself. Your chest constricts longingly at the thought of him leaving within a few hours, off to go be a hero and live life lovingly with his boyfriend at their shabby flat. You’re happy for him, you adore his boyfriend and the idea that Toshi found love, but you are a little lonely as of late. 

You have other friends, ones mutual among you and Hitoshi, as well as some cute flings you could easily pull back into your lap, but you’re just.. busy. A few quick fucks with no strings attached besides the promise of some bills from your wallet sounds nice, even with how embarrassingly low and desperate the whole situation feels. 

“Fine. But if I get to this fucking date and the guy is some loser, i’m leaving immediately. And beating your ass.” 

“Fair. So you’ll really do it?” 

“Yeah yeah, don’t make me change my mind,” You mutter faintly, and that’s that. 

As easily as it’s brought up, it’s agreed to. On the spur of the moment, you’re signed up to engage in sex work with some Pro Hero whose name apparently precedes him. 

You are going to fucking kill Hitoshi. 

Wrap your fingers around his slender throat and squeeze, drape a cloth over his smug face and pour cup after cup of water over the fabric, bake him a pie encrusted with enough Xanax to stop his heart. 

Anything to soothe the vexed twitch of your fingers around your clear glass cup. Your dinner companion catches the twitch with sharp eyes, his pupils slide along your hand and mosey their way up your arm, unashamed with his leering. Your own eyes slant in return, a brow quirked in question. A challenge. There’s a beat of tense silence, a pregnant pause. 

It went like this: About five days after that fateful conversation with Hitoshi, there was a rap of knocking at your door. Unusual, as you hadn’t invited anyone over, and people usually didn’t drop by without at least a phone call in advance. 

You’re very protective of your time and space, any friend close enough to know your address knows that fact about you; a drop-by visit can leave you reeling. Your visitors took advantage of that. 

The situation became even more unusual as it unfolded with Hitoshi standing outside of your apartment door, a familiar face cheeky with mirth next to him. Arms supporting a box of New York style pizza, locks of shocking yellow hair haphazardly pushed away from his forehead, stood an excitable Denki. 

“What’s the occasion?” You had asked dryly, sensing the oncoming bullshit these two were about to present you with. 

Stomach full of grease and cheese, you were shepherded into agreeing to whatever sneakily veiled plans the two had spun for you. This blind date evidently involved a mutual ‘friend’ of Shinso and Denki, though you could guess that he leaned more towards Denki’s actual friend if anything. 

“All you have to do is show up! Well, and pay. But that’s no problem for you, huh penthouse?” Denki was very convincing, and amusing. Charming little shit for sure. 

An underground restaurant, some hole in the wall with an elderly owner who graciously welcomed the dining of Toshi and his hero friends. A special booth that was secluded from the hubbub, good food, casual attire. Some seemingly handsome man, a young upstart hero looking for funding to live his life independently, no roommates, no parental guidance. 

That was.. fine. You were willing to give it a shot. If the sex was good, mutually enjoyable, maybe you wouldn’t feel so bad about throwing money at some guy who couldn’t stay afloat on his own. 

“So. You’re an author, right?” 

It was fine, until you actually arrived at the date. 

Katsuki Bakugou, a greek sculpture of a man with a menacing quirk and catty attitude. Destruction bleeds from his skin, a flash fire of explosives, the threat of bodies blown to shreds. He’s refined his devastating power and sharp temper over the years, but footage of his harsh battles are free to the public. He’s a force of nature, a snapping live wire in combat, it’s commonly known and whispered in his wake. He leaves a tremor of intimidation in his footsteps, no matter how heroic and well meaning he is. The people don’t ignore the possibilities of what someone could do, not after terror shocked the nation all those years ago. 

The problem isn’t that you’re scared of him. Despite the current state of the world, you can't force yourself to be scared of a man these days. Some exaggerated sense of power convincing you that you would never need to bow to any man, for any reason. Maybe it was due to the fact that deep down you felt— No, you knew, you could wreak havoc.

Could you take the man across from you in a fight? Could you force him to bend the knee? Realistically, no. And still, deep down, your bones creak in defiance. Blood pumps through your veins, heating your skin, running rampant with shrouded capabilities. Verdure lays patient within you, waiting for you to call it forth and manifest it’s physical existence; it hums a secret: 

You could. We could. We will, if you wish it so.

But you won’t. And that’s not the issue you have with him, anyway. 

You just don’t see this working. It’s that simple. He’s so proud, high and mighty on his path towards Number 1, and you tend to inwardly gag at the sight of a peacocking man. Though, you’re not so sure that he’s much of a peacock these days. You hadn’t been keeping up with hero news as of late, only what Hitoshi gossiped to you about or what made its casual rounds on social media. Still, it would take a total recluse to not know that Bakugou has always been a bit of a hot topic. 

Viral pictures and clips of his successful wins, blood dripping it’s way down his face and coating that feral grin copper. Edits of his muscles bulging and stretching beneath his costume, which you could never really take seriously. Crass interviews that he’s taken heat for. He’s definitely gotten better with that last part, his snappiness and vulgarity receding enough over time for him to be.. palatable. 

You’re not overly proud, but you are confident. Assertive. You take the reins and snatch at what you want with steadfast claws. Would he even be able to handle you? You’re far past catering to men’s egos and pride. You’re even farther past letting a man control you in a bedroom setting; watching a man try to dominate you is like watching a teacher pick a kid to read aloud and cringing as the kid fucks up and stumbles through each sentence. 

From an outside view, a man like Bakugou would likely lose his mind trying to accommodate your challenging dominance. One of you would have to give, and it wouldn’t be you. No matter who he is. This date seemed like a disaster waiting to happen, a bomb ticking away with each word spoken. 

“Yeah. I’ve been writing professionally for a few years now, though I’m sure you knew that.. Hitoshi did tell you about me, yes?” Still, you speak. Now that you’re here, sitting across from the admittedly gorgeous man in a small booth, plied with unspoken sexual tension and the promise of food, you can’t bring yourself to leave. 

“No, actually. Didn’t have a damn clue who I was meeting up with when I took the bus over here,” He supplies dryly, but you can see his arms move in tandem beneath the table. He’s rubbing his palms on his clothed lap, ridding them of sweat. Nervous? Or, just typical quirk behavior? Both? 

“Okay, smartass. I genuinely had no idea who I was meeting up with, so it was a fair question,” You match his tone and force a sip of your iced drink, gauging his temperament. 

“Oh, shit. No one.. They didn’t tell you? That it was me?” 

“Nope. It’s alright though, you’re pretty enough to keep me here. Good company, however, I’m still deciding..” 

The tips of his ears are red around a litany of silver piercings, though he speaks through a stubborn scowl, “I’m fucking great company.” 

You laugh outright at his glowering and feel a bit of tension ease from your body. He’s pissy and testy, but he’s all talk. At least, in the context of a date with an attractive girl who may be the answer to his financial problems. His refusal to acknowledge you calling him pretty isn’t lost on you, especially as your eyes trace the blush dusting his ears. He’s easily flustered by this, by you. You can work with this. 

“Sure, Hero. So, why did you agree to this anyway? I thought you and your family were decently well off?” It’s no secret that his mom and dad work in fashion. He should be able to ride their coattails for a bit until he’s stable enough to fully support himself. 

“Don’t want their money,” A bitterness peaks through his words. You’ll catalogue that topic for a later date, preferably after you’ve fucked him. “And I don’t have enough years under my belt to make the money I need to be making. Yet.” 

“Doesn’t popularity boost your pay?” 

“It plays a part, sure. Doesn’t matter much until you reach a certain year of service. ‘S easier to weed out the flakes that way.” 

“Ah. Like teachers pay, then.” 

“Sure.”

You hum in understanding and the conversation pauses as a waiter brings your dishes out, glancing at Bakugou with a practiced ease. He’s been here before, clearly, so there’s no fuss among the staff. The waiter leaves swiftly and politely, with the blonde across from you already picking up his utensils before he can make an exit.  

You can’t lie, he’s attractive. Stunning, in some odd, broken way. The pale blonde hair spiking here and there on his head compliments the garnet red of his eyes; those deep, striking eyes. Raised, pink skin starbursts in the form of a scar near his right eye; a souvenir from battle. The battle, if you remember correctly. Small sibling scars run along his body here and there upon what little skin he’s made available for you to view, though not as devastating as the one hugging his cheekbone. It doesn’t deform his facial structure, nor grow vast enough to restrain the growth of his brows and lashes, but it’s ever present and leaves your gut with a sinking feeling. 

Those lashes are long and they slant with the shape of his lids, his expression permanently sultry. Plump lips, a nice carved jaw, groomed eyebrows. Not to mention his build, because holy shit, he’s sculpted into one savory cut of a man. As he speaks, you think you catch the glint of a tongue piercing teasing you from its place in his pretty mouth. 

“Why did you agree to this? Aren’t you a little young to be a sugar mommy? Tinder didn’t work out for ya?” His mouth moves weirdly around the phrase sugar mommy, like he regrets speaking it as soon as it’s tumbling past his lips, and you openly groan at the title. 

“Oh god, don’t call me that,” You speak after swallowing a hefty bite of food. The food is good. It won’t get Hitoshi out of the ass kicking he’s going to receive, but it’s good. 

“Dodging the question?” Bakugou quips with a grin, satisfaction gleaming on his white teeth. He thinks he’s stumped you. 

“I agreed to this because I’m stressed and would like to fuck you, preferably tonight. Tinder is too embarrassing. Is that what you wanted to hear?” 

The man abruptly inhales at your blunt words, forcing a bite of food down his throat half-chewed. You watch his Adam's apple bob with the harsh swallow. A smile crawls its way up your cheeks, mischief a glint in your eyes. 

“Easy. You wanna end up recorded and plastered on social media? People might hear you,” His words leave him in a peeved rush of breath and his eyebrows tick down in annoyance. Still, a twinge of red is spreading across those high cheekbones of his, complimenting his scowl. His plate is left half-eaten as he wipes his palms on his pants again. 

“You’re the one who asked! Anyway, I’m joking. Kinda.” 

Laughter comes easily once you’ve accepted the fact that you’re on a sugaring date with Katsuki fucking Bakugou. The situation is funny! He’s funny too, surprisingly. 

He’s pleasantly mellow, as well. Sure, he’s biting and combative in conversation, but it’s comfortable and without acidity. Whether it’s due to the fact that he wants to impress you, or that he doesn’t want to draw attention to your table, you’re not sure. Maybe a mixture of both.

His eyes track your movements with veiled eagerness, and he swallows around nothing when you lean in to speak a hushed sentence for his ears alone. You feel sticky with giddy sweetness. He must be attracted to you, at least physically. 

“How much are you looking to get out of this? And for how long? Don’t be shy in your requests either, give me the actual amount.” 

His brows furrow at your words for a moment before relaxing, realization settling into his features. Did he forget what he was here for in the first place..? 

“Oh. 160000¥ biweekly. Just until I'm back on my feet. I can go lower if—“ 

“Done. Anything else?” 

Katsuki blinks at your complacent agreement. The plates in front of you are cleared by now, having chatted and pussyfooted around the real topic of this date for about an hour or two. You were the one to finally approach the topic at hand, beating him to the punch. Your easy navigation of the situation leaves him gnawing at the inside of his cheek with mixed emotions. 

“..No. What about you? You just wanna fuck me or what?” His words are carefully quiet, but he’s adamant on proving that he’s not some blushing virgin, confident in his reply. You laugh nonetheless.

“I don’t want you to feel like we have to have sex. Not unless you want to, seriously. I’ll still pay you.” 

“What would you be paying me for, then? Nudes?” 

Your hand on his arm, pushing at him with amusement, isn’t entirely innocent. You’ve been teasing him all night, subtly, just to see how much he can take before he snaps. A slight brush of your foot against his calf, a well-timed innuendo, lidding your eyes and leveling him with an unwavering stare.. Judging by the visible clench of his jaw, you’re not far off. 

“No! Get your head out of the gutter. There’s certain events I have to attend, PR bullshit that comes along with movie production..” 

This was a lousy excuse at best and you knew it. It was sloppy and didn’t even make much sense, considering you don’t have to attend many PR events that require a date. But you wanted to give him an out, a way to feel like he’s earned his pay if he doesn’t want to fuck you. You’re not totally corrupt. 

“…I’m still getting used to it. Come with me, let me dress you and parade you around for a night or two.” 

He scoffs at that last part, crossing his arms over his chest. You can't help but glance down towards the lewd display of muscles straining his black long-sleeved shirt. Okay, maybe it’s not lewd, and you’re just a pervert. But still, that chest.. 

“Why’s that? Gotta hard-on for a Pro Hero dating scandal?” 

“Not exactly. This industry isn’t very forgiving to brilliant women. I go through a lot of useless posturing and threats, no matter how cutthroat I am. It’s hard to protect my work, my ethics and my craft. If I pop out with a menacing Hero like yourself, people would be less inclined to fuck with me.”  

Now, this bit was well thought out and perfectly timed, if you do say so yourself. Even if you didn’t actually need his help in protecting your craft or whatever the fuck. Another excuse you came up with on the drive over so as to not look like a total desperate loser, motivated by your sexual urges alone. 

“Mm,” He hums through a gruff voice, pondering for a moment. “Alright, deal. But you can’t go fooling around with other people. I don’t want bullshit cheating scandals following my image.” 

“Same goes for you.” 

“Obviously.” 

There’s a beat of silence. Your hand twitches against the table, though this time his eyes remain locked on your own. Your lips stretch around a smirk. He swallows as if his throat has gone dry and, after a moment, blinks and glances to the side with a huff. You can’t help but feel a bout of elation; You win. 

“..I’ll get the bill.” 

“Obviously.” The second time he says this is just as sarcastic and snippy as the first.

“You’re a bit of a brat, aren’t you?” 

Not that you mind. You’re actually quite excited by the prospect, already conjuring up ideas of what you’ll do to him to curb that brattiness. Most of the men you’ve been with in the past left much to be desired, endlessly obedient with jelly for spines. What can you say? You get bored of an easy game of cat and mouse, unsatisfied with their belly-up approach. It’s not your fault that they didn’t know how to engage a woman properly. You were made into more of a sweet mommy than a girlfriend, which is fine and dandy for some, but it’s not really your thing. 

You want a challenge. Something to conquer. 

“Tch. What, you want me to bend over for your gracious act of buying dinner?” 

And he’s going to give you that challenge.

“You’ll have plenty of time for bending later. Now, be a good boy and wait here while I go find the waiter, yeah?” You’re already moving to stand as the words leave your mouth, not waiting around for Bakugou’s snarky reply. 

As you pass his side of the booth, you briefly squeeze his shoulder in placation. His shoulders are broad and thick with muscle, and really, you just wanted an excuse to touch them without being too obvious. He’s endlessly warm under your touch, as if his blood runs hotter than normal, which might be true. A rich, sweet scent lingers on his skin and wafts to your nose as you leave him. 

You didn’t really need to go find the waiter on your own, but you did need to get out of that fucking booth for a moment. There was an intensity sparking between the two of you, even through the most simple of conversations. You take advantage of the absence of your bitchy blonde boytoy and take a deep breath, pushing a stray strand of hair from your face. 

What’s the plan? Are you taking him home? Back to your place? To a hotel? Mm no, that’s a bit seedy, isn’t it? You don’t have to try and fuck him right after the first meeting, seriously, you can just.. take him home. You’re not some horny old man who can’t wait to get his dick wet. 

Locating the waiter is easy, and you decide to linger by the front counter of the restaurant while he takes care of your card and bill accordingly. You don’t want to return to Bakugou just yet, not until you figure out your game-plan. 

In the meantime, you finally text Hitoshi.

08:19
fuck you

08:21
Toshi<3
Lol 
Did you jack him off under the table?

08:21
you're actually the worst
why wouldn’t you warn me that i’m going on a date with pro hero ground zero the cunt of japan 

08:22
Toshi<3
He’s not even that bad.
Anymore 
Lol 

08:23
i hareyo whore

08:23
Toshi<3
How do you text like that and make a living off of writing

You’re making your way back to the booth before you know it, bill paid and your swarm of self-critical thoughts under wraps. Bakugou did, in fact, wait like a good boy. You slow your steps in attempt to sneak up on him, trying to snoop a glance at who he’s texting in rapid succession, his thumbs flying across the screen with a series of angry taps; but he senses you before you can make anything out, whipping his head around to stare at you with a grumpy pout. Damn hero senses and reflexes and other bullshit. 

“Bill’s paid. Wanna get out of here?” 

“Mhm,” He grunts in reply, standing up and facing you without fuss. 

He doesn’t completely tower over you, but he does have some inches on you. He definitely has width and girth in his favor.. body wise. He’s layered with a smooth expanse of muscle, but not grossly so; He’s especially broad around the shoulders, chest and bicep area, a good foundation to take the force of those powerful blows of his quirk that would send the average person flying. His waist is slim in comparison, firm yet pleasingly cinched. 

His legs and thighs are muscled as well, enough for him to stand his ground when shooting off potent explosions from his wide palms, but you can’t tell the full extent of his lower body’s build with those loose pants he’s wearing. A successful night would end in you getting at least a glance at his perfect ass. 

You’re no spring flower, your figure isn’t dainty or weak by any means; You’re a grown woman with thighs plush enough to smother a lucky man. Still, he makes you look small next to him, and you enjoy that fact. It’ll be even more alluring when you get him submitting to you, to your words, to your body, to your sex. This mighty pillar of a man eating from the palm of your soft hands, bending to your will.

And, your money, your mind tacks on unhelpfully. 

Whatever. You’ll feel guilty and repulsive later. Your date, no matter how artificial, is here now and awaiting your next move.

“My place or yours?” Bakugou’s husky voice knocks you out of your stupor and right back into a new one. 

You need a moment to think, five seconds to get a grip. Wordlessly, in attempt to bide your time, you lead him outside of the restaurant and to your car. 

Ugh. You should do the right thing. You’ve deeply underestimated the emotions that would wash over you in waves at the thought of paying this poor boy to get your rocks off. You’ve never payed for sex work before, not that you frown upon it, just that you.. aren’t used to luring partners into your bed in this way. 

Your lovers fell into your bed willingly, begging for you and you alone. Not your money or power or status. 

Sure, the man seemed attracted to you, snappy and red faced as he was, eyes wandering.. But that could easily be nerves. He’s likely never done this before either, and you’d rather not take advantage of his agreement to this arrangement.. at least not right away. That’s fair, right? Right. 

“I’ll take you home. I had a nice time, even with that attitude of yours. I can just transfer your payment now, what’s your number?” You’ve decided to be a good person, for the most part. As much as you enjoy the roles of predator and prey, this feels a bit too unethical. 

“What?” His gruff voice was miffed, surprisingly, instead relieved as you were expecting to hear. You’re not looking at his face, but if you were, you’d delight in that subtle pout returning with scrunched brows. 

You’re both comfortably alone in your car now, windows rolled up as you tap away on your phone, pulling up your contact list to add him in and seal the deal. The engine runs patiently while you sit in neutral, some alternative rock song low and buzzing on the radio. 

“I’m not gonna make you come home with me tonight. What’s your number?” You’re pressing for this whole thing to be wrapped up so that you don’t have to wallow in embarrassment. Bakugou, apparently, won’t let you slip away that easily. 

“You’re- God. Are you that fuckin’ dense?”

Oh, he’s pissed.

Um, what the fuck? You’re being good! Great, even! 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Your eyes finally snap up to meet his, tone flattening to a sharp point. It’s the most serious you’ve sounded all night, but he doesn’t flinch; as if he was anticipating the moment your voice would turn cold on him.

“You’re not making me do anything.” 

“Uh. Yeah, I’m not. What?” 

The groan he releases is so exaggerated and annoyed that you find yourself tickled and ready to laugh at his expense, but you keep the amusement to yourself. He doesn’t seem to be in the mood for that. Maybe you teased him a bit too much tonight after all. 

“I.. want you to take me home. To your place, I mean. If I have to fuckin’ spell it out for you.” 

Oh. Oh, okay. 

It’s your turn to swallow around nothing. Did the car just get a few degrees warmer? Is it his quirk? You absentmindedly glance down at his hands that rest on his lap, perfectly still as if he’s fighting to keep himself from fidgeting. 

“Are you sure?” You meet his gaze again with growing certainty, and you can’t help but faintly squeeze your thighs together at the thoughts that your wandering mind paints for you. 

Bakugou tense and wound up beneath you, panting a series of curses and pleas. Those strong thighs quivering as you edge his release, his pretty cock jumping under your deft fingers. Your thighs caging either side of his gorgeous face, demanding hands tugging at his hair as you ride his mouth to completion, groaning at the feel of that sinful little tongue piercing grinding against your clit— 

“Yeah. Yes. If that’s, well, if you want to. I want to.” He’s serious, his voice as low and tempting as a snake encouraging you to gorge on a forbidden apple. His skin is still prettily flushed, now even more-so than earlier, with the admittance that he definitely wants to fuck you. 

Poor boy. He doesn’t know exactly what he’s asking for.

Chapter Text

You’re a bit notorious for settling your hand on your lover’s thigh when sitting beside them. Publicly, privately, on a drive home. Squeezing the delicate layer of fat on the inner bit, stroking your thumb along that sensitive bunch of nerves. Reminding them that their body, their desire, their attention belongs to you. You press them to your hungry heart, a black widow sinking her fangs into the crunchy morsel of her lover’s head, consuming. Consuming, consuming. It’s a possessive trait, you will admit. Maybe you’re not a good feminist. Whatever. 

That doesn’t stop you from doing it now. Bakugou may not be yours in the sense of a committed relationship, but he’s all yours tonight. For the next few months, possibly, depending on how well this night goes. 

You should’ve been hesitant to grope at this Pro Hero’s thigh, scared of the wrath he might raise at being treated like some passenger princess— but you weren’t scared at all. You were delighted, actually, by the frustrated huff he blew out of his nose as soon as you rested your palm on his thigh. His tendons jumped under your grasp before settling, purposefully still.. You were waiting for him to smack your hand away. 

The smack never came, nor any complaint or visible discomfort. From the corner of your eye, you could see him staring at your hand, transfixed. A pink tongue peaked out to lick at his lips briefly, likely without meaning to, and he relaxed his thigh into the seat of your car; leaning his leg further into your palm like a tentative stray hungry for touch that he’s only ever yearned for. You didn’t speak on it. 

If you wanted to see how far you could push him, you needed to be smart about it. Calm, careful, calculated. You would cast out bait, live and wriggling on a line, and count how many times he’d impale himself on your hook. Which actions heated his gut, what made him tick, how he liked to be touched and pleased. 

You weren't doing it with malicious intent. Besides, he’s the one that wants to fuck you, right? 

Your resolve was easily swayed by that fact, and you found yourself driving him back to your apartment on autopilot. So much for being a good person and exhibiting restraint. 

You did give him an out, though, and he combatively refused. He was visibly pissy about you even offering an out, offended that you were rejecting his advances. So.. you have much less room to feel guilty and sorry for yourself. Your poor, sweet, beguiling self. 

“Get comfortable. Do you drink?” You sigh as you enter the genkan and toe off your shoes, feeling at ease with finally being home and away from prying eyes. 

No one bothered you and Ground Zero on your little outing, especially with how secluded your table was, but you caught a few gawking stragglers on your way up to the top floor that you occupy. He wasn’t wearing his hero costume or the accompanying black eye makeup, but his hair, his build and scars were too striking to not recognize him. Thankfully, those who ogled and awed minded their business enough for you to reach your home without much hassle. 

“Not really. What’s with the plants?” He follows you in removing his shoes, tilting his head to and fro to take in the understandably excessive amount of plants lounging around your space in varying species. 

The plants greet him in turn, waving and swinging and filling the living room with a familiar green fragrance. Flowers, oils, sap. Happy to be acknowledged, happy for you to be home, happy to find someone new to play with; Their wonder and amusement washes over your skin in waves, they want to know who this strange new human is; Why he’s in your home, their home. 

“What the fuck.” 

“It’s just my quirk. Plant manipulation. It’s made them a bit.. sentient,” Your light laughter precedes your answer, but you mentally tell the flora to relax so as to not scare the cute boy off. 

“A bit?” Bakugou mutters as he, with a surprisingly gentle approach, thumbs over the downy leaf of an Alocasia Black Velvet that rests on your bookshelf. Its other three leaves preen under the attention, stretching towards his touch with needy persuasion, like a pet bird tilting its chin towards scratching fingers. 

More phantoms of emotion and thought rush you, joyful and playful and curious. You sever yourself from the connection, temporarily. The thoughts you hold on your own aren't so innocent and chirpy, but you encourage them rather than dispute them, dip your fingers into those cups of pleasure and power and paint yourself a beast on the prowl. 

“They like you,” You hum over a sip of Ruby Port wine. You would pour him a glass, but he didn’t seem too keen on drinking. 

“They don’t like everyone?” 

“Mm no, they actually can't stand quite a few people. Well, not all of them collectively— They each have their own personality and feelings,” As you speak, you saunter your way over to the tall blonde who’s made himself busy with the goal of lightly stroking every plant within reach. “The general consensus right now is that they like you.” 

He tilts his head towards you at the feeling of your upper arm brushing against his bicep, retracting his hand from the fawning plants. The two of you hadn’t been this close to each other yet, even if you made yourself well acquainted with his thigh on the ride over. There was always something between you, a table, a car console, a person on the elevator. Now, there was nothing and no one keeping him from you. And, no one to witness what you would do with that edge. 

His body shifts closer to your own, turning until you’re face to face without much room to spare. You find yourself studying the way his chest rises and falls a bit quicker than average, his shoulders squaring. 

“Wanna try?” Your eyes are back on his own, the red of his irises matching the wine in the glass that you lift towards his lips in offering. 

He accepts the offer without a word, keeping his hands at his sides while he drinks from the glass, allowing you to feed the wine past his lips. You feel your eyes lid as you watch his mouth wrap around the rim, though you don’t attempt to school your expression into something less heated. It’s too late to pretend you're not attracted to and intrigued by him, not with the sensual look he’s giving you in return. 

“It’s sweet,” Bakugo husks after you lower the glass, practically trapped against the bookshelf with your body so close to his, keeping him right where you want him. 

“Mhm,” You don’t reply with words, hoping that he would take the hint that you’d much rather get familiar with his body and not with the conversational topic of fucking wine. 

Your fingers clasp at the bottom hem of his shirt gently, testing. Waiting. 

His hands clench at his sides briefly, squeezing and releasing a few times in quick bursts of energy before he places one hot palm on your clothed hip with wavering confidence. You reward his action with a touch of your own, placing your hand on the sensitive dip where his forearm meets his bicep to encourage the behavior. You’ll guide him like a sheep to the slaughter, leave him spilling out beneath your blade with bliss. 

“Bakugou—“ You start. 

“Katsuki.” 

“Hm?” 

His voice is deep and meaningful, and his thumb glides a short distance across your hip. “You can call me Katsuki.” 

“Katsuki,” You breathe his name like a spell, something to be spoken with incantation and carved into skin with ritualistic care. 

You can feel the shiver that rises within him, scaling up his spine and washing through his arms in a shuddering wave. He’s so sensitive, even to this. You’ve barely touched him and he’s already fluttering under your attention.

“Have you done this before?” Your fingers glide along the corded muscles laying tense under his skin, groping with relish, without shame.

Your trail along his skin reaches its desired destination with your hand wrapped around the back of his neck in a claiming hold, keeping his head tilted towards your face. The feeling of his pulse jumping sends a faint tingle through your fingertips. 

“Tch, what, had sex? Yeah, I’ve—“ That clipped tone is back in his voice before you know it, his hackles rising.

You can’t have that, can you? 

“Don’t get so defensive,” Your words are a smooth caress along his ear but you’re firm in your demand, swiftly cutting him off. 

The wine glass clinks against a coffee table as you set it down. You trace the rim of the glass for a few moments in silence, your eyes boring into his own. The stillness seems to make Katsuki wired, his grip on your hip tightening. He opens his mouth in an attempt to fill the void, but promptly snaps it shut when you level him with a stern look. 

He’s cute, trying so hard to be good. 

“I don’t mean to offend you. It’s good for me to know if you’re a virgin or not,” With your newly free hand you’re able to cup his chin in your palm, brushing a thumb over his bottom lip with a touch of fondness. “It’ll be easier for me to gauge your limits.” 

“Right.” His breath is warm and shaken against your thumb. 

His chin is free of stubble, smooth and unblemished besides a beauty mark that dots just below the left corner of his bottom lip. 

He doesn’t make any move to apologize for his little outburst, but you don’t push. There will be time for learning and training. For now, you want to make him feel good. Helplessly good, animalistic in desire. 

Your parting from the hold on his body is sudden, enough for him to try and latch onto your waist in momentary panic before he releases you, restraining his desires for closeness with a bitter scowl. Just how touch starved is this boy? 

“I’m not going anywhere,” You can’t help but laugh sweetly, pleased at the glare it earns you in return. “Come on.” 

His nerves are soothed by your hand taking his own, guiding him through the grand space of your home until you reach your lush bedroom. Plants fill this area as well, shifting and dancing in greeting at the sight of you two, but his eyes don’t strain away from your figure. You’re striking in the ambient lighting of the moon shining through the skylight above your bed, moving with the ruling fluidity of water eroding jagged obsidian into a smooth sided stone. 

“Smells like you in here.”

“Oh yeah?” You hum, “What do I smell like?”

“Honeysuckle. And woodsy, earthy.” 

“Do I smell good to you?” 

He doesn’t answer, and you can’t very well make out his expression in the dark. 

A soft warm glow of light washes over the room when you turn on a bedside lamp, a Himalayan salt rock swallowing the light bulb creates a pink glow that casts your skin a deeper shade. Your bed is plush and inviting, blankets and pillows askew with use and lounge. 

Using your grip on his hand, you guide Katsuki onto the raised bed with a mild push of his shoulders. He plops onto the bed without audible complaint, shifting back some so that he’s not on the edge, but you keep going; steering his weight to lie flat on the queen mattress, firming your pressure when he attempts to sit up on his elbows. 

“Stay.” 

“What are you—“ 

“Stay still, Katsuki. Be a good boy for me, yeah?” 

His mouth pauses in its questioning at your order, jaw clenching under a gloomy expression. 

He’s stiff and still, breathing shallow. He looks to be in pain, almost, or extremely conflicted. An animal backed into a cage with the promise of sweet meat. You have him right where you want him. Fully clothed, yes, but you’ll get to undressing later. For now, you breathe a pleased sigh and rest your full weight on his lap, grinning at the sharp inhale he sucks in as your body settles. He’s already hard under your thigh, you can feel the mass through the layers of clothing, and it fills your guts with a gooey flood of heat. 

“Already worked up? If you would’ve told me, I would’ve gotten you into bed sooner, baby.” 

“Shut up,” He mutters with a glower, but the twitch of his cock against your thigh is hard to miss. 

You roll your hips down experimentally, feeling your cunt throb at the sound of the deep moan he gifts you. It’s soft and reluctant, but it’s there, and that’s all the encouragement you need. Your panties slide against your entrance with each slow grind, the soft skirt you wore bunching up around your thighs and draping partially over Katsuki’s waist. 

His hands, which were previously resting at his sides awkwardly, are taken up by your own and thrust against the sheets above him. You have his strong arms pinned and crossed above his head, and though you both know he could, he doesn’t attempt to break your hold. Instead, like a good boy, he moans through clenched teeth and blinks up at you. His cock jumps once again, you feel the heat against your thigh, as if he’s excited at the prospect of being controlled and bossed around by you. 

Katsuki’s cheeks and ears are flushed as all hell, looking even more embarrassed and bitchy now that you can feel his arousal against your thigh and know he’s getting off to your easy dominance. 

“Keep your hands here until I say so, Katsuki.” 

“Yeah,” He breathes, hands clenched tight around themselves, enticed and eager to please. His voice pitches low and raspy in your ear. 

“Good boy,” You make quick work of unbuttoning his dress shirt, revealing a sun-kissed chest heaving under your attention. 

Scars paint his skin in a sprinkling of markings, lacerations that have since healed over, quirk induced wounds that mended into patches of raised skin, slight bruising along his rib cage from a fight he must’ve gotten into recently. His navel is pierced and adorned with a belly ring in the simple design of a silver band with a spherical head topping each end.  You stroke the raised scar on his sternum with greedy fingertips, your other hand feeling up his abs in a slow drag of skin upon skin. 

“Got a dick piercing that goes with this one?” You tease, tugging lightly at the navel ring with a grin. 

“No,” His skin prickles with goosebumps at your tugging, body squirming in arousal. His dick grows firmer in his pants, longer it seems, against you.

“Bummer,” You sigh, though it’s not extremely serious. “Would you get one? For me?” 

You don’t really mean it. You wouldn’t actually ask him to get his dick punctured with a thick needle for you, you’re just curious. Curious and testing. Just how yielding is this pretty little hero who wound up in your bed? 

“You— would want that? Fuckin’ pervert.” His eyes don’t meet your own as he mutters the words, as if he knows how ironic it is to call you the pervert in this situation. 

“So, no?” 

“...I don’t care. Yeah. Would that make it... I dunno, better for you?” 

The sex, he means. You’re sure of it. Though, you don’t understand why he can’t just spit that out when he’s already hard and needy in your bed. 

“You’re cute. I was just wondering, baby.” And really, you were. 

Your attention refocuses on feeling him up instead of playing mind games.

Under your wandering touch, the muscles of his stomach twitch and tighten, firm and rigid, before releasing that tension a moment later; then starting all over again. A faint line of downy soft platinum hair trails its way down his stomach and between his v-line, disappearing behind those frustrating pants that you wished you stripped him of earlier. 

“Fuck,” Katsuki grunts when your lips make contact with his chest, straining to keep his eyes open and watch you kiss and suck along his sensitive skin. 

He loses that battle the moment you take his rosy brown nipple into your mouth and swirl your tongue around it, sending a new pulsating wave of pleasure through his body. You hum around the hard bud, gently scraping the tip of it with your teeth to enjoy the sound of a whiny hiss escaping his mouth. 

“God— Why’re you—“ 

“Don’t like it?” When you meet his eyes again he looks bewildered by his own enjoyment of the sucking sensation around his nipple, as if he hadn’t experienced it himself before. “It sounds like you like it.. Feels like you like it.” 

You punctuate the end of your sentence with a sharp roll of your hips against his crotch, proving your point. Before he can retort anything more than a whine, his nipple is back between your teeth and against your flicking tongue, fully peaked and sensitive to the wet glide. 

Another deep groan graces your ears and you briefly wonder how many noises you can get him to make before the end of the night. If you can get broken pitchy whines and deep rumbling growls from the sexually repressed man beneath you. Only one way to find out. 

You attention is directed to his other nipple, adoring it with the same treatment while you roll the previous one between your fingertips. Katsuki’s chest bows forward, pleasure guiding his movements in a jerky dance of need, but he keeps his arms locked above him. His grip is tight on the sheets, arms straining and practically tearing into the smooth fabric as you play with his chest like he’s some common whore. 

Satisfied with the chafed pink that his nipples have taken on, you journey further down the path of his skin, having to adjust your position in doing so. You’re kneeling in the empty space between his spread legs, hands on his thighs for balance, which lay flat and jumpy against the bed. Your tongue makes its home in the divots of the muscles that line his stomach, sucking a few red marks into the skin as you please. Katsuki is a needy thing beneath you, breathless and trying to hold back whines under your teasing mouth, unable to keep his hips from bucking up in want. 

“Do you like it when I play with you?” 

“Fuck— Yes, just— Ah, just fuck me already,” He gripes, rolling his head back into the sheets at a particularly harsh suck along his v-line. 

“Mm. No,” You deny him easily, scraping your blunt fingernails against his sides with a satisfied simper. 

“What?” He asks in disbelief, tone peeved. “Why— Oh fuck, that feels.. Yeah, touch me—“ 

“Touch you?” You snap your hand away from where it was previously massaging his twitching cock through his pants, quirking a stern brow at the man beneath you. “That sounded more like a demand than a request.” 

“Because I’m fuckin’ demanding.” His voice raises in desperation, breathless and edged, lifting his head to glare down at you. 

You match his glare with a heated look of your own, digging your nails into the expanse of his waist firmly enough to draw a hissing inhale from the brat. 

“Fix your tone and maybe I’ll consider letting you cum tonight.” 

“L..Letting me cum? Are you serious—“ He cuts himself off with a deep, shocked whine, your hand once again rubbing him through his pants. This time it feels more like a punishment of pleasure than a reward, the pressure of your hand intense and harsh against his aching cock. 

“Fucking hell, I’m sorry, I— Ah, I’m trying to be good. Please.” His eyes are pleading, gazing into your own with a shamed resignation. 

“Mm,” your hand eases its cruel pressure, lightening up into something less overwhelming. “I know you’ve been trying baby, I know. You’re doing good for me, letting me play with you.” 

Katsuki nods without much thought, desperate for your forgiveness and anything that would get your lips back on his skin, sucking your claim onto him. You can't help but smile at what a mess he is under your toying. 

Lips pink and spit slick from biting at them in attempt to muffle his moans, hair wild from all that thrashing about his head is doing against the bed. His shirt isn’t fully removed, just unbuttoned, and a bit wrinkled from your eager groping. His chest and taut stomach are marked up with love-bites and kisses, nipples flushed from their ample treatment. His cock visibly strains against his pants, desperate to get out of its confines. 

“I wanna taste you. Is that okay?” You’re undoing his fly before you even finish asking the question, eager to get his cock in your mouth. 

He felt big against your thigh and hands, even through his clothes, thick and generous in length. You’re curious to see what he feels like with nothing restricting your touch. 

“You don’t have to— to suck… it.” He grumbles awkwardly, feeling like a butterfly pinned to a cork board. The way you squeeze and pull and suck at his body with such a clarity of your desires, watchful eyes taking in the sight he made with such intensity, leaves him vulnerable and reeling. 

He’s already embarrassed himself enough with all the whiny bitchy noises he made as you rubbed his dick through his pants and licked at his chest, he can’t imagine how humiliating he’s going to sound if you get your mouth around him. 

You only laugh softly at his grumpiness. He’s so averse to being completely unguarded and needy for you, resistant to melting into your touch. He jerks and jumps instead, twitching and irritatingly conscious of his noises and behavior, clinging on to some grasp of control. For now. 

“I want to. Don’t you want me t—“ You pause, stunned. 

He’s big. Bigger than you expected, because you guess he was hiding a few inches down there when you were grinding and rubbing on him moments before. He’s thick enough that your cunt clenches around nothing at the thought of him filling you, making a home in your walls as you fuck him silly. 

You’ve pulled his pants and briefs down far enough to let that fucking monster spring free, weeping precum and leaning to the side under the heft of its own weight. The hair around his lower v-line and manhood is neatly trimmed, not completely bare, just cleanly groomed enough for you to appreciate. His balls are smooth and pleasing as well, heavy with weight yet drawn up in the anticipation of release. Your eyes trace a prominent vein on the underside of his pretty cut cock, taking in the sight of how it flushes red and dribbles wetness onto his upper thigh, twitching under your gaze. 

“Don’t just stare at it like a creep!” 

“You’re fucking huge.” 

“Well, sorry that I—“ 

You wrap your hand around Katsuki’s cock before he can finish his snapping, moaning softly at the feel of it hot and firm in your grasp. The man groans deep and low in his throat, a gravelly sound, his hips bucking into your touch automatically. You allow him this pleasure, his cock fucking in and out of the firm grip of your hand. You don’t even need to spit on it for a better slide, he’s wet enough to coat your palm in the pre that slides past his tip in gleaming beads of wetness. 

It reminds you of your own wetness between your thighs, the slick that gathers at your entrance and makes a slippery mess of your panties. You rub your thighs together from your seated position between Katsuki’s knees, a soft sigh escaping you from the pleasing pressure against your clit. 

“You have such a pretty cock, baby,” Your words are a bit breathless, though you don’t mean for them to be. His cock twitches at the praise, and you cant help but feel fucked out before you’ve even started fucking the man. “‘s gonna feel so good inside me.” 

Katsuki whimpers in response, fucking into your palm with more vigor at the thought of being inside your tight cunt, filling you with his seed. “Yeah, wanna feel you— Fuck, inside..” 

His desperate moaning spurs you on, encouraging you to ruin him. Your free hand moves to cup his balls, rolling and teasing them in your palms and fingers, squeezing occasionally for sudden shocks of potent pleasure. The pre dripping down his cock wets the hand fondling his balls and you don’t even mind the mess, you revel in it, bask in the power that you hold over Katsuki in this moment. 

If power is what you’re striving for, he gives it to you. 

The muscles in his thighs and stomach jump and spasm, he’s wound so tight with so many relatively new emotions and sensations that he’s almost scared of you. Your sheets are ruined, torn and scorched against his powerful hands; He’s been obedient, keeping his arms above his head under your orders, even with how much he throbbed with want to grab at you. You don’t register the smell of burnt sugar and smoke, too focused on stroking his cock in a way that makes him sound the most ruined. Whines and wheezes, deep groans and rough growls, a particularly pretty whimper at the feeling of your thumb circling the tip on an upstroke.. 

He’s your toy, a plaything to be used and maneuvered to your desires. He dwarfs you in sheer power and muscle mass alone, could break from your control if he wanted, flip you over and fuck you speechless. He can’t find it in himself to care, nor wish for that outcome. Not when you’re leaning down and taking the slick head of his cock into your hot mouth, tongue a sloppy curse against the vein lining the underside of his length. 

“Oh god, fuck, fuck stop— I’m gonna cum, not yet—“ His hands clamber for stability against the sheets above his head, and rough begging falls on deaf ears. 

You take his cock to the hilt, swallowing around the girth and breathing through your nose as best as you can, determined to suck him dry. You’d like to play with him a little longer, though, so you have the sleazy idea to create a makeshift cock ring with your index and thumb. You squeeze around the space where his manhood meets his pelvis and hear his almost confused-sounding groan before he’s back to whining for you like a little slut, too pleased to care about whatever it is you’re trying to accomplish down there. 

You can tell he’s still getting dangerously close, his cock pulsating against your tongue and throat as you bob your head along his length, his moans reaching a higher pitch than before. With a plan already in-mind, you skillfully remove your panties from beneath your flowy black skirt. Sliding them off with one hand takes some trial and error, but Katsuki’s so lost in pleasure and desperation to cum that he doesn’t notice. 

With your panties off, the slick slide of your pre against your inner thighs is sinful and so, so tempting. You’d love to reach down and rub your clit in tandem with sucking him off, but you have a job to do. Prepped for his release, you remove the vice grip of your fingers as a cock ring and instead go back to massaging his balls, coaxing him into orgasm. 

You pull back just enough to keep the head of his dick in your mouth and thrust the end of your tongue against the delicate slit of his tip, lapping at him with the eagerness of a puppy. 

“Fuck! I’m coming, please don’t stop, please,” Through orgasm, Katsuki seems a lot more willing to use his manners. 

His back arches in a display of mind numbing pleasure, and he can’t help but finally thrust his arms down to hold onto you. You allow his touch, as he doesn’t push or pull or force you still, like any average man would. He simply holds you, cupping your cheek with one hot palm and sliding his fingers along your scalp with the other, gripping your hair with the wild urge to keep you near to him. 

The noise Katsuki makes when he cums is a punched-out, broken thing, a mess of whiny moans that leave his deep voice high in places and low in others. His cum shoots against your tongue in warm spurts, sweet and heady with musk, filling your mouth with his claim. You moan around his cock happily, eyes locked on his own that flutter with pleasure. Your tongue coaxes every drop out, not ceasing your work until he’s rumbling a dangerous growl at the sensitivity. Like the minx you are, you lift off of his length and stick your tongue out to show off your handiwork before swallowing the seed that decorated it. 

“God.. You’re fuckin’…” Crazy is what he wants to say, you’re sure. But he can’t finish his sentence around his panting breaths and twitching thighs. 

He doesn’t know just how crazy you are, yet. 

“My turn,” Is all the warning he gets before you’re rising on your knees to hover above his waist, gripping his spasming cock again before it gets the chance to soften and guiding it into your sopping entrance. The stretch is great, painfully so, and you hiss as his thickness makes its way deep inside of your tight cunt. 

“Wait wait wait, fuck, I’m sensitive! Wait, you—“ He’s a wreck beneath you, deep voice crying out as he thrashes slightly in panic, the overwhelming sensation of your cunt gripping his spent cock sending him into overdrive.  

You support your weight by splaying your hands out on his heaving chest, groaning at the slide of his cock hitting home inside of you, his pelvis pressed against your outer lips. Katsuki now has your thighs in a vice grip which will definitely bruise later, though he’s not doing it on purpose, and you wouldn’t blame him regardless. Your cunt is sucking him in relentlessly, squeezing and twitching around his girth, and he’s so so sensitive after his first orgasm; poor baby. 

Oh well. 

A moment of adjustment is all it takes before you’re bouncing on his full length, releasing passionate moans and groans of your own at the feeling of being filled up so well. The combined wetness of your own slick and his makes a lewd, messy squelching sound each time your bodies connect with a roll of your hips or bounce of your ass. His size is grand and wonderful grinding against your walls, the ridges of his dick making for a delicious slide against your g-spot. 

The hero is too fucked out to even attempt to take back some semblance of control, cute, breathless “uhn uhn uhn” sounds accompanying each drop of your ass against his lap. His body quivers with sensitivity and the sensation of you riding him into overstimulation borders on painful, but he keeps his hands tight around your thighs nonetheless, beginning to pull you down onto his cock with each grinding bounce; encouraging you to use him for your pleasure.

“You feel.. So good inside me baby, doing so good for me Katsuki. A— Ah, a little more, okay?” 

Katsuki’s willpower to bring you pleasure is amazing, if not slightly concerning, when he starts lifting his hips to fuck into you through the sweetly torturous overstim. He’s cursing and grunting all the while, making a strong effort to please you, sweat beading his brow. Your cunt clenches in appreciation and you lace a hand in his hair to tug on the platinum strands, watching in awe as he moans brokenly beneath you. 

Bit of a pain slut, you suppose. You can work with that. 

The steady rise and fall of your hips quickens with the build of your arousal, feeling your clit pulse in need and realizing that you’re already close. You bring your free hand to Katsuki’s nipple to toy with it yet again, this time pinching and tugging in time with your riding. 

Your name leaves Katsuki’s lips like prayer, his damning of you and how fucking well you take him, how good you feel, sounds like the worship of a sex hungry devil. His words are sloppy and strung together, barely meant to actually leave his lips. His eyes have since welled with tears that threaten to fall past his waterline, fucked dumb and crying in the throes of it. 

You take pity on the whimpering boy and bring your hand away from his nipple and instead to your clit, drawing tight circles to quickly bring you to peak. Your more reserved moans and groans lead Katsuki closer to his edge, again. This build up feels more like a budding ache than the last, tingling low in his stomach and flashing hot through his limbs. Those red eyes watch your lewd display of self-pleasure and he sucks in an admiring breath, whining for you to cum with him, to keep him inside you, please. 

You would’ve done that anyway, without the begging, but it’s cute that he decides he needs to beg for you. 

A few more swirls of your fingers is all it takes for you to go rigid around him, body clenching with your orgasm and a gush of fluid between your legs. His moans are spent and scratchy by now as he claws at your thighs without thought, releasing into you with less spurts of cum than his previous orgasm, but still enough to satisfy your craving. 

His seed drips past your lips in a slow slide, marking the cleft of your ass and his thighs with the creamy mess. Your walls flutter around his cock, constricting and releasing sporadically, drawing a few more pained moans from the blonde’s lips. You can't find it in yourself to feel guilty about something that he begged for. 

You ride out the waves of your orgasm with a few more slow rolls of your hips, breathless and smiling down at the man who stumbled his way into your bed. His eyes are lidded and teary yet filled with wonder, gasping breaths as he tries to regain his stability. The feeling of his body still quivering and spasming beneath you fills you with glee. 

You just fucked Katsuki Bakugou so good that his legs are shaking. 

There’s a few moments of quiet where you both catch your breath, coming down from the intense high that just wracked through your bodies. You rub a palm up and down one of his pecs, squeezing gently with soothing care. Really, you just love tits. But you do wish to comfort him after fucking him with such aggression. 

Your other hand runs a path through his thin happy trail, gently stroking his stomach as if he were a good dog. Which, ironically, he kind of is. Laying on his back for a treat, squirming in pleased affection. He sighs under your touch, resting his eyes for a moment of serenity. 

He looks good like this. Peaceful, sleepy, well-fucked. His face is relaxed and free of a scowl or irritated twitch of the brow; He’s soft, pliant and pretty. 

“Was it good?” 

He scoffs. You know damn well it was good. 

“You fucked me like a bat outta hell,” His voice is raspier than usual with all the whining he had been doing, and he clears his throat without much success. “You broke my fuckin’ voice box.” 

“So, really good?” 

He pauses for a moment, trying to wrap his head around everything that just happened to him and his sensitive, fairly inexperienced body. His nipples throb with heat, his cock still sensitive and raw and buried in your fluttering cunt; The smell of smoke and burnt sugar lingers in the air, so he knows he’s burned something.. Which you thankfully haven’t noticed yet. 

You adjust yourself on top of him slightly, legs shifting to a more comfortable resting position. He watches with rapt attention, sliding a palm over your calf in a worshiping rub. His eyes track the marks he left on your thighs, enough bruising and scratches to warrant a steady ache. Oops. 

“..Yeah. Really good.” 

You grin at him and he promptly ignores the way his stomach clenches at the sight of your pleased smile. 

“Why didn’t we just take our clothes off?” 

“I kinda wanted to get your dick in me, like, right away. So. Next time?” 

You don’t make any moves to get off of said dick, so he makes himself busy with running his sweaty palms over your thighs in silent apology, massaging the muscle here and there. 

You’re still supporting your own weight on top of him, amazingly, and he almost wants to pull you down into his chest so that you can rest your sore muscles. Almost. He’s not a sap, and you’re not his…girlfriend. Instead of making unwavering, emotionally confusing eye contact with you, he directs his attention to your skylight. 

A litany of plants sway and dance from the built-in shelves there, almost as if they’re cracking jokes and giggling. His mouth gapes in realization and the plants pause at his astonished glaring, retreating further into their pots with a few happy rustles that can only be described as snickering. 

“Wait. Did your fuckin’ plants watch us fuck the whole time?” 

“Uhh, fucking yeah they fucking did.” You mock his tone, emphasizing his overuse of the word “fuck”. 

“..Next time, my place.” 

“What! Why? They don’t care that we had sex. Do you wanna know how many people I’ve had sex with in front of them?” 

“No, actually, because why would—“ 

“At least four. Including you.” 

“At least? You don’t even know the damn number?” 

“Oh, okay, sorry I don’t keep a wooden staff around to carve a notch into every time I get laid. I have a job.” 

Katsuki’s catty behavior returned after the buzzing high of his orgasm lessened, though he remained boneless and tender in your bed. His muscles didn’t tense or flinch under your wandering touches, which turned from sensual and seductive to curious and admiring, tracing his scars and beauty marks with the dull tips of your nails and enjoying his answering squirm. His touches began to wander, too, but he wasn’t as bold in his exploration of you. You were more clothed than he was, and he didn’t feel the need to make you strip so that he could oogle and grope at you like some pervert. 

He grunted out a string of profanities when you lifted your hips to slowly dislodge him from your body, latching onto your waist to guide your movements. His now mostly-soft cock slipped from your cunt with a wet sound and slapped against his stomach, a rush of your slick and his own seed following afterwards. The wincing groan you released at the sudden endlessly empty, aching feeling, matched his cussing. 

“What the hell are you wincing at?” 

“You have a huge fucking dick, Katsuki. What, a girl can’t be a little tender?” 

“I’m the one who got tortured.” 

“Oh whatever, you loved every second of it. Damn masochist.” 

He didn’t have a proper rebuttal to that besides a weak huff. 

Your legs are jelly-like after being on your knees and on top for so long, not to mention the sudden intrusion of Ground Zero’s Pro Hero Dick stretching you without any real prep. You enjoyed the deep ache, the trembling. As you lay beside Katsuki in your oversized bed, sweaty and mostly clothed, you press your thighs together to feel that ache thrum within you. His large hand cups your hip, pressing you to the warmth of his side, and you just.. talk. Lazily, without rush or tension. Sleepy and pleased in essence. 

You feel sated, stress melted from your body as if you were a wet rag properly rung out with the remedy of a good fuck. 

Maybe Hitoshi really is always right. 

Chapter Text

It’s been a week. It’s been one full week since Katsuki got his brains fucked out by the author with deep pockets and a killer smirk, since he was reduced to a begging puddle of limbs and want, making noises that he didn’t even know he was capable of producing. Only one week, and he can’t stop thinking about you. 

His mood is fouler than usual as he stalks the streets of Musutafu, powerful stride tainted with aggravation and a conflict of emotions. Instead of cursing the world and spitting venom at anyone bold enough to confront him, he’s withdrawn. A gloomy reservation, his emotions flickering on his face like a candle in the wind as he thinks and thinks and thinks so damn hard that his head throbs with the weight of his thoughts. 

One result of attending UA was the proper push towards counseling and therapy, something desperately needed and necessary for Katsuki’s development if he wanted to be a good hero, let alone a “good person”. Whatever the fuck that meant. Aizawa’s no-nonsense orders for Katsuki to at least try to talk to Hound Dog was met with pissy resignation, and the suggestion of anger management lessons followed soon after. 

An adolescent Katsuki outright called Hound Dog a damn idiot when he proposed such an idea, stiff in the shoulders with an accompanying glare that burned holes into the Pro. 

“Aren’t you tired of being angry at the world?” Hound Dog spoke without the nurturing care of his father or the agitated impatience of his mother, straight to the point with a growl permanently stuck in his throat. 

Yeah, he was. He is. Tired. 

So, stunned silent for once in his life with an overwhelming sense of.. some emotion, one he couldn’t name, he agreed. Very, very reluctantly. Good thing too, in retrospect. He was a cunt. 

He still is, kinda, but it’s become more of a developed personality than an over flux of deep resentment towards himself, spilling out onto the pavement and soaking anyone close enough to be hit by the wet rage. 

Why should he force his shitty mood onto everyone else when he was the only one feeling so abominably shitty? 

He’s since learned to keep a leash on his wild ire, clutch it to his gut and let it settle there with a cramping pulsation, break it down with stomach acid and digest it alone. He’ll keep that venom to himself and swallow the rising bile until he’s isolated enough to release it, when there’s no one around to witness his wrath except for the weighty punching bag that eats his blows of fists and fire. 

Most would say that that’s not exactly the best way to manage his emotions, but hey, he’s trying. 

And lately, he’s been better. He’s not so easily ticked or swayed to violence with an ever present tension tugging at his patience. So why does that tension flood his bloodstream now of all times? 

Your likeness sews itself into his brain, looping through his head like a melody, something haunting and chilling, beckoning him with a curl of a pretty finger. Your low voice, that sharp smile, your hands.. God, he’d deck himself in the face the next time he thinks about your hands and how easily they teased him apart, exploring his body with the confidence of a conqueror charting unknown lands. 

Your magnetism flits through his memories as well, your charming quips and easy dominance. Dominance wasn’t something that you had to fight tooth and nail for as Katsuki did in his youth, when he clawed at control with relentless hands. It exudes from you naturally, painted and polished and laced with something seductive. As if you’d lived with it all your life and groomed it into a tool, some slithering creature to wear around your throat. 

He knew because he’d felt it strike him with piercing fangs. A few times.

At the time, he knew he was being difficult and testy but he just couldn’t help himself. He’d felt threatened and vulnerable under your roaming eyes and deft fingers, squirming and exposed to the jagged blade of your desires. Vulnerability made him snappy and needlessly defensive. Even still, when he would hiss in restraint or evade your control, you snatched the reins right back from his grip with a patient reprimand. 

It was jarring, almost terrifying. He’s not usually so pliant, and he doesn’t submit to anyone’s will. Experiencing you was new and unusual to him. But instead of his blood running cold with dread, spewing a harsh rejection to your hold on his body, he basked in the heated glow of that bubbling, exciting fear that you brought him. It felt good to give in, to let go, to give himself up to you. 

He wants, he wants so badly, to feel it again. He wants your hands on him, around him, squeezing and tugging and scratching your claim into his skin. He’s so pathetic and he barely even knows you personally. 

It’s not like he’s aching for you because he’s some newly-fucked fool who gave his virginity up to you— He didn’t. He’s experienced that form of closeness before, though only once. It doesn’t compare to the intensity and pleasure of your time spent with him, but it still counts. 

An embarrassing underaged drinking game that led him and Kirishima to dark waters, bare skinned and grinding— It was mostly weird. They both reached their peak and appreciated the lousy fuck in the moment, but truly, it was more of an accident than something with purposefull intent. 

As most teens’ first times are, it was drunken and experimental, but the overall sentiment was.. Sweet. Kinda. 

It wasn’t good by any means, fumbling and tugging, two brutes looking for release and some strange clarity. Katsuki barely even remembers the experience. His brain was too muddled to track every moment of their bed-sharing, but he does know that he didn’t want to do it again. There was nothing reeling him back into the heady arousal and desire. It all felt like some alcohol induced fluke. 

Kiri didn’t want to fuck him again either, though he hinted at the fact by brushing it off with a bright laugh instead of just telling Katsuki directly, but there was no hard feelings. They were only close friends, and besides, any creeping attraction or budding romance had been thoroughly squashed by the whole underwhelming experience. 

It was more funny than anything to the bubbly redhead, who snorted at the hickies littering his chest and neck the morning after. He clapped Katsuki on the back as if he were a proud father rather than an impulsive hookup. 

“Welp, we can cross that one off our bucket list! Right, bro?” Kiri joked, raising his fist to encourage a fist-bump from the moody blonde who had been bitterly cursing and grimacing at the dried cum painting his stomach. 

Katsuki took it a bit more seriously. He went down a wormhole of google searches and self-critical reflection, frenzied with his quest for answers. Why didn’t he like it? Wasn’t he supposed to, I don’t know, become sex addicted after the first time? Is he weird? Sure, Kirishima didn’t care for it much either, but that was probably because it was bad, right? Was he a bad fuck? He couldn’t remember much of what he did or said due to his intoxicated state, which made things much worse for his current dilemma. What if he was a total bitching prick? Or forced himself onto his friend, who gave into him out of pity? Was he at least reactive when it happened, or was he just as vulnerably reserved and off putting as usual? 

In an anxious inner battle with himself, Katsuki convinced himself that yes, he must’ve been a weird freakish loser who fucked sloppily and didn’t deserve a shot at redemption. He didn’t speak on it or seek clarity from his friend, too humiliated and pissed with himself for even allowing the hookup to take place. A lingering sense of self-pity and misplaced guilt bit at his confidence further as he came to terms with being different.

He apparently didn’t care for sex, has never been interested in dating, and he’s always been averse to physical contact and closeness in general; so maybe he just wasn’t built to be loved. At least, not in the sense of romantic or sexual love; which was all anyone seemed to care about as teenagers. 

Wrong. It was all wrong, of course, all of his buzzing anxieties and pitiful self-diagnosing. The real answer was simple. He just.. Didn’t have a sexual or romantic interest in Kirishima. He realizes that now, after you filled his body with eroding heat, breaking him in and shaping him to be something new and made of desire. 

He’s such a moron. 

There’s a bead of sweat trickling past his brow and into the corner of his left eye, but he ignores the following sting. The lingering moisture on his bare upper body cools at the gusts of air that rush him, brought forth by striking fists making contact with a punching bag. His knuckles have tinged pink with the pressure of his blows, a gnawing growth of pain trailing from his balled up hands to his upper arms. He’s fast, faster than before, and he’s damn good. Pride swarms his heaving chest.

The night creeps along at a slow pace and ebbs into morning, leaning into the earliest hours of the day. The training room Katsuki frequents is blissfully empty during these twilight hours, as was his intended goal. He likes to be alone with his thoughts, with his presence, so solitary that the only sound his ears could pick up on are his harsh puffs of breath and the crack of his limbs against sparring equipment.

Though this time, abnormally, a bright chiming sound joins the mix. 

His phone dings from its resting place on a nearby bench, buzzing with a few follow up notifications before going silent. No one contacts him at this time of day, they know better than to intrude on his precious desolate drills. 

Katsuki tries, and fails, to ignore the pinging from his cell. He doesn’t want to admit it, wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he’s been hopefully anticipating your reply to his text like a nervous puppy anxious for his owner to get home from work. 

The sigh that bursts from his nose is heavy and defeated, rattling with nerves. His heartbeat was already thrumming in his ears with the strenuous activity of his sparring, but he feels it continue to pound even after he’s taken a moment to stand still and just fucking breathe. He counts to ten in his mind, once, then once more. 

His pulse slows enough for him to feel like he has at least a semblance of control over his emotions, and he grumbles as he retreats from the swinging punching bag, snatching his phone off of the bench. 

12:56
You
sorry just seen your text 
tonight works for me:) you wanna get gelato?
i can just get it delivered 
too lazy to go out:p 

On the night that you and Katsuki got together, after the mind-blowing sex and pillow talk, he made the choice to leave. You offered him residence, welcoming him into your warm bed to spend the night, but he couldn’t erase his rushed refusal once it was already tumbling from his lips. When you offered to drive him home instead, he steadily refused that too, claiming that he would call a cab. He needed to get the hell out of there, away from you, out of your reach. You weren’t hurt or offended, shrugging and smiling that sleepy smile at him as you released his hand with a brief squeeze. 

“M’kay. Lock the door on your way out and text me when you get home so that I know you made it back safe. Okay?” 

“Yeah, okay. Sure. Uh, I'll see you later.” Fucking idiot. Uh, I’ll see you later? Right, because the experience of having his raw dick inside of you calls for a lousy see you later.

And he left. Just like that. You had already sent him his earned payment, which made him wallow in shame for hours on end as he settled with the fact that he was essentially your kept whore. Maybe that was a little harsh, but it’s how he felt. However, he agreed to the terms of this.. whatever this was. He made his bed, and now he must lie in it. 

He did make sure to text you when he made it home, and promptly ignored the stirring in his gut when all you sent in reply was a happy little goodnight message in which he was called a good boy. He’s so fucking screwed. 

The two of you texted on and off for a few days after the hookup, mostly involving playful banter and bickering that he didn’t know what to make of. In one instance, you sent Katsuki a link to a tweet posted from a major pop culture account that provided a picture of him rough and ragged after a recent battle, chest bared and gleaming through ripped clothing. He replied with a singular question mark, to which you answered “nice pic, hero. i’m totally giving you some lasting hickies next time. that’ll give the fangirls something to gawk at, right?”.

You text sporadically, in clusters of short sentences and quick-witted thoughts that trail one another, typing out the first thing that comes to mind and hitting send. It’s more astonishing than irritating to Katsuki, who takes at least a few minutes to draft a text, deleting and rewriting his message to convey his intentions to a T. 

Does he not make you nervous? You make him nervous. His fingers twitch over the screen, thumbs hovering. 

01:05
Yeah, I figured. Long day of doing nothing? 

01:06
You
what???!!!
i was revising a major project actually !
smartass

01:10
While sitting at home on your comfortable couch? 

01:12
You
suck my dick srsly 
so tonight at 5? do you want me to pick you up? 

Katsuki’s brows pull together, his forehead scrunching at the memory of the last time he was in your car with your hand resting on his thigh. You didn’t hesitate in the action, gripping his muscles and soothing your thumb over the expanse of his covered skin with a knowing smile. His stomach flips at the thought and a weak groan follows soon after, frustrated with himself and his shitty reactions, like he’s some crushing schoolgirl. 

He should’ve brushed you off when it happened, rejected your touch and treated it like some tasteless joke. But he couldn’t find the nerve to do so when it felt so good, so new, so thrilling. He enjoyed your hands on him, your closeness to his body and the easy comfort you felt in making contact with him. You didn’t treat him like some snarling, snapping beast. Your manicured fingers stroked over his willing body with calm assurance. As if you knew he wouldn’t deny you. 

01:16
No, I’ll walk. You’re not far from me
Go to sleep. 

01:17 
You
aren’t i the mommy here? 
i’m the one giving the orders

There’s a familiar warmth rising in his gut, settling low in his loins with daunting vigor. He slides his palm down his face, pulling at the space beneath his eyes if only to feel the uncomfortable stretch of skin. 

01:23
Thought you didn’t want me calling you that?

01:23 
You
meh 
i can say it you can’t 

01:26
Fucking hypocrite

01:27 
You
sue me 
i’ll see you soon Kat, get some sleep
and wear something comfy when you head over
you probably won’t be wearing it for long 

Katsuki absolutely did not leave the training room a sweaty mess, only halfway through his usual routine, solely because you told him to get some rest. He didn’t. He’s tired, and more importantly, pissed off. Pissed at you actually; and himself, and the heated anticipation he feels at the thought of seeing you tomorrow, and his idiot friends for getting him tangled up in your meticulous web. 

It started with Denki, as bullshit usually did, and spread through the group like wildfire until each annoying little vulture was squawking for him to give in to temptation and live a little. Try it out, have fun, get paid. Have awesome sex with the young woman willing to bed him. 

Men all across town were probably begging to fuck this successful vixen for free, and he was getting offered the chance to do it for an allowance?

“If you don’t, I will,” Sero had teased, but by the way his dark eyes trailed your photo in a slow sliding saunter, Katsuki knew he was serious. “She’s, like, really hot.” 

“Better in person! She’s funny too, and her voice—“

“You met her!?” Gasped the pink-skinned Mina who was exaggerated in her disbelief, exclaiming through a mouthful of hot noodles. 

Her long cat’s eye nails glinted from their position within Kirishima’s roots as she made herself busy with oiling his scalp, scarfing bites of food between each section of hair that she completed. The redhead was too busy stuffing his own mouth with meat to add commentary to the conversation. 

“Uh, yeah! She’s my boyfriend’s best friend. They’re, like, siblings at this point.” Denki continued with a sly grin, “Plus, I’ll have to see her again soon to sweeten the deal, you know, talk our ol’ Kacchan up!” 

The nickname wasn’t his to use, but he utterly abused it anyway. 

Katsuki never put forth the energy to forbid him from using it, as he didn’t want to look weird and sappy by reserving the nickname for Izuku’s use only. Even though, really, it was kind of annoying coming from Denki’s mouth. In due time, the name sounded familiar on Denki’s tongue, and eventually that irritation melted into nothingness.

“Who even decided that Bakugou should do it? I’m way more pleasant than him.” 

“Oh, fuck you! I’m pleasant.” 

“I dunno, Toshi picked him. I wasn’t gonna advocate for any of you jokers if he already knew who she would be compatible with.” 

The group of five circled around a large coffee table in the lounge space of Katsuki’s studio apartment with takeout plates piled high with greasy food, bright eyed with gossip. Splayed out on his dark couch, drinking the vitamin waters that he had heavily stocked in the fridge, getting cozy under his throw blankets. News of their friend’s possible pursuit of sex work called for an impromptu meeting at the nearest available hangout: Bakugo’s place. To his utter fucking dismay. 

At the center of the deep mahogany table, fenced by disposable serving plates and napkins, sat Denki’s phone. Smudged with fingerprints and cracked to all hell from the lack of a proper phone case, but most importantly, with your picture illuminating the screen. 

It was a professional shot, the lighting and pose too crisp and clean for it to be a casual photo. The bare skin of your shoulders were warm with the glow of the sun and complemented by thin lace straps. Your lips were plump and vaguely glossy, ever so slightly parted as if blissfully content. Though your mouth laid relaxed, your eyes held a smile within them, long lashes accentuating the cut of your eyes. The title of the article where your picture was proudly presented read as ‘Young Author Rises Further to Success with Best Selling Novel: “Pelehonuamea”’

Truthfully, Katsuki knew of you before his peers pulled him into this silly show of scheming and meddling. 

His second year of UA was spent mending bonds and breaking old habits, abandoning all that he’s ever known of self preservation and ego. Okay, maybe not all of it, but most of it. He had to yank that stick out of his ass in order to grow and function through normal adult life with normal adult friendships; which meant a call for awkward bonding and striving to be more.. Approachable. Or, at the very least, less of a prick. 

He could do that. He was going to prove to everyone, to himself, that he could do that. He’s great at bonding, or whatever the fuck Hound Dog said. One of the ways he was going to do that was by following his classmates on social media, interacting with his peers, supporting hero posts and communities. 

He didn’t actually care for social media much, it was senseless and life-sucking, not to mention fucking boring in Katsuki’s opinion; still, it was a good idea. Which meant that it wasn’t his idea, clearly. Izuku recommended the use of social media to him over lunch one day, wild hair bouncing with enthusiasm as he rambled on about which of the hero forums would suit Katsuki best to follow, which accounts posted the clearest rare battle footage from recent months, which hashtags to follow in order to be the first to get the drop on new “Purchase for Pre-Order!” merchandise. 

Katsuki fought with himself to refrain from calling Izuku a nerdy dork. He sighed instead, creating a public profile across a few different platforms. 

Shinso was one of the first people he sent a follow request to on Instagram, though it was sent with some hesitation. Shinso had one of those dumbass locked accounts that you had to request to join, only sixty-four followers in total, which meant that Bakugou could easily be denied access. Written off as some weird asshole, talked about behind his back, laughed at for even attempting to build a bridge between Shinso and himself. 

The Instagram notification from Shinso’s account, accepting his request and completing the mutual, told Bakugou to shut the fuck up and chill out. 

Nosey and emboldened by the mutual following, he dug into the other boy’s account without hesitation. He doesn’t mind his business, and that’s one thing that he never tried to get a hold on, because who really cares? If someone speaks loud enough for other people to pick up on what’s being said, then that conversation is free for grabs in his book. Same goes with social media. Like to post shit? Expect to have your account thoroughly judged and scrutinized.

There wasn’t much to go off of: pictures of a chunky gray tabby, Spotify screenshots (as if anyone cared), a live recording of some band, a surprising amount of latte art…? There was one post in particular that got his attention though, one cluster of slides uploaded in early January. 

‘Cock destroyer eater of men’ read the obscene caption, vulgar and humorous in its addressing of you. 

You. 

Multiple pictures of you; lounging on a messy bed with your hair wild and untamed, sweatpants hanging low on your hips, your face lively and crinkling around the force of your laugh. Another picture of you squishing that same fat tabby to your soft chest, his fluffy ears pointed up on either side of a birthday party cone hat, the cat’s chunky body pressing just below your cleavage to make for a pleasing view. Not that Katsuki was looking. 

He zoomed-in on a picture taken of a photo booth strip held between Shinso’s thumb and pointer finger. In one of the poses on the strip, your left cheek was cuddled firmly to Shinso’s right, tongues sticking out and touching together at the very tips. 

Alright, so Shinso had a girlfriend. A very pretty, enthralling girlfriend; Foreign looking and evidently charismatic. Someone he’s certain that he’s never seen walking UA’s grounds. 

That was fine. Katsuki was happy for him. 

Well, not really. He didn’t really give a shit what the purple haired hero-in-training did or dated in his free time. He just wanted to know about it, it’s not like he actually cared. But, he was admittedly a little too interested in your own persona for his liking. He found himself scrolling back through the small collection of photos to stare at the very first one where you lay joyful and relaxed on Shinso’s bed. 

His face remained neutral throughout his studying, weighing his options. 

Your account tag was right there, popping up on each picture with a tap of Katsuki’s finger, begging for him to click on it and dig himself further down a hole that he might not be able to pull himself out of. 

He instead attempted to satisfy his intrigue by reading through some of the comments on Shinso’s post. Some were from more pussy ass locked accounts, commenting on how pretty you were or making confusing little inside jokes that you and Shinso apparently understood instantaneously. Internet friends, maybe. A comment from Izuku drew his attention as he recognized the handle and profile picture instantly. 

Smallmight: what is this caption????? 😨😨??

     vilewoman: you know wtf i am baby !

          Smallmight: 😰😰😰??? 

How the fuck did Izuku know you? Does he only know you from your online presence? Sure, he and Shinso got closer over the past few months, but enough for Shinso to introduce him to his girlfriend? Maybe that’s normal and Katsuki’s just weird. And doesn’t date. And doesn’t introduce his friends to anyone. Whatever. 

Your comments, which Katsuki pointedly ignored, finally swayed his attention. They sat pinned above all other comments, your sunny profile picture grinning at him as if it knew he was scowling on the other side of the screen, captivated. 

vilewoman: LOL wait why do my tits look kinda good in the pic w suki 

     pikachuu: Yeah they do look pretty good🙏🏻

          vilewoman: who tf are you actually

vilewoman: shouldve posted that pic of me eating ******’s ass 

     BanAllCatBoys: 🖕🏻

          vilewoman: u know the one where he’s bent over the desk 

               BanAllCatBoys: 🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻

Your instagram handle and internet presence has developed into something a bit more professional since then, with your public career choice and all. 

At the time, Katsuki swiftly ignored the desire to stalk your account. What good would it do him? He could choose to not be nosey for once in his life, it wouldn’t kill him. He’d shut his phone off and go to sleep instead, pushing the tidbits of information about Shinso’s pretty girlfriend to the very back of his brain to grow dust and cobwebs, to grow unimportant and forgotten. 

You didn’t make that an easy process for him to accomplish. 

You became well acquainted will Shinso’s closest UA friends, popping up in pictures posted by Katsuki’s other classmates, your attractive presence a jumpscare on his homepage every few weeks. 

A friendly rollerblading date with Jirou, your hips bumped together in a show of closeness with a loving arm slung over her shoulder. A trip to the beach with Shinso and Izuku, the freckled boy bright pink with a blush that spanned over his face and shoulders as your hand vigorously ruffled his hair for the photo. Somehow, you wound up with Todoroki on a secluded hang out at one point, the dual haired bastard posting a picture of your soft hands exploring the slimy wetness of an aquarium’s touch pool. 

When Shinso and Denki started flirting with each other way too much to be passed off as a friendly bromance, touchy in their advances, Katsuki questioned his blonde friend on their dynamic. 

“Doesn’t he have a girlfriend?” 

“What? No. He’s like, super gay. Strictly dickly. A true sword swallower—“

“Okay, I fucking get it!”

“You’re the one who asked!” 

“So then.. Who’s that girl that’s always with him? The one you went to the arcade with?” 

“Oh! Ha, that’s his best friend! She’s cool.” 

Oh. Well, great. Wasn’t that just great? 

When you published your first book which skyrocketed your passion into a career opportunity, sales growing with your social media presence and loyal supporters, Katsuki debated with himself for an entire month about whether or not he should purchase the novel. 

It’s not like anyone would know, he could just order it online. Plus, who cares? He hadn’t brought this little one-sided battle of interest to anyone’s attention. He shouldn’t be looking over his shoulder for the rest of his life, worried that someone would catch him reading your works or looking at your most recent post and throw him to the wolves for the sin of having certain interests in a girl. No one gave a shit but himself. And he reads all the time, it’s not weird for him to buy a fucking book. Even if you’re the one who wrote it. 

So, he bought it. Relaxed the hard spine over time with sweaty palms and page-turning. He read the text without picturing your face, or how attainable your friendship could be if he were to just grab his balls and follow your social accounts, or tag along on a group outing involving you. He read the book once, then once more; looking for any bit, any line, that would throw his attraction to the gutter. 

Begrudgingly, he admitted that it was as good as everyone said it was. It was a great read, well-crafted and intense with welling emotions. Worth the hype and praise, worth the awe, the interviews and offers for a movie adaptation. You were witty and profound and captivating in your writing, sucking him in, frustratingly so. 

In a last attempt at thwarting his growing interest, he (ironically) took to watching interviews, reading articles and your many tweets, searching for something, anything that could ruin his image of you. He found himself enjoying your personality, your humor and freedom with vulgarity, your confidence. The few “scandalous” posts he could find were the ones in which you were outright with your criticism of hero society, quirk culture, misogyny, et cetera. Which, he agreed with. Or, on the other hand, posts where you were a bit too vocal about certain sexual topics or too bold in your humor. 

The masses, however, loved your promiscuity and will to speak whatever was on your mind. You were relatable and exciting; a rose bloomed from concrete, a bright young star still burning with potential. 

Unsuccessful in his feeble attempts, and with a hanging head, Katsuki admitted defeat. 

He remedied that defeat with a box to label you under. “Celebrity crush”. There, now you weren’t real. You weren’t attainable to him, you weren’t a hair's breadth away. You were a picture on a screen or words on a page, a name to request a signature from. When you released your second novel, he took no time contemplating before ordering it; he was just a fan. That’s all.

Having a celebrity crush made him feel normal, anyway. It made him feel good about himself, eased with the thought that he could have feelings and attractions and take interest in someone, even if they weren’t real to him. He didn’t let anyone know about it, held onto his crush with clutching fingers, but he knew about it and that’s all that really mattered. He strictly forbade himself from rationalizing that, technically, you were a peer crush and not a celebrity crush since you were among his peers and definitely approachable.. Because it didn’t matter. 

Not happening. Katsuki’s busy, a goal in his heart that screams Number One Hero through a muddled throat. He’s too callous for a relationship anyway. 

He never would have expected for you to fall into his lap despite his labeling and snipping of possibilities, taking his cock to the hilt with a pleased hiss; sending him a hefty payment hours afterwards along with a playful slap on the ass. Like he was an adored prostitute. 

He doesn’t even have casual sex! He’s not the type to fuck on the first date, let alone go on dates. With anyone. He was only so adamant on going home with you that night because dumbass Denki riled him up enough to act rashly, to throw caution to the wind and secure a spot on your finicky boytoy leaderboard. 

“She gets bored easily I guess,” He’d loudly smacked over a bite of flank steak, “Doesn’t hang on to guys for too long. You should try to impress her, show her that you can handle her. At least, that’s what Toshi said.” 

“So, what, I have to put out?” Bakugo muttered, eyes locked on the phone that lay on his coffee table. 

It’s since shut off, the black screen reflecting his own pinched expression instead of your more serene one. Your novels lay beneath the table on a secondary mahogany base, surrounded by various works from different authors, hidden within the stack. 

“You act like that’s such a bad thing!” Barks Kiri with a deep laugh, his meal already long gone as a result of him scarfing his food down like he was in some life-threatening hurry. “She’s pretty and has a nice personality, it would be totally great for you to get laid. You kinda need it, buddy!” 

“I don’t need shit!” 

“Yeah, okay.” 

“Anyway, you don’t even have to put out right away! Just, like, hint that you’re worth her time,” The blonde continued his pitch, slapping the back of his hand against Katsuki’s chest a few times. “Make sure she knows that you have a tongue piercing. You know, the pussy jewel.” 

“ Pussy jewel? ” Mina’s nose scrunched in judgement, stretching the syllables on her tongue to emphasize how dumb the phrase was. 

“Tell her you can hold your breath for seven minutes,” Sero continued the bit. 

Kiri pitched in next with the excitement of a well-meaning grandparent trying to bestow some old-fashioned dating advice, “Oh! You should buy a bunch of different flowers and foliage from a flower shop and put together your own custom bouquet—“

“Oh, boo!” The plump pink palm of Mina’s hand slapped over the brute’s mouth from where she sat above him to grease his scalp, successfully cutting him off even though he squealed loudly at the jojoba oil making a mess around his chin. “Just let her stick a finger up your ass.” 

“..You want me to let her finger me on our first meeting?” 

Her shoulders shrugged in nonchalance, “Uh, yeah. Happens to girls all the time.” 

“Don’t ever give me a dumbass idea like that again.” 

“Well don’t come crying to me when she dumps your stiff ass! That’s all the advice I got!” 

She was joking, if the squeaky laugh and playful shove of her socked foot against his knee was anything to go by, but still, it stuck with him. He knew he was stiff and dry when it came to affection and romance, any hint of sexual tension sending him closed off and bluntly uninterested if only to protect himself from unnecessary dramatics. 

He didn’t want to scare you off or make you think he was uninterested. If anything, he was severely interested. Dangerously interested. He had been silently crushing on your author persona and internet presence for, what, a few years now? Living off of scraps. A teasing selfie of you posed nice and pretty in your large bathroom mirror, foggy glass obstructing what would’ve been the clear view of your obviously naked body. A series of short poems released straight from your bleeding heart to the public, unpublished and raw. A video of you playing with Shinso’s cat on the dining room floor of his home, a clay face mask painted thick on your face. 

It wasn’t like he was obsessed with you, he didn’t have some weird parasocial relationship with you in his mind. He didn’t masturbate to the thought of you or seek out deepfake porn— He wasn’t that fucking debased. He wasn’t delusional, either. He just admired you from afar. 

He also didn’t want to fail. If you agreed to this whole thing and gave him the time of day before deciding he was too boring, or crass, or prudish, he would lose his mind. Everyone would know, his closest friends and that fucker Shinso who would look at him with pity for the rest of his life. He would sink in humiliation and lost hope, casting away intimacy for good. 

Well. 

It’s not like you would be dating him.. Realistically, you wouldn’t. You wanted a fuck buddy (he would not be calling himself a sugar baby by any means) who you could pay to stick around and please you at any sudden whim. 

And, he did need the money. He wasn’t too keen on living with roommates like his friends did, he wanted his solitude and serenity. He didn’t like to share living spaces. His flat wasn’t much, but it was home now, and he desperately wanted things to stay that way. He couldn’t keep asking his parents for money if he wanted to keep his sanity. His relationship with his parents, especially his mother, was strained to say the least. 

Katsuki didn’t want their help. He’s had enough of their help. 

So, he would do it. He would make it his goal to charm you, somehow, into finding his presence enjoyable. He wouldn’t act like a thick-headed fool, to the best of his abilities. And, he would fuck you good. He wanted to fuck you good, he wanted you to want him. In some sick way, he wanted you to crave him with such an intensity that it gave him some sense of control, of power, over a situation that he’d felt powerless to for years. 

He’d severely underestimated your sexuality, your impact on his poor will and desires. 

The roles were reversed from the very first fateful meeting at that drab restaurant, a firm gaze melting his resolve. He was malleable to your wishes and gentle guidance, finding pleasure in experiencing you, even when you dug your nails into the tender flesh of his ribs in reprimand. Katsuki found himself lapping up the attention like a mutt, collared and laying at your lap with a slow-wagging tail. 

“What’s with that look?” Your amused voice snaps him out of the maze that is his wandering mind, and he finds himself zoning in on the way your lips wrap around a metal spoon topped with creamy gelato. 

“What look?” He straightens his back against the cushion of your couch, throat tightening. 

When you opened the door to your home earlier, he was briefly stunned to find you clad in clothing far more revealing than the ones you’d adorned the last time he saw you. A fitted black band tee with an album cover stretching across your chest and a pair of irritatingly short shorts. He wasn’t looking, he really wasn’t, but it wasn’t hard to tell that you were without a bra and completely bare beneath the shirt. Your breasts were soft and mushed sweetly against his firm chest when you greeted him with a warm hug at the door, nipples only slightly perking through the soft material of your top. The cozy pair of lounge shorts that you decided to wear were pink and slightly fuzzy, thin and hugging your curves. They cut off around your upper thighs, riding up easily with the most simple of movements. 

If you wanted to kill him, you could’ve just got it over with an hour ago when he first arrived. 

“That serious, far-away look. Like you’re deciding how you’ll murder me tonight and where you’ll hide the body afterwards.” 

“As if I'd waste your body. I’ll sell you in bits on ebay.” 

“Oh yeah? You wouldn’t be jealous that some other guy is slobbering over chunks of my ass?” 

“I don’t get jealous.” 

…Yeah, he doesn’t know why he said that either. 

Katsuki does get jealous. Not in a gross, possessive dickheaded way, but definitely jealous. He’s been jealous his whole life, sometimes he feels that he was born jealous. It eats at him like flies to rotting meat, slow and stinking, squirming with maggots and fears by the millions. 

You smirk lightly, and he’s so frustrated, so out of sorts. You look at him like he’s some captivating creature unusual to your hungry eyes, you study him with rapt attention. He feels it, feels you cataloging his responses and reactions in a mental notebook filled to the brim with pages upon pages of methods to your man-eating. 

He wonders, briefly, if you have a special mental notebook for him alone. If he occupies your mind as something more than an interesting fuck or entertaining man of the hour. 

Just what are you thinking about?

“Sure you don’t. So, why did you want to see me?” 

“What d’you mean?” 

“You’re the one who asked to visit. Did the last payment not cut it for ya?” 

“Oh. No, I,” He stumbles dumbly, searching for an answer to a question he wasn’t prepared to answer, “Isn’t that how this sort of thing works? We see each other..?” 

“Hm. I wouldn't know, honestly. I’ve never done this before.” 

“Bullshit. You’re such a liar.” 

“No, really!” Your laugh is eased and enticing as you spoon another bite of ice cream into your mouth. The action reminds him to be normal and swallow a few bites of his own before it completely melts in the plastic takeaway bowl cooling his endlessly hot palms. 

“I’ve never paid for sex or companionship before. I guess I've hit rock bottom, huh? The plummet of morality that comes with wealth.” 

“Tch. I'm a fucking great morally sound investment, actually.” 

“Are you saying that I should be investing in you?” Your tone is silky and seductive in a flash, mischief painting your face flushed and willing to grapple for a win. 

Your duality is starting to drive him crazier than he’s used to dealing with. Smooth shifts of gear from playful and lighthearted to heavy and tense with sexual interest, like throwing a chilled ceramic figurine into a too-hot oven and enjoying the sound of its forced shatter. It’s almost like you’re doing it on purpose, to break him down into nothing and reanimate him to fit your needs. 

“Aren’t you already investing in me?” 

You don’t reward his bold question with an answer. Instead, the feeling of your bare foot sliding along his calf from beneath your coffee table momentarily startles him, enough to nearly tip the melting gelato from his jumping hand. You grin at the barely avoided accident and place your own empty bowl on the table, shifting in your seat next to him on the couch to better face him. 

He feels his free hand clench against the material of his loose joggers as he meets your heady stare, unflinching as you mentally pick him apart like a scavenging bird ripping morsels of meat from a rabbit. 

“I guess I am. Why don’t you invest in me a little?” 

“..I want to. Will you let me?” His voice is low and slightly raspy, turned to hot honey dripping from the lips.

Your answering reply is nothing but a look, for a moment. A strong, firm look. Your pleased expression is unwavering. 

He steels his breathing and puffs his chest slightly, determined and eager to prove himself to you. One of your arms stretches to rest on the tight back of the couch, your other loose and relaxed on your lap. Your back is propped against the cushioned arm of the couch to completely face him, knees bent up in front of your form. The position of your legs reveal more smooth skin to his insatiable eyes, your shorts riding up your thighs to hint at the thick meat of your ass. You don’t fidget or twitch under his leering, meeting his lustful desires with a coolness. 

He won’t give you the satisfaction of his hesitation or need for permission. He can be assertive and bold and cunning in his pursuit of you, if that’s what you’re waiting for. 

As if pulling back the curtains to a grand stage, you spread your thighs apart to bless his view with the thin fabric hugging your cunt. The material is pulled taut against the mound, creasing with the line of your slit and pronouncing the soft fat of your outer lips. Katsuki’s mouth gapes slightly as his eyes feast on the sight of the wet patch centering your heat. The dampness gleams under the ambient lighting of your living room, tempting him with the promise of that familiar slick slide of skin on skin.

You’re not wearing any panties. You’ve decided that tonight, for some reason, you would moisturize your body with the thickest of sweet-smelling creams and skip your undergarments entirely, presenting yourself on a platter for Katsuki to devour.

He’s losing his fucking mind. 

“Come get me then, hero.” 

Chapter Text

You are spilling over with need. It cascades down your skin in thick globs of honey, slow with its sticky trail. You feel like you’ve gone a bit mad with the presence of your newfound paramour. 

There’s a dark, greedy thing squirming around in your chest cavity, wanting and wanting and wanting so badly that you can’t help but feed it. You don’t know why you grasp onto your lovers in this secretly needful way. 

Maybe it’s due to the fact that you’ve grown up coveting life all for yourself. Sentient, breathing life to be yours and yours alone. Vines and leaves and petals— born of you and made for you. That must be why you’re sick with a sense of predatory ownership, why you squeeze your clutch of lovers in the grip of your sharp maw. 

Ever since you were plump with baby fat and shining with innocence, you’ve claimed all the life of your greenery as your own. And by now, you were just.. used to it. You need it. You can’t be weaned off of the aching need for possession after swimming in it for so long. That must be the answer. It just has to be. 

Your prowling dominance, your claws sinked bloody into control, the dangerous marks of territory that claim the people you hold to you— It’s just backwash dripping from the tongue of your quirk’s presence. 

You won't let the answer be anything but that. You won’t entertain the idea that this might just be who you are in essence, a nasty thing made of hunger. Who you still would’ve been, quirkless or not, in every lifetime, in every universe. 

You wonder, briefly, how long it will take until you’re staking your full claim on the powerful blonde in front of you, his face sharp with lust at the teasing sight of your wet cunt. 

Not that it would last for long.. As it never does. You have a small trail of lovers who you casted aside in the past— but really, they deserved it. Honestly! And you just couldn’t help yourself. The anguishing process was that of feasting on buttered crab legs; meticulously cracking them open to reveal and devour the tender inner flesh before tossing out the remaining shell, now useless and dull to you. How long would it take this time? The emptiness? The dullness? The grotesque? 

Sometimes, in the solitude of night with no human around to be near to you, you resent this beast within yourself. 

“You would— I mean— Can I?” Katsuki’s voice is deep with that familiar want , a gravelly tone stuck in his throat even after he swallows the spit in his mouth. His eyes stay pinned to the heat between your legs, mouth snapping shut with a click as you glide your fingers over your clothed mound. “Can I.. taste you? I wanna taste you.” 

More often than not, however, trumping the guilt and bitter resentment, comes the euphoria.

“Right here? On my nice couch?” You tilt your head back slightly at the pleasing feeling of your fingers circling your clit slowly through the thin shorts, a breathy moan leaving your lips softly enough that Katsuki has to strain to hear it. 

“..Why not?” His words come slowly as if his brain is racing to keep up with his body and it’s not keeping pace. 

“I can get pretty messy. Unless you plan on lapping up every drop?” 

“Fuck,” He breathes, running a palm down his face and keeping it still against his gulping throat for a moment. He finally finds the will within himself to drag his eyes away from the sight of your self-pleasuring, making tense eye contact with you. “Don’t say things like that.” 

“Why not?” You mock his earlier question, a smirk in your eyes. 

“Because you’re driving me fucking crazy, woman. I’ll take it on the damn floor if I have to, just, let me...” His words trail off as though he’s lost his edge, uncomfortable with voicing his lewd desires aloud. 

“Let you what?” You tease him along further, removing your hand from your cunt and squeezing your knees shut once more, blocking his view. 

It’s mean, you know. And, you don’t really care. Not when his face is suddenly crestfallen and desperate to catch a glimpse of your wetness again. 

“Damnit, you know what I’m trying to say!” Katsuki’s frustrated little groan is something you find yourself enjoying far too much for your own sanity. 

He’s still sitting across from you on the couch, like you’d chained him to his portion of the cushions and forbade him to come any closer. He placed his cup of melted gelato on the coffee table at some point, most likely when you were busy stroking your folds through your shorts, and his hands now rest balled up on his lap. The veins in his hands are prominent, his blood pressure likely rising at the horrible situation of you denying him access to your cunt unless he bends to your will. Poor him.

You’re close enough on the couch to reach your leg out towards him, sliding your bare foot along his lap until it reaches his groin. He grunts at the contact, placing one of those hot hands upon the top of your soft foot and holding you to him without force, breath hitching. You apply pressure to his crotch and hum at the answering moan he gifts you, his eyes fluttering shut while he soaks in the pleasure. 

He’s hard and thick beneath the sole of your foot, twitching ever so slightly in the confines of his joggers. Your walls clench around nothing at the reminder of his dick, a memory of how he feels inside of you coming to light; the sensation of him stretching your entrance and filling you up. You lick your lips, eyes focused on the slight tremble in his hand. 

“I don’t, actually. Use your words and maybe you’ll get what you want.” 

“I wanna— I want.. to eat you out. I want you in my mouth.” He follows up shortly after, almost forgetting the special cherry on top that you were waiting to hear. “Please. Please, can I?” 

The groan he releases as you grind your heel into what you assume is the head of his dick is sweet and needy, a fine reaction to your reward. He brings his other hand up to palm at your smooth calf, almost massaging the muscle there with tender squeezing and groping. His hips tick up into the pressure you grant him, thrusting lightly without lifting his hips from the couch. 

You feel utterly filthy watching the scene he presents, practically humping your foot and worshiping your leg with touches of adoration. His eyes are locked on you as he pleases himself with your body, panting and intense with his stare. Katsuki is putting on a show for you and he knows it, piercing clad tongue flicking out to wet his lips, biceps tensing and on display due to his revealing tank top. He looks desperate and riled up and oh-so pleased with himself. 

Cheeky brat. 

“Have you ever eaten someone out before?” Your voice is a bit breathy, heated and heavy at the sight he makes for you. 

He’s reluctant to answer, face pinching in distaste. As if you’d let him get away with not answering your question. Wrong. You size him up with a firm once-over, carefully throwing in a bored sigh to prove your impatience. He caves, after a moment. A too-long moment. 

“..No. But, I can—“ Your pressure against his cock is harsh for a moment, if only to delight in the stuttering groan that interrupts his own sentence. “I can learn. Make you feel good.. Make you cum. I’m a damn good learner.” 

He's really advocating for himself by now, pleading to get his pouty little mouth on you. It’s a bit surprising.. but not unwelcome. 

And really, when you think about it further, not that surprising after all. When you took to fucking him last weekend, the time was spent with him twitching and whining under any praise or firm guidance you had given him. This new request, for you to train him how to eat you out, how to bring you pleasure under his tongue, is the perfect wet dream for a man like Katsuki. 

“On the floor then, hero. I want you beneath me while I ride your face.”

Really, you would’ve just done it right here on the couch or brought him back to your bed despite any mess, but since he insisted that he would do it on the floor if he has to, that’s exactly what you’ll give him. It’s exhilarating, the thought of this powerhouse of a man splayed out beneath you on the floor of all things, humping the air and whining against your clit, squirming against the carpet at his lack of breath. 

Yeah, you’re sure of your decision. You’ll take him on the floor. 

Katsuki’s only slightly reluctant to accommodate your commands, and the hesitation stems from the fact that he doesn’t want to let you go. He holds onto your leg like a clinging young animal and keeps your foot against his groin, even though it’s teasingly torturous and filled with not enough pleasure. A moment longer of basking in your touch is all he gets before you pull away on your own, impatient to his lingering. 

You’re up in a flash, hips swaying in the easy saunter of a proud cat, and point to exactly where you want him on the floor. The carpet and accompanying rug where you direct him is soft and plush enough to not leave him so uncomfortable. Katsuki follows through with your orders, face full of thinly veiled eagerness, though his brows are still furrowed in a slight scowl. 

Your smile is rich and full of mirth as you speak, “Good, Katsuki. You listen so well. Have you earned your treat, boy?” 

“I’m not a fucking dog.” His face is wonderfully red and humiliated beneath your standing form, voice tense and rough. 

“You might as well be,” You continue, pressing your foot against his firm stomach until he groans beneath you. He holds your calf there, latching onto you, welcoming the demeaning pressure as if he enjoys it. “Look at you, getting belly rubs.” 

“Fuck off. Are you gonna get down here or what?” His tone lacks the heat of anger, filled more with arousal and desperation than anything.

You’ve teased him enough. He’s been such a good thing for you. Time to indulge him. 

Katsuki tightens his grip on your leg slightly before he releases you, reining himself in to at least allow you to strip your clothes. He’s clearly touch starved, the poor boy, even if he tries to pretend he’s not. 

You make quick work of getting naked, snickering lightly at the awed look that crosses your boy’s face when your breasts spill from the sudden absence of your shirt, nipples peaked with arousal. It occurs to you that he hasn’t yet seen you fully naked, the one night of steamy passion you had was so impatient that you never actually took off your clothes. You’ll give him a show, you decide, and tug your shorts from your hips with the slow drag of a teasing stripper. As you bend to shuck your shorts from your feet, your soft breasts present themselves to Katsuki’s slack-jawed ogling. He swallows once, twice, and his hips adjust against the floor. The fabric chafing against his stiff length must be unbearable by now. 

He’s a big boy, he can handle it. 

“Shit, you’re killing me..” He murmurs mostly to himself once you’ve taken your claim on the throne that is his chest, caging him in with your knees hugging either side of his ribcage.  

He drags his palms over the skin of your thighs and hips and you lean into the contact, his hands hot and almost burning against your sensitive skin. He explores the expanse of your lower body greedily until he reaches your stomach, smoothing his touch just above the swell of your cunt. He’s waiting for your permission, though his eyes delve themselves into your wet folds without abandon. 

Your skin tingles under his touch, and you inhale deeply in order to soothe your own desperation. Your clit is pulsing and wanting and you almost yank at his hair and put that mouth to use right then— but you want to savor this. His tongue, his mouth and jaw and those lips on you and tasting you.. The idea feeds some dark craving within you. 

“Why? ‘Cause I’m heavy?” Your words are lighthearted and joking, if only to mask the pounding of your heart. 

“No,” The hero grumbles with a displeased frown, squeezing your hip in a weak reprimand. “‘Cause you’re gorgeous. So fuckin’ pretty..” 

His eyes glide through the peaks and valleys of you as he says this, over the soft pudge of your stomach to the swell of your warm breasts, the scar on your knee from when you were a child and the few birthmarks doting your skin. 

You don’t reply to his comment, stomach clenching with a pang of guilt and anxiety. You’ll deal with it later. For now, you’re rising on your knees to settle yourself onto Katsuki’s awaiting mouth, moaning soft and low in your throat as he finally, finally, brushes his tongue between your folds.

The blonde’s answering moan is filled to the brim with relief, with pure pleasure, and he’s turned to a man starved. 

He goes at you with a worshiping tongue, coaxing your slick to flow freely onto his mouth and chin. You bury a hand in his hair and tug at the roots, guiding his mouth right where you want it, and he follows the guidance readily. Sloppy and needy in his actions, his tongue moves against you to lick in firm broad strokes, spit sliding against your outer lips. The cool ball of his tongue piercing is heated by your cunt, gliding and slightly catching on the small hood of your clit, and it’s enough to make you groan out filthy praise. 

“Fuck, yes, good boy.. Now suck—“ Before you can even huff out your command through sultry moans, he’s already following through, pressing further into the swell of your cunt and sucking your clit into his mouth with a muffled moan against that slick heat. “God, yes, just like that. Keep— Ah, keep going baby.” 

Katsuki’s fingers are gripped tight around the cleft where your thighs meet your pelvis, pulling your body further to his mouth with the desire for you to smother him. Your thighs rest by his ears and his nose grinds into your clit as he moves down to prod his tongue against your hole, eager to taste your juices right from the main source. 

“Curl your tongue— yes yes yes, like that. Good, so fucking good for me.”

You’re grinding against his face by now, unashamed in the vulgar position and wet sound his eager mouth makes against your folds. 

The gasps of breath he does take are short and quick, with you trying to pull back to give him room for air, but he just keeps going. Like a man possessed, he whines deep in his throat and pulls you back to him, tongue hitting home in the entrance of your cunt. The tip and bridge of his nose drags along your clit in a blissful, jerky manner, and your thighs spasm with the intensity of the combined stimulation. 

“Fuck— Breathe, baby, you gotta—“ 

“You taste fuckin’ good,” You’re barely able to make out his slurred words when he pulls back from your heat briefly to switch gears, diving right back in to abuse your clit with his sloppy devouring. 

He’s a noisy eater, sucking the wetness from your skin and groaning deep and gruff, hips pathetically thrusting against nothing but air as he tries to provide some attention to his aching cock. Steadily climbing towards your peak under his attentive care, you take mercy on him and reach behind your own quivering body. 

All it takes is a few squeezes of your hand against his covered cock before he’s whimpering between your lips, a damp heat prominent against your palm as hot cum paints the inside of his pants. The idea of him coming basically untouched, spurred on and riled up by the act of eating you out alone, has you approaching your own orgasm. 

You allow your hand to stay firm against his crotch as he presses into it to ride out his climax, but your other hand tugs at his hair roughly, your hips working in quick succession to grind your cunt over his mouth and leave you shaking. A few thrusts of your hips, a long pulsating suck from his pretty mouth, and you’re coming with a gush of sweet fluid gliding onto his relentless tongue. 

He’s growling and animalistic as if you’ve put a spell on him, working to lap up all of your spilling juices and keep going, even after you’re clean and pretty again. His hands are tight on your hips, keeping you slotted against his working mouth until you hiss out a sharp warning at the overstimulation and lift yourself from his face forcefully. 

Katsuki is panting heavily beneath you, face flushed red and pupils blown as he gazes up at you like you’re a god, something to be worshiped and begged, to be served on hand and foot. Your slick coats his mouth and chin, a bit on his nose as well since he was so sloppy and eager, but he doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, he looks incredibly pleased, licking his lips like he enjoyed his meal. 

You huff a laugh through your own panting, grinning sharp and predatory down at him even though the muscles of your thighs quiver in the aftermath of that binding pleasure. His cock twitches beneath your fingers, reminding you of the cum soaking through his joggers. 

“Did you just—“

“Stop. Shut up.”

“—cum in your pants? After I barely touched you?” 

He groans and presses his face to one of your inner thighs, nipping at the flesh there without much menace. The bite lingers for a moment, and he pauses against you with a deep inhale. He’s transfixed suddenly, beginning to suck on the skin of your thighs in the form of open-mouthed kisses, like he’d already forgotten that he was biting you to shut you up, not pleasure you. 

“Easy, tiger. Take a breath first.” 

“Let’s do it again, right now. I want it.” 

Your laughter rings out bright and adoring above him, and you reach a hand down to card through his platinum hair. It’s pleasingly soft and the roots are only slightly damp under your fingers, since he had worked up a sweat while you fucked his face. He tilts his head into your touch, humming low in his throat. You mentally comment on how puppy-like he is but keep it to yourself this time, eyes crinkling with hidden amusement. 

“Your tongue will fall off if I keep riding your face all day.” 

“I don’t give a fuck. Sit on me again.” He’s serious, lustful eyes zoning in on your own. His brows twitch up once, as if just barely remembering something, “Please.” 

“You’re such a pervert! I fucked you once and now I’ve ruined you!” 

Katsuki grumbles, irked at your stalling, and leans forward to press a lasting, wet kiss on your barely-recovered clit. Your thighs tense around his head, smothering for a moment, but the whiny moan you grant him is all the encouragement he needs. 

He’s slower this time, savoring the taste and texture of you in his mouth. The gentle glide of his tongue is soothing against your folds, easing you further into a web of budding pleasure. You can’t deny, it feels fucking amazing. His hands rub and grope at your ass, pulling you in and encouraging your hips to grind against his face once more. 

“Use me,” He rasps with a shaky groan, kissing at your cunt between words. His tongue is hot and presented for your manipulation, dipping into your twitching hole a few times before he removes his mouth to properly beg. “Please.. Use my mouth. It’s yours.” 

Well, fuck. How can you say no to that? 

“So let me get this straight. You rode him— raw, might I add— sucked his dick, basically gave him a foot job, fucked his face, like, a million times.. and you still haven’t even kissed him yet?” 

“It wasn’t a foot job! And it was, like, two times. Not a million.” 

“Bitch! That was a fucking foot job!” Jirou shrieks a deep laugh through her words, scandalized in the wake of your Ground Zero recap. 

Her midnight blue hair is pulled away from her face with a fluffy hello kitty headband, shockingly hot pink and only used when doing makeup or applying skin care. The ashy clay green of a homemade matcha face mask, courtesy of Yaomomo, coats her face thick and almost monstrous. There’s deep lines in the mask around her mouth and the corners of her eyes from all that whooping laughter, and she’s utterly uncaring of how badly she cracks the sludge. 

“I never would have expected Bakugou to be so, um. Pliant?” Momo adds with a nervous bout of laughter, though her own giggles are much more reserved than her girlfriend’s. 

The matcha and honey mixture slathered on her face is far less crumbled and ruined, sitting prettily upon her already perfect skin. You can’t help but giggle along with the girls, brushing your fingers against your lips to hide your grin. Girl talk was nice, and needed. 

You had tried to tell Hitoshi about your sexcapades with Katsuki, as you usually tell him everything, but he outright rejected the conversation. Like a fucking brat, if you do say so yourself. 

“No, no, no, no, lalalala. I can’t hear you. Stop, stop talking, stop talking! Stoppp!” He raised his voice to drown out your own which had begun describing your nights with the famous Pro Hero, covering his ears like a child and kicking your shin with his big foot. 

“Ow, fucker! What was that for?” 

“Because I don’t wanna hear about how you fucked Bakugou in the ass! Or whatever the fuck you were about to say.” 

“Okay, I didn’t fuck him in the ass. I fucked him—“ 

The next kick to your leg was firm and made you sock him in the arm out of reflex, two bickering kids wrestling and grappling at each other on his pull-out couch. 

So, yeah, you didn’t tell him shit. 

The phone call you made to your close friend Jirou, practically begging her to let you visit and whine about your current fuck buddy situation, was swiftly accepted by the woman and her partner. The shorter of the two had an ear for gossip and couldn’t be more thrilled at the fact that you were fooling around with Katsuki Bakugou from high school. And, paying him for it, at that. 

“So, there’s no romance involved? No.. I don’t know, budding relationship?” Momo’s sweet voice isn’t prying, just curious, and you indulge her questions. 

“Mm..” You hum in thought, sighing at what little answers your mind provides for you. “Well, it’s not completely lifeless and transactional. We meet and flirt and talk.. And have sex. Amazing, mind blowing sex. Like—“ 

“We get it, girl. He has awesome dick game. And..? Not feeling the love?” Jirou’s earlobe stretches to poke at your arm, encouraging you to spill your guts to her awaiting ears. 

“I don’t know. No. Maybe? Probably not, but, yeah. I don’t know.” 

Her earlobe falls limp and she groans in exasperation, throwing her head back against the couch in a show of dramatics. 

But really, truly, you didn’t know. 

The way Katsuki looks at you, the way he touches you.. It’s with the reverence of a priest, waiting for explicit permission before rubbing anointing oils into your skin with his tongue and hands and the smooth grind of his body against your own. The sex is, evidently, amazing. All that you could want in a sex partner, strong and powerful yet weak and yeilding to your touch. Submissive, yes, but with a bite of personality. A lust for firm guidance, a need to be broken down before giving in. You enjoy it thoroughly, playing with his body and studying the way it twitches and jumps under your palm. 

It’s not lost on you that this arrangement has only come about due to your money, and he’s probably just sticking around more often than you expected because he enjoys the sex. Which is mutual! You appreciate the fact, actually! It’s good, it’s safe, it’s fun. He’s fun. And, with the promise of your money, he’s all yours. It’s.. enough. Really. 

It’s just a bit confusing to navigate. In your past relationships, you held the entirety of your partner within you, around you, breathing them in and showing them off. Their throat, their skin, their pleasure.. All yours. You claimed them fully, and they were free to claim you. 

Now, with this snappy blonde frequenting your sheets, you didn’t know where to start or stop or proceed with caution. It was exciting, and admittedly an attractive scenario, but it was still confusing. You didn’t want to hurt him, or make him uncomfortable. You also, most importantly, didn’t want to lead him on. So, you set a few unspoken boundaries of your own. 

One of the made-up rules was that you wouldn’t kiss him on the lips. 

Throughout all the intimacy and closeness, the vulgar things you’ve done to one another within a week and a half of knowing each other, you hadn’t kissed him on the mouth once. You wanted to, so badly, those pretty lips soft and warm and slightly bitten, waiting.. But you won’t. 

The one close call you had with the man was enough to scare you to high hell, sending you a bit flushed and stalled in thought. It was after the long session of sex and foreplay that you shared the other night, the same night that you rode his face to completion.. twice. He was fresh from the steamy heat of your shower, which you had sent him off to take alone so that you could get a fucking grip, and he made his way over to you with a sense of uncertainty. 

“..What? Did you break something?” You asked immediately, reading the tension on his face. 

You weren’t freshly showered as he was, but you were decently wiped off enough to lounge around until he left to head home. The same shirt you wore when first greeting him at the door wrapped around your otherwise bare chest, though the shorts had to be switched out for something less soiled. You provided Katsuki with a change of clothes as well, some spares kept around for Hitoshi, since he made quite a mess in his pants. He had grumbled and averted his eyes when you gave him the clean clothes, snatching them with an embarrassed huff. 

“No,” He grunted, dropping his face into that familiar glower. “Why’d you think that?” 

“You look guilty. Like you just did something you know is wrong.” 

His reply didn’t come as soon as you would’ve hoped. A tingling bout of anxiety swooped low in your stomach, settling with the constant flap of a hummingbird’s wings, frozen in flight. 

“I didn’t do shit. You’re paranoid.”

Maybe you were. But he was acting strange, enough for you to raise your defenses. You figured it would be best if he headed home so that you could properly analyze his behavior and the night you shared, alone and soaking in an almost uncomfortably hot bath. Plus, you needed him out of your sight for a decent amount of time before you jumped his bones again. 

He wasn’t making it easy, torso trailing small droplets of water down the ridges of his muscles, sweatpants hanging low on his hips. He was slightly pink with a flush from the heat of his shower and marked with love bites here and there, pressed into his skin by your own claiming mouth. One hickey in particular rested just above the cut of his v-line, and you had reminisced on how he squirmed and groaned under your mouth at that suction, begging for you to fuck him. 

Yeah, he needed to leave. 

You entertained another bickering, yet extremely flirty, conversation for about a half hour before you couldn’t take it anymore. Standing up with a believable yawn, you declared that you needed some sleep, though he was welcome to stay the night. 

Seeing as he didn’t sleep over last time, you were sure he would politely deny (as politely as Katsuki was capable of) and head home. He took the hint perfectly well, which you appreciated, and made quick work of getting himself ready to go. You silently mourned the loss of his sun-kissed skin as it was swallowed by his shirt and sweater, but that was the point damnit. To get that skin and those eyes and that mouth away so that you could chill the fuck out a little. 

In the same fashion as when you greeted him at the door, you pulled him into a tender hug. It wasn’t some weak side hug, or a barely there press of bodies, it was full and affectionate. Your arms looped around his neck to pull him in and you held him to you for a spell of time, smiling softly at the indulgent squeeze of his own strong arms circled around your waist. His head slotted into the crease of your neck, breathing you in. 

“I had fun tonight,” Your voice was sincere and sweet, though tainted with friendly mocking in your next sentence, “I’ll see you later?” 

A call back from his first awkward goodbye to you. 

Katsuki pulled back, only slightly, and you were unexpectedly nose to nose. His eyes, glittering as fresh spilled blood did in the light of the moon, were intense and determined. You humored his staring, though raised a brow at him in question, and slid a hand up his neck to rest at his nape. 

He shivered very lightly beneath your touch, “I had fun too. I want to see you again.” 

Oh. That’s what this was about? 

“You will, baby. I'm not going anywhere,” The unspoken for now was left drifting in the air, a feather blown about by the wind. 

Steeling his gaze and puffing his chest a bit against your own, he grew bold in the face. Daring, like he had to work up the nerve to do whatever it was he was about to do. Katsuki’s hand on your waist gently pawed at you through your shirt, his head tilting ever so slightly, leaning in with that pretty mouth…

And you swiftly met his seeking lips with the plump flesh of your left cheek. 

“You— You fucking— Gave him your cheek! Ah!” Jirou’s laughter evolved to something breathless and hyena, filling you with guilt and embarrassment. 

Your groan is pitchy and whiny as you finish the recounting of your rejection to Katsuki’s kiss, almost throwing you face into your palms before you remember your own caked on green concoction. “I know! I didn’t know I was doing it until it was too late! It was so bad, you guys!” 

“Well, maybe he was planning on kissing your cheek..” Momo supplied gently, though her eyes held a laugh within them. 

“You know he wasn’t.” 

“..Yeah, I know, dear.” 

Jirou didn’t try to hide the humor she found in the story, taking a shaking breath to fuel her laughter, “Why did you even do that? You can suck his dick but you can’t kiss him?” 

“I don’t know! I had a bunch of thoughts in my head about boundaries and whatever the fuck and, I just, recently decided that I wouldn’t kiss him. For his own benefit! And then he— Well, he was already— But I just— Had this, reflex!” 

“Oh my god! He’s probably so humiliated. Did he bitch at you for it?” 

“No.. He just paused and kissed my cheek. It was really sweet, actually.” 

“You’re going to hell.” 

“Whatever! I didn’t tell his ass to try and make out with me!” 

It was sweet, thinking back on it. He didn’t give you any lip about rejecting him, or huff and puff with a broken ego trailing him through the door. He simply sighed, a barely there ghost of breath on your skin, and pressed his lips to your cheek with such fervent that you almost felt seared by the touch. 

Just when you thought he was going to pull back from you and take his leave, one of his hands came up to cup your jaw, tilting your head with meek persuasion. Katsuki placed one last lingering kiss on the apple of your cheek before finally pulling away, eyes meaningful and dancing with emotion. 

You were stunned, shocked still. 

“..Well, aren’t you just a ray of sunshine after sex?” Your voice lacked the base that you were hoping for, more subdued than anything, but your attempt at a tease was necessary to keep you from doing something you’d regret. 

“Shut up,” He griped, though it was without much bite. “I’m telling you goodbye.” 

“With two kisses? Next time, do I get three?” 

“Next time, you get a swift kick in the ass.”

“Uh-huh,” Your hand was already striving to seek proper control of the moment, gliding along the short hairs at his nape, skirting past his piercing-clad ear, and taking hold of his jaw between your fingers. 

“There, hero,” Your lips on his cheeks were soft and insistent, his skin warm and pink beneath your attention. You pressed a kiss to each side of his face without diffidence, emboldened by his own affection. “Now we’re even.” 

Jirou snorts at your confession of events, popping a chip into her mouth. “Well. You fucked that up.”

She was well into the bag by now, snacking and laughing as you recounted your not-relationship with Katsuki, as if she were watching a particularly entertaining episode of some reality drama. 

“What!? I thought I handled that really well!”

“Weren’t you trying to make sure that you don’t lead him on?” 

“Uh, he kissed me first. And it was a goodbye kiss! On the cheek! Like, a friendly cheek kiss.” 

“After you had crazy femdom bdsm pegging sex? Right.” 

“Alright, now you’re just making shit up.” 

A sharp gasp interrupts the combative back and forth of you and Jirou, followed by a bout of unrestrained laughter. 

Coming from Momo, a posh young woman carrying the cadence of a college professor, the laughter sounds unfamiliar spilling from her mouth. It’s full of snorting chortles and gasping giggles, and her long slender fingers come up to shield her mouth and try to force the laughter back in, even despite the drying face mask. 

You can’t help but giggle at the rare sight of her losing it in hefty laughter, raising your eyebrows at Jirou who raises her own in reply, amused. The source of Momo’s laughter, it seems, is something brightening her phone screen. Her hands scramble to hold the cell steady before promptly thrusting it towards Jirou’s prying eyes, excited and eager for her girlfriend to see. 

“Shit, babe, hold still. I can't read it, Jesus christ—“ When her eyes finally focus on the jiggling screen enough to read whatever was so hilarious, she goes slack-jawed and blank-eyed. “Oh. My god.” 

“What?” Your tone is still giggly and bright, happy to be in on the joke. Jirou doesn’t remedy your joyful confusion. 

“Speak of the fucking devil..”

Suddenly, things aren’t so funny. Seeing as the only “devil” she could possibly be speaking of is Katsuki, your stomach swarms with nervous anticipation. What the fuck did he do that could be so showstoppingly comical?

“Wait, what? What is it?” 

Jirou, though squealing and slapping at her knee with the rib-tickling likeness of a court jester during the entirety of your conversation, is now carefully stone faced. Her eyes scan the screen once, twice, and a third time before you lose your patience and demanding a response. 

She gives you what you ask for in the form of a direct see-it-for-yourself answer, plucking the phone from Momo’s giggling hand and turning it towards your suspicious eyes. 

‘Speak of the fucking devil’ is right. 

Illuminating Yaomomo’s phone screen is a selfie of your pretty hero standing with his bare hip against your bathroom counter. His phone snapped a photo of his reflection in your large circular mirror, the remarkable design of said mirror caging his reflected form with a mossy growth that framed the glass. The steam on the glass had been mostly wiped away by his palms, which were at the time resting on his phone and the counter accordingly.

The picture, you conclude, was taken the other night. The night that you sent him off to go bathe, the night that he looked guilty and nervous about something— something you couldn’t put your finger on. It’s been three days since that night, and he had to have been sitting on the photo ever since. Watching, waiting, debating. Deciding if he would fuck with the fates in this way, if he would post this risqué little picture and throw you to the wolves with the heavily hinted gossip that you fucked him at your house. 

He was clearly naked in the photo, skin still distractingly wet and flushed from scrubbing, as his hair hung lower than usual over those slanted eyes. The bulge of his bicep that supported his weight against the counter, allowing him to lean forward slightly, was tempting and teasing. He was tempting and teasing, expression sultry and sated as if he had just gotten fucked good. Which he did, and everyone knew it. 

And that fact wasn’t hard to tell from the photo. A damp towel hung around his shoulders and pooled down either side of his chest, shielding the few bites and hickeys that you left speckled on his pecs and neck, but one mark in particular stood out proud and in full view of the camera; the love-bite you so graciously lavished just above his v-line. It was unmistakably a bruise of passion, accompanied by the indent of a bite mark in the shape of your teeth, bright red and clearly fresh in its placement. 

His happy trail disappeared behind the bathroom counter which cut off the rest of his body from view, but the implication was there. The promise of his hanging cock, his further marked up thighs, breathed desire and vulgarity into the picture. This was a sexy photo, a photo taken with perverted intent, something filthy and dirty-minded on purpose.

And Ground Zero, famous hero and thoroughly desired bachelor of japan, posted it on fucking Instagram. 

The caption, the irritating, vexing little caption, read simple. A singular old fashioned smiley face, written out with a colon and parenthesis. 

Unsurprisingly, it caused an outburst.

As you and your girls were busy catching up and doing face masks, munching on snacks with mouths full of salty treats and tattle, Bakugou had posted his sneakily planned semi-nude. Three hours had passed since he first uploaded the picture, but none of you noticed as you weren’t online at the time. As if it would even matter. Although you hadn’t seen the post, replied or liked or commented on anything, your social accounts blew up with a buzz of scandalized chatter. 

Though your social media presence was already huge and adoring, a wave of new followers and commenters washed over your profiles. After having snatched your muted phone from Jirou’s kitchen counter, your mouth gapes at the influx of excitement and interrogation from your fans, peers, and his fans alike. 

A few messages from your friends catch your immediate attention. 

07:23
Midoriya:3
????? are you dating Kacchan???
why didn’t you guys tell me??????? ☹️☹️

07:26
Midoriya:3
um or are you two just casual
like 
you know when people 
like 
hook up 

07:32
Midoriya:3
sorry is that inappropriate to ask😞
i’m sorry! nevermind! but pls tell me!!

08:05
Todoroki
That’s your bathroom right

09:12
Toshi<3
You’re fucked
LMAOO
Denki says hi 
Denki also says you really did a number on him huh
LMFAOOOO

Fuckers. 

The most recent message you received has your heart swooping in nervous apprehension as you read it over. The contact is from someone you don’t get many, if any, messages from— aside from the casual birthday wishes, extremely rare photos of some stray cat he saw on patrol, or a dry congratulation for a recent accomplishment of your career. 

09:45
MR AIZAWA lol
Call me. And don’t go outside by yourself right now. Where are you? 

Hitoshi is right, yet again, though you’re agitated to admit it. You’re so fucked. 

Pop culture and hero forum articles, like the one Momo had been losing her mind over with laughter, spread like the plague with titles such as ‘Pro Hero Ground Zero Posts the Most Revealing Photo of Himself Yet— Fans Are Ecstatic.’ and ‘Ground Zero Posts Selfie from Famous Writer’s Bathroom.’ or ‘Are Flashy Katsuki Bakugou and Brilliant Young Author an Item?’

And, your personal favorite, ‘Pro Hero Posts Nude Photo Showing Off Obscene Hickey— What Has Hero Society Come To?’ 

His picture is torn to shreds by the media as they pick apart each and every detail pertaining to the speculation like vultures to a carrion; his cheeky little smirk, his lips pink and swollen from putting his mouth to use on your cunt for so long, the prominent indent of your nails left on the swell of his forearm. 

Comparisons to a months-old photo pinned to the top of your own Instagram, a semi-nude in the same fashion, is plastered upon each article beside his selfie. 

Your picture is less revealing, as most of the fog was left on the mirror to blur your naked body, but the resemblance is too incriminating to possibly ignore. The moss growing along the edge of the mirror, varying plants hanging and resting within view, your espresso wood shelf containing a litany of specific bath oils and soaps, the knickknacks and crystals decorating your space.. 

There’s no denying it, not even a sliver of possibility at conjuring up some perfectly crafted PR team lie. The pictures were taken in the same exact bathroom, the state of his photographed body screams ‘Just Got Fucked’, and anyone with a functioning brain could put two and two together. 

And the world went wild with the revelation. 

“I guess he beat you to the punch on staking claim..” Momo, freshly plied with needed breath after her fit of laughter, brings your attention away from the ticking bomb that is your phone. 

“…”

“He basically just pissed on you. Like a dog. He pissed on his territory like a dog.” Jirou continues as she taps away at her own phone, cut and dry. 

“…”

Jirou and Momo both stifle a fresh bout of laughter at your dull face, though their twin cheshire smiles shine bright with obvious tickling thoughts. 

You take a deep breath, holding your lungs still for a count of twenty, and sigh long and slow through your nose. One of your fingers twitch along the side of your phone, which you promptly shut off with a click. The screen rests black and blank in your lap, flashing on and off with each new swarm of notifications. 

“I need to make a phone call.” 

Aizawa picks up on the third ring, voice tired and crackling through the speaker that you held close to your ear, “Kid.” 

Your answering greeting was much less crisp and assertive, coated in nerves. 

“Heyyy Mr. Aizawa.. Haha..” Though he can’t see you, the sound of your palm slapping against your eyes in a dramatic drag of skin can be heard through the cell connection. 

“Where are you?” 

“Um, I’m at Jirou and Momo’s.”

You had excused yourself to the guest room of your friends’ house for the sake of privacy, even if you knew Jirou would be unashamed in her nosy ways and listen through the walls with her earphone jack. As long as they can’t study your pinched face and tense body as you talk to Toshi’s mentor, their former teacher, you don’t really care what they hear. 

“Good. That’s good,” His familiar sigh rattles through your listening ear, and you’re briefly reminded of the features of his sleepy face. “You’re safe.” 

“..Would I not be safe?” 

“It’s a possibility. Not all buzz is good buzz. There’s a lot of sick people waiting around for an opening, any opening, to challenge a Pro.” 

“Oh.” You answer dumbly. 

“Yeah, oh. What are you two doing?” He’s exasperated in his question, provoking your defenses to raise. 

“I didn’t do shit!” 

“You clearly did something.” 

“Oh my god, I am not talking about this with you,” You groan and plop down onto the expensive guest bed, bouncing your knee from its resting place against the mattress.

“I’m not even asking about that. What are you doing?” 

“I don’t.. Understand your question.”

He’s just as vague and veiled with his answers as usual, “This is dangerous. You’ve both just thrown yourself into the eye of a storm for the sake of petty media disputes.” 

“Um, no! He threw me! I didn’t even know he took that picture!” 

Aizawa pauses over the phone and you take the time to huff a sigh, picking at your crumbling face mask. So faintly that you think you’re imagining it, the sound of mischievous whispers waft from the other side of the door to the guest room. 

“..You didn’t know? You didn’t both agree to this?”

“Nope.” He grumbles under his breath at your admittance, loud enough for you to pick up on it. “Yeah, that’s what I said! Like, this fucking guy, he just—“

“Are you even dating?” 

“Uh.. No— Well, not really. But, it’s like—“ 

“Stop. I don’t want to know. Don’t even know why I asked.” 

He’s so pissy. 

“Aw, come on Aizawa, I didn’t mean to do.. whatever I just did to myself, I guess. Don’t be moody.” 

He swiftly ignores your weak pleading. 

“Don’t go walking alone at night, or in secluded places. At least until the talk dies down. You need to stay vigilant and unassuming. Anything could happen.” 

“I can protect myself,” You assure with sincerity, words soft and persuasive. 

“I know you can, troublemaker. I’m not saying you can’t,” Aizawa’s voice ebbs away from its strict harshness, taking on the patient firmness of parental guidance. “Still. You need to be careful and safe. Don’t feel afraid to call if you’re in danger. I’ll come get you.” 

“Okay.. I promise. Thanks Aizawa, really.” 

“Yeah yeah. Now. I’m going to get a hold of your idiot boyfriend.” 

“He’s not really my boyfriend—“ 

The click and following humming sound of him hanging up cuts you off halfway through your sentence, though you almost think you hear another frustrated sigh blow through the speaker before the line cuts out. 

Poor Aizawa, teaching and guiding the biggest class of infamous danger-attracting students yet, even after his kids graduate. Though, technically, you were never really his student. Still, you were around enough to warrant the protective streak in the Underground Pro to take hold of you. 

The sentiment is sweet. 

It would’ve been sweeter if you weren’t so pissed at Ground fucking Zero.

Chapter Text

“This can go one of two ways, Chiquita.” Her voice is sweet in your ears, honey crisp and no-nonsense. “Both ways could lead you to a pile of shit. So listen closely.”

You can almost picture your agent’s frowning eyebrows as she says this, her jet black hair woven with strands of silver bouncing along with her movements. The stout woman had been up since the early hours of the day, poor dear, scheming and watching and… waiting. Waiting for something to give, for the tipping of the scales. Waiting to see how the world would deal with your newfound rumor, the reveal of a skeleton from your closet. 

You’ve had more phone call conversations within the last twenty-four hours to run you dry of six weeks worth of energy from your social battery. Prying family, though you didn’t have much of it, and a million friends popping out of the dirt like daisies. Some of which you hadn’t spoken to in months. They were all lured in with the juicy gossip that now trails your image; a stubborn shadow sewn to your ankles, waving and taunting. A flag blowing in an ill wind, pitched high on a flagpole. Your fucking flagpole. 

This phone call though, this conversation with your agent, is absolutely necessary. Even if it’s making you want to claw your eyeballs out and ship the gory mess to Katsuki’s apartment, delicately padded with bubble wrap, tied to perfection with a velvet ribbon. 

“I’m listening, Jennie. Shoot.” 

“On one hand, you can confirm everything. Professionally, or in that silly little way you do… Teasing and making light of the situation. Comment on his dumbass post, or— Ay, I don’t know girl, the Twitter thing. Stuff you kids do.” 

You fight the urge to snort at her stammering and firmly nod in a show of professionalism, though she can’t see you through the phone’s speaker. 

“Alright, Twitter thing. Got it. What’s the other option?”

“You can just.. ignore the whole mess. But there’s no denying that you had sex with the man, and everyone has already come to their own conclusions.” She pitches her voice lower on the phrase had sex as if speaking of something particularly damning. 

“Mm.”

“Right. The issue with that course of action is that you’ll look too suspicious— like you didn’t want this to come out in the first place, or you and Mr. Ground Zero are having some couple’s quarrel. Trouble in paradise.” 

“Mm.” 

“...Right. I say you take it in stride, as you’ve always done, and put on a brave face.” Jennie sighs through the line, and the sound of a knife on a cutting board rings through the air. She’s cooking as she talks, soothing herself. 

“It’s your best bet at saving your name from being dragged through the mud. If the media senses any tension from you or your hero, they’ll pick you apart until there’s nothing left.”

 “…Yeah, I know. I’m sorry Jennie.” 

“It’s not your fault girly, you didn’t know. It’s that dumbass man’s fault! Who does he think he is, huh? I’ll kick his ass for you, Chiquita, you know I will.” 

You don’t hide your snort this time, laughing bright and clear at her plucky irritation towards the incredibly menacing Katsuki Bakugou. 

Jennie has strived towards her goal of bringing you to further success, working the hours and finding the patience to scout for the absolute best publishing deals, editorial agreements, marketing, et cetera. 

No one wanted to take a chance on her in Japan, no young talent in need of an agent… Or, at least, an agent that looked like her. Her sudden move from America was unplanned and hectic, and when she arrived in Japan, she barely spoke the language. Japanese came tumbling from her lips lumpy and disfigured, chewed and half swallowed. If finding work in Japan for a foreigner was hard, finding work within her career of choice of talent management was even more difficult. 

Your first meeting with the agent was a work of fate, and you instantly adored the firecracker of a woman; her familiar sepia brown skin and lilting accent, her plump arms dotted with beauty marks. She felt like a piece of America, like your home, like the sweet mothers of the friends you had gone to elementary school with. You hired her on site with an excited hug. 

She’s been latched onto you ever since, protective and nurturing, guiding you towards domination in your field of work. The two of you were a perfect fit, a force. Strong women, independent of a husband and kids, fighting tooth and nail to make it out of the gutter on their own. 

And boy, did Jennie fight. 

“I know you will, Jennie. Don’t worry about him,” You pause and take a deep breath, head spinning with imagined possibilities. “I’ll be dealing with him tonight.” 

“Ew! Don’t tell me that, girl! I don’t want to know!”

“What? Wait, no! Not like that! I meant that I’ll—“

“Wait, actually, what are you going to do with him? And how did you even meet the guy? I’m chismosa, I need an answer, honey. A long answer.” 

That was a burning question eating at you all night and all morning, followed by a million other such questions. What are you going to do? What are you going to say? How are you going to win this battle of wits and defamation? 

You’ll have to think about it. About him. You’ll let the situation fester like a sore on your side, and you won’t pick at the wound. You’ll exhibit composed restraint and endless patience. 

In the meantime, you spill your guts to Jennie over the lengthy phone call with a steaming cup of tea. The liquid is so hot that it singes your tongue and throat as you take eager gulps, but the slight pain eases the clawing feeling wrecking your guts.

Your visit with Jirou and Momo last night was fun and bright, giggling girl-talk, but sometimes you need the firm guidance of a motherly figure. Jennie listens with rapt attention, without judgment or criticism, and provides you with wisdom that you’d only hope to hold when you’re old and gray. 

She soothes you into the tranquil sense of control that you’re used to exhibiting, reverts you back to your state of prowess and confidence. 

With the twitch in your fingers remedied and the anxiety swarming your chest left to dry up under the sun, to evaporate and exit your body with ease, you take time to think. To truly think, to dig deep and ponder the outcome Katsuki was hoping for when he posted his little semi-nude for the world to see.

Truthfully, you came up short of any real answer that would satisfy your craving for the full, unadulterated truth. 

But that’s alright. If you couldn’t unveil his desired outcome on your own, you could for damn sure draft an idea of his motives.  

You know the workings of a man, of many men, within an hour of knowing him. Not because you fuck them, but because you study them. You study everything, the blades of grass at your feet, the taste of burnt pie crust on your tongue, the sound of a father’s anger rivaling a car horn, the fur of a stray cat purring beneath scratching fingers. And you study men. Men and women alike. It was necessary, you are an author after all. To be an author is to be the utmost watcher there can be, to be a woman in a window peeking through her blinds, a fly on a wall rubbing its grubby hands together. 

And, although you didn’t need to fuck a man to pick him apart and reduce him to his barest of bones, fucking Katsuki was a plus. Your time spent with him, though not long enough to claim you know him like the back of your hand, still provides tender information to piece together and pin to a cork board in your mind. 

Katsuki is a jealous man. This much is true, no matter how adamantly he denied it when you implied he might be jealous of men lusting over you. He’s a terrible liar. The scrunch of his eyes as he spoke the lie gave him away instantly, as if he himself was confused on why he lied in the first place. 

I don’t get jealous your ass. If the incredibly long and tiring conversations you’ve had with Midoriya are anything to go by, you know that this man breathes jealousy and self-pity. He’s grown a lot, sure, but the cattle never forgets the ranch. Somewhere, deep down, jealousy stirs within him. 

Another fact that replays itself over and over and over in your head is that you rejected his kiss. You weren’t mean or mocking when doing so, and the moment the two of you shared afterward was still sweet and fueled with emotion, but that doesn’t erase the fact that you didn’t allow him to kiss you. 

Still… He took that picture before your rejection, not after. He was fresh from the shower, flushed from a night of passion, when he snapped the photo.

Then, it took him three whole days to actually post the picture. As if he had to work up the nerve (because he knew it would start shit), and when he did post it, he was strangely quiet. He didn’t reach out to you over text or phone call, he didn’t try to address the elephant in the room, he didn’t even comment on or address any budding rumors that began to circle the internet. 

As you scroll through his social media posts, which are very few and far between, you mentally log every selfie he’s posted within the last few years. None of them, not even the post-workout pictures, are as revealing or sexually charged as the one he posted yesterday. 

You think back to Jirou and her laughing eyes, the blunt tone of her voice as she addressed you. He basically just pissed on you. Like a dog. He pissed on his territory like a dog.

Huh. Though it was a dry joke, spoken absentmindedly with mirth, it was grimy with filthy truth. Katsuki Bakugou was claiming you as his. His what exactly, you weren’t sure, but his nonetheless. He knows of his reputation and the intimidation that drips from his name alone. He knows that you don’t stick around for long, that you're promiscuous and free-spirited, that you could have a new man in your lap by tomorrow. He knew what he had to do to stake his claim. 

And now, you know what you have to do to put him in his place. 

The phone rings on and on in your impatient hands, buzzing with the outgoing call. Your life has been made of phone calls within the past cluster of hours. It’s starting to piss you off. This will be your last phone call of the day, you’re sure of it. 

If the fucker even answers his phone. 

On the fifth ring, you’re on your way to press the hang up button and call it a day, but he swoops in just before your thumb can make contact with the red circle on your screen. 

There’s a bit of excitement sounding from the line, the hustle and bustle of a street crowded with people. “Hey.” 

Hey. Hey, he says. Fucking Katsuki. 

You don’t bother to return his stupid greeting. “Meet me at my place in thirty minutes.” 

“What?” There’s some squealing in the background, someone bright and chirpy about seeing Ground Zero making his rounds in public. 

He grunts a reply to the fan and keeps on, the sound of his jostling movements telling you that he’s speed walking to escape the crowd. “Can’t right now, I’m on patrol.” 

“Okay,” You hum with an air of nonchalance, “I don’t really give a fuck. Come over in thirty.” 

Katsuki barks a surprised laugh, as though you’re joking with him. “I can’t just leave. I’m scheduled to be stationed here ‘til 6pm.” 

“You can and you will, actually.” 

There’s a pause from the other line. It lasts frustratingly long, long enough for you to huff a peeved sigh.  

“Say that something came up, something important. And ask someone to cover for you.”

“And what exactly’s so important that I have to skip out on my shift?” 

“Me. Get your ass over here, Katsuki.” 

He groans short and deep, as though he’s being tormented with your demands. “Fucking hell, woman. You’re crazy.” 

You don’t grace him with the easing tension of a taunt or tease, strictly silent and waiting. He’s somewhere secluded now, the only sounds resonating through the phone being the steps of his heavy boots making contact with the pavement— And, a sudden gulp from his throat. It’s so quiet, so repressed, that your ears almost don’t pick up on it. 

“Did you forget that this is my job we’re talking about?” 

You feel your eye twitch. The nerve of this man is slowly eating at you like an army of ants to a spoon of sugar. 

Your next reply is stuffed to the brim with sarcasm and spite. “Oh, are we suddenly concerned with the effects our actions will have on our careers, Ground Zero?” 

“…Goddamnit.” He mutters with a sigh of defeat.

“What was that?”

“I'll see you in thirty” 

When he arrives at your home, five minutes early, you’re blissfully relaxed within the steamy water of your deep bathtub. The soak is spiked with bath salts, taking on the pleasing calm fragrance of eucalyptus oils and jasmine flowers. Your hair is tied up and away from your face, sitting high and messy near the top of your head. 

A hesitant rap of knocking sounds from your living space, the heft of the pounding a result of Katsuki’s heavy hands. You don’t speak, nor move to get up and open the door yourself. Instead, you connect with the long arm of a Pothos plant that rests near the front door frame, guiding its vines to wrap carefully around the door handle and open it with a click. 

The foliage pulls the door open slowly, and the sight is likely unnerving, which you intend. You want him on edge and aroused, nervous and incredibly needy. If he wanted to play games, you could play games. You could outmatch him. 

Greeted by only air and the creatures that your plants have become, Katsuki falters in his movements as the door creeps open. The lush greenery of your home waves and dances at the sight of him, happy happy happy, and he reaches out to pet a few stretching leaves with some reluctance. 

“Where’s your mommy, huh? Where’s she hiding?” He mutters around a sigh, quiet with his approaching footsteps.

The plants, excited to be addressed directly, raise their arms and bulbs and leaves and blooms— to point him in the direction of your master bathroom. When he focuses hard enough, he can hear the smooth sound of a body of water sloshing around with movement. The Pothos that let him in closes your front door with a slow glide of limbs, retreating back to its pot with a rustle of roots and stems. 

“I’m in here, Kat,” Your sultry voice drifts through the open space, luring him further into your meticulously crafted web. 

You’re stark naked in the foggy bathroom when he enters, hot water pooling around your body and making the ripples reflect your submerged form as something wavy and winding. Your breasts aren’t engulfed in the tub, they rest just above the waterline and gently rise with each intake of breath. Leaning against the tiles, you turn your head to blink at the hero who stands frozen in your bathroom doorway, curling your lips into a smile too-sweet to be sincere.

Katsuki’s breath hitches in his throat, strong body as stiff and unmoving as a deer in headlights.

He looks good, you think, all tensed and grimy from battle. He’s not wounded or roughened up, but a light sheen of sweat shines on the muscles of his neck and arms. There’s black smudging around his lidded eyes and just over the bridge of his nose, though he’s removed his mask to meet with you. How touching. His Hero costume is dark yet striking with the touches of orange that line him here and there, and the skin-tight material hugging his chest and the ridges of his stomach sends a flash of heat through your core. 

“You.. needed to see me?” His words get caught in his throat for a second, but he quickly recovers with a deep inhale. 

He’s still standing awkward and firm in the doorway, one of those veined hands clenching around the wooden structure for stability. 

“Yes. Sit.” 

He follows your order without so much as a frown, his face carefully clear and free of its typical scowl. Still, he’s nervous, anticipating some bitter end. You can tell in the stiff way he walks, that usual confident stride bleeding away from his body to leave him floundering. He sits on the closed lid of your toilet seat, facing you with bated breath. 

“Good boy. Do you know why you’re here?” You hold eye contact with him for a stretching moment of time, that saccharine smile ebbing away from your face. 

“…No. I—“

“Don’t lie to me.” Your words are sharp and cutting. 

“I’m… not.” Katsuki’s voice is hoarse with the false claim, Adam’s apple bobbing.

“Hm.” 

“…I’m here because of the picture, right?” 

“Now why couldn’t you just say that in the first place?” Your voice sways with a teasing reprimand, eyes gliding along his body as you unashamedly check him out. “Such a shame. What am I to do with you?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know,” He groans and brings his calloused fingers up to rub at the sooty mess around his eyes. His hands and forearms are bare from their usual gear, thinly coated with sweat as is the rest of his body. “You’re being weird. S’ making me antsy.” 

“I’m being weird? Katsuki, what the fuck were you thinking posting that? That’s not fucking weird to you?” 

“I don’t know! I just posted it. I wasn’t thinking shit.” His tone is frustrated and rising in volume, matching your combative bait. 

“Clearly.” You sigh as though bored, picking up a washcloth and saturating it in liquid soap. 

The cloth is slightly rough on the skin with an intention of exfoliating, but it soothes your own twitching antsiness. You’re practically buzzing with the need to break him down and leaving him begging for mercy, it’s a dangerous, indulgent feeling. You’re trying to give him some time to persuade a less harsh outcome, easing that need with a thorough scrubbing of your body. He’s not making it easy.

Katsuki watches you bathe with unwavering attention, cheeks ruddy with his own desires shining through on his face. His scowl has returned to its rightful place, tugging at his brows and sharpening the cut of his eyes, as though he’s upset with himself for enjoying the view as much as he does. Your hand rubs the rag over your arms in gentle circles, creating tempting suds of soap on soft skin, and you delight in the light sound of his hands fidgeting against the material of his pants. 

“You’re mad at me.” He huffs after a moment, dragging his eyes away from your sensual display of soapy skin caressed under the pressure of your own fingers. 

“I don't know. Am I mad at you?” 

“You fuckin’ tell me.” 

“Ask nicely.” 

The frustrated growl that rattles through his teeth pisses you off enough to make you focus your eyes back on him with a stern glare, a frown darkening your features. His shoulders straighten from their previous moody slouch. 

“Fine, fuck. Are you mad at me?” 

“Yes, I am.” 

“Why’s that?” The hero’s voice drops a pitch lower, eyes tentative on your hands as they resume washing over your skin. 

He's still simmering with miffed defiance, but his face falters at your softening gaze. He likes being good, likes the way you treat him when he's good for you. That much is evident by the slow-growing bulge in his pants. 

To reward his obedience, you glide the wash rag over your upper arms until you reach your chest, making a show of getting your breasts wet with water and soapy residue. From the corner of your eye, you see Katsuki’s hands clench down hard and punishing with their grip on his thighs. 

“You threw me to the wolves when you posted that. There’s no way in hell you didn’t know of the outburst that would come from it.” 

“Didn’t mean to.”

“Hm. What exactly did you mean to happen, Hero? Were you that needy for attention?” 

“No.” He glowers, voice sour and biting as a feral cat. “‘m not needy.” 

The mocking laugh you reply with is cruel and drawn out, spilling from your lips to call bullshit on what he just said. A vein in his neck thrums under pulsing skin. He’s pissed, you’re pissed, it’s a fucking pissing match.

“Fuck off. I'm not needy for attention. That’s not why I did it.” 

There it is. The crack in the pavement, the glow of yellow flashing from a distant pot of gold. You’re close, so close, to getting a proper confession out of him. 

“Why did you do it, then?”

Before he can spew a reply, you cup a hand beneath one of your breasts and lift the flesh gently, slightly raising the mound for better access. Your other hand presses the washcloth to your hard nipple and circles it with tender care, the sensitive skin flushing under such attention. 

Though he attempts to conceal it, though he bites down on his inner cheek with such force that he may bleed, the exhale he releases to the sight of you is tainted with a whine. It’s quiet, so quiet and deep in his gorgeous throat that you almost pass it off as a hopeful trick of your ears, but the way he clenches his jaw after the sound leaves him is telling. He’s high strung and aroused, his body so crowbar stiff that he almost looks to be in pain. Exactly as you want him. 

“Well?” You glare expectantly, releasing one breast to give the other a matching treatment. 

“…I don’t know. I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to piss you off, really.” He's groveling as best as he can without losing his grasp of dignity, knee bouncing with restless movement from its resting place. 

This must be torture for your poor boy, teased to all hell with the sight of your naked body so warm and ready for him, yet denied by guilt and the obvious thick tension of your disapproval lingering on his shoulders. Good for his sorry ass. 

“How can you be sorry while lying to me about not knowing why you did it?” 

“You’re killing me. You’re actually fucking killing me,” Katsuki rakes a sweaty hand through his hair, tugging at the roots near his nape to ground himself. 

“Why did you do it, Katsuki? I’m running out of patience.” 

There’s only a short beat of silence before his answer leaves his mouth in an aggravated flow of words. 

“‘Cause I wanted everyone to know. I needed it, felt like I was going fuckin’ crazy—“

“Wanted everyone to know what?” You cut him off, swift and mean, voice tilting towards bitterness. 

Getting a straight answer out of this stubborn man is like pulling fucking teeth. All the sweeter when he finally, finally, gives in. 

“I wanted everyone to know that you’re mine. That I share your bed and make you feel good. Just me, no one else.” His words are rough and pitched with something possessive, something clutching and clawing and helpless.

Hook, like, and sinker. 

“That’s where you’re wrong, baby.” You don’t falter or flush at his confession, having already worked out the whole scenario in your head hours prior. “If anything, you’re mine. And you don’t get to throw your weight around just because I’m fucking you. You got me into a lot of shit with that little stunt you pulled. Not everyone can sleep easy at night with the threat of certain attention on them.” 

Your words carry a weight with them that has Katsuki slumping in on himself again, the pissy look on his face filling with emotions you can’t place. 

“It’s not like we went public at some PR event or did things with even a semblance of class. This whole… thing between us came out messily and sparked a scandal that I can’t pull back from. You’re not the only one with a public reputation to uphold, Katsuki. And I’m not your little civilian girlfriend.” 

“Well I never fucking said you were.” 

“You didn’t say anything. But you sure did fucking act like it.”

There’s a silence between you two, a negatively charged pause, and the sound of your arms moving through the water to resume washing your body is made ten times louder with the absence of heated conversation. 

You don’t allow yourself to feel guilty or regretful for your choice of words. What’s done is done and he should feel shitty. At least, for now. For now, he needs to be knocked down a peg before he flies too close to the sun and plummets under melting wings. After you’ve punished his little fit of misplaced possession, you’ll reward him for talking it so well. It won’t be long before you’re pleasing his pretty body under a greedy tongue, eager to fuck the tension out of him. 

Once you’ve finished scrubbing at the length of your legs in heady silence, a good stretch of thoughts and peering eyes keeping Katsuki busy, he approaches you. Agile and calculated with his ascent towards you, he moves without rush as though he’s giving you the chance to reject his advances. 

He sits sideways, leaning against the ledge of your tub, as close as he can get without submerging himself in your bath water. His mouth is slightly pouty with a press of lips that you’re sure he isn’t aware he’s making, and he reaches a hand out to you with slow caution, forfeiting the argument. His forearm rests against the side of the tub, palm facing up with a slight wiggle of fingers beckoning you to hold his hand. 

“I’m sorry. Really, I— …Let me make it up to you.” His words are soft and raspy leaving his tight throat, eyes fierce on your own with a stubbornness to please you. 

Your hardened exterior softens at his sincerity, soothing your body further into the water. You hadn’t realized, but through the expanse of your conversation and the following piercing silence, you had gone rigid. A fond sigh tinged with lingering irritation escapes your chest before you can reel it back in, and you're sliding a wet hand to clasp at his own. You won, clear as day. No need to keep the match going. 

Still, your tone is clipped when you reply, tiptoeing the edge of annoyance. “There’s a spare bathroom along the hall near the kitchen. Take a shower and meet me back here. I’ll refill the tub with fresh water.”

“You mean— you want me in the bath with you? Right now?” 

“If you don’t take your sweet ass time showering, yeah, I do. You don’t want to?” 

“No,” He breathes with an eager clutch of your hand, squeezing your palm within his grasp. His voice is deep and rumbling with the pleased purr of a milk-drunk cat. “…No. I want to. I'll be quick.” 

“Good,” You hum and bring his offered hand to your lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles, the skin there thick and toughened from battle. Katsuki’s jaw drops ever so slightly before he has the decency to clench his mouth shut. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

Freshly showered and still riddled with anticipating tension, Katsuki returns to your personal bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist. He’s bare besides the fluffy towel, hair wet and trailing drops of water down his sculpted back. You allow your eyes to rake over his exposed skin from your place in the tub, a fresh bout of steam rising from the water. 

Spiked with moisturizing bath oils instead of the previous soaps and salts, the refilled water scents the air pleasantly, enticing the man to join you. 

Your fingers have gone prune-y with your time spent all sodden and dripping, but you welcome Katsuki with open arms and spread thighs, pleased to further lounge in the water as long as he’s lounging with you. 

“Shouldn’t I sit behind you? I’m bigger.” He raises a singular groomed eyebrow with the question, a hand clutching his towel close to his body. 

“No,” You smooth your own hand along your inner thigh below the water, a swirling blob of motion beneath the surface that Katsuki has to strain to see. “I want you right here.” 

He doesn’t reply directly, but the way his eyes flicker down for a moment, just a moment, speaks of his docile agreement to your desires. The towel drops with a rumple of cloth and in an instance he's bare and ravishing standing before you, cock half-hard between his well built thighs, chest blushing pink with heat. Your legs spread a bit more to accommodate his size as he takes purchase in front of you, but the bathtub is grand enough to fit your slotted bodies with ease. 

“Relax, baby,” Your words are soft and sweet on the shell of his left ear as you gently tug him towards your chest, unrelenting with your guidance until his back is flush with your chest and stomach, the plump fat of your breasts squishing against his taut muscles. 

“This is fuckin’ embarrassing.” Katsuki grumbles through an exhale, allowing you to maneuver him as you please. 

He’s stiff and reluctant in the heated water and your tender embrace, but he’s trying. You appreciate that. You chewed him out only a handful of minutes before, he’s likely still nervous to piss you off further; and you don’t blame him. You were a bit mean… Only a bit. 

“Why?” Your lips press to his neck in a trail of open-mouthed kisses, traveling along his shoulder blade with teasing nips at his skin. “It’s not like I made you sit on my lap.” 

“No, just between your legs like some little sex doll.” 

“Don’t think I’d be giving this kind of attention to a sex doll,” Your hand is taking hold of his cock beneath the water before you finish speaking, gripping firm around the base. 

He moans with an air of irritation, though your touch on his length is so sudden that he doesn’t have enough time to try and conceal that breathy sound. His cock is twitching and firm within your wandering hand, made even more delightfully sensitive with the surrounding hot water. Taking your time, you trail your fingers beneath the base of his length to cup his balls, rolling them in your palm and grinning at his answering low whine. 

It’s a sound you’ll never get used to, made deep and raspy with his voice but oh-so sweet and tempting, hot on your ears and lingering beneath your skin. 

“Fuck,” Katsuki pants, his body easing away from the tensed locked posture it had taken on before you started feeling him up. “Thought you were mad at me?” 

“Mad at you. Not your dick. I’m quite fond of it, actually.” Your words are pressed to the crook of his neck while you suck on the skin there, laving your tongue over the forming marks. 

“You’re—“ His amused chuckle gets cut off by a sharp moan sounding from his throat, and he whips his head down to glare at your offending fingertips that are suddenly pinching at his nipple. “Ah, god, you’re the worst.” 

“Poor baby, getting your sensitive nipples played with.” 

“Don’t fucking say it like that, you damn pervert.” 

You don’t reply, pinching at his nipple again with a pleased hum and a squeeze of his cock from your other hand. You’re stroking him beneath the water now, hand moving at a leisurely pace that has his hips lightly thrusting into the grip to seek out more pleasure. Katsuki’s still watching the way your fingers tease and roll the bud of his nipple around, breath quickened and doused with whiny moans that spill need from his lips. 

“You should get these pierced, Kat,” To make a point, you squeeze at his other untouched nipple with your dull nails to supply a biting pain. 

“Shit, ow, fuck—“ Despite the pain, his chest presses up into your exploring hand and stinging nails, presenting himself to your punishing touch. “Can’t— can’t get ‘em pierced… I‘m too sensitive—“ 

“I think you can take it. You would look so pretty for me, wearing cute little nipple rings.” 

Katsuki, pain-drunk and thrown for a loop with the added pleasure of your hand gliding up and down his length, loses focus of the conversation entirely. 

“Ah, fuck, it hurts…” Though he’s groaning and squirming under the aching treatment of his nipples, his cock throbs in your hand, endlessly aroused and climbing towards his release. 

You cease your stroking and begin to circle your thumb over his flushed tip, adding the perfect amount of pressure to the slit opening of his cock each time you pass over it. “Aw, baby. You don’t like it?” 

Katsuki bites down on his bottom lip to muffle a rough groan, and his head lulls back to rest against your shoulder. He’s slumped against your chest, strong hands squeezing firm and needy at the flesh of your thighs that rest against his hips. The arousing feeling of your perked nipples pressed to his back has him feeling utterly lewd and perverted, raising a flush of red to trail down his shoulders. You’re spurring him on with heated kisses along his now-exposed throat, and a lingering bite to the delicate skin where his jaw meets his neck is enough to have him gasping. 

His plentiful moans and whines are amplified by the echoing space of your bathroom, ricocheting off the tiled walls. He sounds wrecked and desperate, eyes scrunched shut around unspilled tears. For a man so emotionally closed-off, smirking confidence and toughened exterior, tears well easily at any onslaught of pleasure he receives. 

He must realize the mess he makes of himself, because he’s hastily struggling to press his face to the crook of your neck as if trying to hide from his own undoing. 

“Fuckin’ hell, stop— Please, stop, gonna cum—“ 

You feel a rising growth of satisfaction tingling in your gut as the word please tumbles from his lips through a pained whimper, kissing at his skin through a soft laugh. You don’t hide your light laughter from him, squeezing the base of his cock absentmindedly, and you feel his cock twitch pleasantly at the sound of your amusement. He gets off to your cruelness, even if he won’t openly admit it, licking pleasure from your sharp blade and begging for more. 

“I asked you a question, baby,” You ease up enough on the pinching to give him room to actually think, squeezing and groping at the swell of his pecs instead. “Do you like it?” 

The usually stoic man growls his frustration as tears finally spill onto his red cheeks. He’s fighting to align with his conflicting emotions, with the painful pleasure you torture him with. Through the haze of his thoughts, he finds himself wanting your nails back on him. It’s a claim of yours that you gift to him, the bite of your nails leaving crescent moons in his skin, leaving his nipples sore and aching for more. Katsuki wants it, he wants you, he’s made of want and it’s eating at him from the inside. 

“Yeah, yeah I— I like it, feels good. You feel good. I want it…” 

“Didn’t you just tell me to stop?” 

“Dunno what I said, I can’t—“ Your hand below the water rubs at a prominent vein lining the underside of his cock. “Shit, I can't think with you fucking touching me.”

“Do you want me to stop?” 

“Fuck no,” He’s quick to lift a shaky hand and clasp onto your own hand, the one groping at his chest. He holds you to him with fervor, head lifting from your shoulder to pierce you with a stare doused in hunger. “Don’t stop. Please.” 

He’s so cute laying against you, clutching onto you and begging. You decide to make quick work of stringing him along to finishing, eager to hear that sound he makes when he cums. 

Stroking at a pace and pressure that certainly rivals before, your free hand presses flat upon his broad chest to push him further against your soft body. You’re surrounding him, wrapping and clinging, not giving him space to feel anything but you. Since he asked so nicely, you dig your nails into the space of his sternum where a raised scar lays pink and pretty, just firmly enough for him to feel that stinging pain. 

It only takes a few moments of your intense touches and a particularly well-timed bite at his throat before he’s crashing into his orgasm with force. His hips lift on their own, following the guidance of your hand, just enough to raise his groin above the waterline. A whining, broken sound graces your ears as he finally releases into your waiting hand, body shivering through the pulsating high. You’re swift to cup your palm around the tip of his drooling cock and catch the release, feeling the hot cum paint your fingers sticky. 

Sinking into the waves of his numbing pleasure, his hips lower once again to rest below the warm water with a gentle sloshing of liquid. Katsuki pants into your neck and noses along the dip where your earlobe meets your jaw, soothing a few sloppy kisses onto the space there while he shivers away the last buzzing tingles of his orgasm. 

“Katsuki,” You prod gently, raising your soiled hand towards his face. 

His eyes are blissfully closed, but you feel a brow twitch against your skin as he slowly registers that you’re calling out to him. He grunts a reply, some cluster of mumbles that you can’t make out, but you’re patient. Your hand that was pressing into his chest moves to instead cup his jaw and turn it towards your offered hand, your damp fingers decorated with lines of his cum. 

“You made a mess. Be a good boy and clean it up.” 

Katsuki, sated and swarmed with sleepy endorphins, is nothing but obedient. He tilts forward a bit to suck your fingers into his mouth, lapping at the mess with a soft moan. Your ring and middle finger apply light pressure to his working tongue and you can’t help but smirk at the playful biting teeth that greet them. 

Satisfied with the suction and cleansing he provided to your fingers, you pull from his mouth with a careful tug and plant a sweet kiss on his flushed cheek. It’s burning hot beneath your lips, pink and slightly embarrassed in the aftermath of such acts. 

Once he’s regained his breath and some semblance of thought, Katsuki finally speaks. 

“What about you?” The hero asks through a soft murmur, running one of his hands up and down the side of your thigh as a hint that he’s ready for you to use his body to pleasure yourself instead of just him. 

“Don’t worry about me. I’ll fuck you later,” You nip at the piercings running along his ear, delighting in his responding shiver. “Just sit with me, for now.” 

And he does. He stays leaning into your warm chest and plays with your fingers, eyes downcast and heady with feeling. The bath is nice, though it’s lost some heat, and it soothes his aching muscles that had been sore from Hero work and exercise. 

In the serene aftermath of his arousal, you talk him through his relaxation in your arms. You prattle off to him about some editorial arrangements made for the book you’re currently working on, the plot of your previous book (though he’s already read it. Twice. And he won’t tell you that. Ever.), and a planned hangout you’ll be attending tomorrow with some friend of yours. He fights with the burning urge to grill you about which friend it is, where you’re going, what you’re doing… by placing distracting kisses along your fingertips as he listens with taciturn calmness. 

He’s more of a listener than a chatter-box, anyway, and the sound of your smooth voice in his ears leaves him sleepy. 

“You get paid monday. Excited?” Oops. He’d lost track of where you were in the conversation. 

“What?” He questions without bite, confused and snapped back into reality. “I don’t get paid monday. What made you think that?”

“Paid by me, hero. You get my paycheck.” 

“Oh,” His head rises from its previous resting place on your shoulder, and his eyes which were heavy-lidded are now bright with wakefulness. “…Yeah, I’m— yeah.” 

You can’t mask the slow suspicion creeping into your tone. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He hums listlessly, placing your hand on his lap. He’s still holding you, calloused thumb rubbing over the back of your inner wrist, but he won’t meet your questioning eyes. 

“…That’s it?” 

“Did you want me to do a fucking backflip?”  

“I don't know, I thought maybe you would be more excited about making a living by having awesome sex with me.” 

“Who said the sex is awesome?” His gruff voice is laced with a joking tease, dry and sarcastic, though his face seems to hide inner conflict. 

You smack his bicep with a frown, and the sound of the hit is made louder due to your wet skin. He doesn’t flinch, only snorts at your attempt. “You did when you were moaning my name in the bathtub, fucking brat.” 

“Hm. That’s funny,” He starts, and you can sense the following mischief he’s going to spark by the grin that stretches his lips. His canines are sharp and gleaming within his pretty mouth. “Said a lot of things. Don’t remember saying awesome.”  

“Oh, fuck you. Grab me a towel.” 

Your fingers glide along the keyboard with a series of short taps, only to pound on the delete button a second later, erasing your line of text. You’re usually not so careful and planned with what you post, but this is different. This is damage control. You’ve... never had to do damage control before. 

Everything that you’ve ever said or posted online still has your full backed-up approval. You’re not a pussy, and you’re not wishy-washy on your beliefs. Even the things you’ve said that people had caused a ruckus about were never addressed by you with fucking damage control. If anything, you fueled the fire with quips and comments, thrilled by the sparking controversy. You always won, in the end. 

This time, though, you’re not so sure. Katsuki’s suggestive picture didn’t completely sink your ship or demand any serious actions, but it did require a careful approach. His fans are devoted, madly in love with him, and fucking crazy at times. 

Aizawa’s omen of danger rings through your head, bouncing from wall to wall as it plagues your mind. It won’t just be Ground Zero’s fans that may be out for blood. Lurking villains linger in the dark corners of the world, itching for an opening, and though you hate to admit it, Aizawa is right. As per fucking usual. 

The uncomfortable spotlight already shines on you with Hitoshi as a best friend, and old pictures of you as a teenager hanging around Heroes were spread to the public before anyone had the mind to delete them. Since going Pro, your friends haven’t risked your safety or privacy by posting pictures of you with them. No one alludes to how close you actually are with the Heroes, and you appreciated the act of protection. 

Even still, if they did show off that you were friends, it’s not as bad as being lovers. The world doesn’t know of your financial arrangement with the Explosion Hero, but they can come up with conclusions on their own. That much is obvious, going off of headlining articles alone. To an outside eye, you're his doting girlfriend, and he’s clearly smitten and proud to claim you as his. You’re the first partner Katsuki’s made available to the public, ever. Your presence is stirring the pot in ways you could only ever fully indulge in imagining when drowned with anxiety. 

No need for anxiety, you tell yourself. You have a ton of Hero friends that would fight bloody to defend you, and you’d be damned if Katsuki let anything happen to you because he fucked up. But still. You’re a bit nervous. 

Puffing a deep sigh through your nose, you tap angrily at the screen in a last attempt at coming up with the perfect caption. 

The picture you plan to post is a snapshot of Katsuki’s head resting in your lap. He’s sleeping peacefully, the tense frown of his face smoothed into a soft, sweet expression, and his platinum lashes kiss pink cheeks. Your hand is laced adoringly in his hair, as though you were in the process of stroking it. The strands are still slightly damp from his earlier shower, the one he took before fooling around with you in the bath. Clutching at your leg in his sleep, he’s cuddled around any part of you made available to him, nosing the crease where your thigh connects your calf, arm curled over your shin, hand grasping your bare knee. You’re decently clad in sleep shorts, but the position is still intimate and reeks of mucky puppy love. 

He doesn’t know that you’ve snapped the picture. Really, you wish you didn’t have to. 

You’re thoroughly embarrassed to post such a sappy photo. But hey, you’ll take one for the team. For yourself, and for your poor Jennie. 

The caption, you decide, will mock his own. A simple smiley face. There, it’s done, it’s over, it’s posted, what the hell. 

You cringe as the picture uploads and promptly silence your phone of any social media notifications, dropping the offending cell with a groan. You’re not embarrassed of your “relationship” with Katsuki, you’ve actually hit the fucking jackpot if we’re being honest, you just feel weird about social media PDA. It feels so fake and practiced to you. 

The moment the picture captures, though, is pleasantly real. 

Katsuki snoozes in your lap with soft breaths and barely any movement, cozy and warm on your thigh, snuggling in like a chick to a heat lamp. You’re sitting upright in your bed, leaning against the plush headboard, as you play with his hair and watch him sleep. For the first time since your first hookup, he’s decided to stay the night; and this time, you welcomed him without hesitation. After a night of passion and tiring exertion, you were happy to have a cuddle buddy share your bed. 

You’d wound up in this position somehow, through sugary cuddling and entertaining banter, and it was enough to put your boy straight to sleep. You don’t mind. There’s a fuzzy, vexing little feeling lingering somewhere deep within you, something you can’t name (or chose not to name) and you… don’t really mind. Another sigh winds up in your chest. 

A buzz vibrates from your phone that lays flat on a stray throw blanket next to your hip. It has to be a text message, as you’d silenced any social media alerts. Katsuki weakly mumbles into your leg at the sound, pressing his face further into your thigh for a moment, before sleep claims him again. You wait a few moments, searching his slack face to assure that he’s truly asleep, and then reach for the cell to check the notification. 

11:32
Todoroki
Are we still on for tomorrow?

Chapter Text

No matter the position or setting, no matter which sleeping medications he’s on that night, Katsuki always wakes with a gasp. It’s something of a lingering dream, some vision from his sleeping brain that follows him to wakefulness and forces him breathless. 

Sometimes, the gasp is pained and weeping, a wet thing greedy to suck in air. Other times, it’s fueled by horror, a jagged inhale so gut-wrenching that he wakes with a jump. Lately, the awakening gasps have taken on more of a croaking groan and a flood of pestering heat swelling his groin. Still, he wakes gasping nonetheless. 

He can never fully remember the dreams or nightmares that plagued him throughout his rest— though he can try, for a moment. A short, fleeting moment. 

When his eyes snap open and he’s blinking away the remains of his dreams, there seems to be an imprint on his eyes, like a photo pressed to his brain. It appears in the same way that a phantom of the Sun would appear behind his eyelids after he’s glared up at it for too long, burning its likeness into his retinas and settling there for a cluster of seconds. 

Lingering ghosts and wisps of smoke dancing in the dark of his room, bright and vivid— and disappearing, like a rabbit in a magician’s hat. He can only see them for a few sleepy blinks; his mother’s mouth twisted tight in fury, a wheezing laugh from some faceless man flaying his stomach, the gore of a mutilated child he was too slow to save. Your thighs, your hips, caging him beneath you like some captured animal. The rise and fall of your soft chest heaving around excited arousal. Your lips. 

Your lips… 

This morning is no different. The sound of his waking gasp is rough and ragged, an inhale so sharp and sudden that it leaves his sore throat rattling and sore for a pressing moment. Once he’s conscious enough to register his surroundings, to swallow around a dry tongue and guide some saliva into soothing his throat, the dream is… still there. 

His collarbone is warm under your rhythmic exhales, the crease of his neck very slightly moist with sweat as your face presses to his jugular in your sleep. You’re holding him, an arm curled steadfast around his waist with your hand balled into a fist, resting at the jut of his lower tailbone. Your other arm is folded beneath your head in place of a proper pillow, and it takes him a few seconds of foggy-brained thinking to realize that he’s stolen your pillow throughout the night.

Wait. Throughout the night? 

Katsuki’s mind catches up with him in a race of wits, flooding him with memories of the night you two had shared. The flooding heat of the bath, your pissed glare and strict tone that left him hard and needy, the following pleasure and pain you swarmed him with— his nipples, he realizes, feel slightly chafed and extra sensitive at the warmth seeping from your sleep shirt. 

Without much thought, he removes his hand from where it was previously resting on the swell of your ass and slides it to your hip, where the straps of black cotton panties hug you snug. You’re not wearing proper bottoms and he’s not wearing a shirt, almost as if the two of you coordinated this mix-match of clothing; though he can’t remember doing such a thing. 

He pinches at the skin of your hip to see if you actually exist in the wake of the morning, to test if your body will seep through the mattress like spilled milk and sink even further beyond that; slipping down to be buried within the soil of the Earth. To leave Katsuki disappointingly alone. 

Your waist shifts at the annoying pressure of the pinch and you whine low and sleepy against his throat, sliding your leg to tangle between his own before settling back into the embrace of rest. 

So, he’s not sleeping then. You’re real and he’s real and this isn’t a dream or a nightmare or some figment of his imagination. Though… you look different than he remembers you looking only a handful of hours ago. When Katsuki tilts his head down to gaze upon your face, he’s momentarily stunned by the sight of life growing from your body. 

The cut of your cheekbones are sparsely littered with small petals of blue Forget-Me-Nots and white Yarrow, as if cut from the stem of the plant and glued to your skin. Your bare shoulder, uncovered by the deep neckline of your shirt slipping,  is pressed with the tiniest blooms of Queen Anne’s Lace. There’s more clusters of flora growing from you in other places along your body, a sprinkling of Moss climbing up your knuckles, a few short strands of Creeping Thyme sprouting from your hairline and weaving within the strands of your hair. 

“The fuck…” He mutters aloud, mostly to himself, and doesn’t resist the temptation to reach out and touch the blooming life. 

Have you ever done this before? His head is still muddled with the remains of sleep and he feels slower than usual, but he tries (with difficulty) to remember if he’s ever seen plants grow straight from your skin. 

Actually, now that he thinks about it, you’ve never grown any plants in front of him. You’ve only spoken to them and translated their thoughts and emotions to Katsuki’s curious ears, or manipulated their movements; but he hasn’t really seen your quirk in full-action. Do they normally grow from your flesh? Is it just when you’re sleeping? 

Much like the potted plants lounging around your home, the petals lining your cheekbones fawn under his attention and lean into the gentle glide of his fingertips, wanting his touch. They’re alive, and though they grow from your skin, they have a mind of their own. He grants them their wishes, smoothing his touch over the blooms and buds with slow-blinking awe. 

He tries his hardest not to wake you as he adjusts his arm to prop his head up carefully upon his fist, just enough to get a better view of your sleeping form. He’s not being creepy, he’s just looking at your weird fucking face-flowers. It's not like he wants to stare at you all morning. It’s not. 

And there’s nothing else he wants to force himself to look at anyway, besides his phone. Though, really, his phone is insufferable to stare at. Plus, he’d feel like an asshole if he woke you up by trying to reach for the cell that lays far off on your nightstand. 

You’re pressed so closely to him, breathing him in and clutching onto his waist like his body has always been familiar to you, like you aren’t afraid to keep him as your own. Your hold isn’t tight or restricting, but firm. Constant. Your thigh is smooth and warm from where it’s slotted between his own, skin pressed flush together in a form of intimacy that surpasses the heat and tension of sex. 

The twining of your bodies is innocent and chock full of affection, a joy that comes with just existing together as you are, without the expectation of release or transaction. You’ve allowed him into your home, into your bed, and cradled his scarred body to you throughout the night as though he were some fussy babe needy for touch. And, you did it simply because you wanted to. 

There’s a buzz from your phone, which conveniently rests much closer within Katsuki’s reach than his own. The screen is facing down, obstructing his view from whatever notification is flashing on your screen, but the light vibrations of the alerts are tempting and persuasive. His fingers tighten their grip on your hip. 

Katsuki’s nosy. He knows this about himself, fucking celebrates it if he’s being completely honest. It’s good to know things about others, it’s an advantage in battle, a timeless tool that can rake in useful information. 

But, is it really such a good idea to peep at your phone while you sleep? Especially after you just chewed him out for overstepping boundaries last night?

Not that he really minded being chewed out. No one really steps to him besides punk ass villains, but even they can’t compete with the way you broke him down. You were so… mean, and stern. He felt embarrassed and extremely fucking angry with himself and with you and with his dumbass friends and— then, quick enough to give him whiplash, you were adoring and brushing him with deep strokes of pleasure, playing with his heated body. There was more pain, a physical claim of which he begged for, and the combined pleasure of... just…

He’s thoroughly ashamed to admit that it kinda turned him on. Kinda sorta. Sorta a lot. A whole lot. 

“Hey,” He slides his palm from your hip to run it along your upper arm, soothing his touch up and down the soft flesh of your bicep a few times. His voice is low and tentative as he speaks. “You up?”  

You don’t wake or fidget. You’re practically dead to the world as he strokes at your arm, the only signs of life being the puffs of air against his chest and the pleased hum sounding from your throat. 

It’s not like you’ll know that he checked your phone. He’s not going to try and crack the password and snoop through your conversations like some insecure boyfriend— as you so helpfully reminded him that he’s not your boyfriend. And you’re not his, point blank period. Which is fine. 

He just wants to peek at your lockscreen and satisfy his nosy urges a little. 

With a resigned sigh, he gives into his desires and grabs your phone from the bed, tilting it towards his face. He holds it behind your body, just close enough to see the screen but not close enough to ring any warning alarms in your head if you suddenly wake up. He'll have enough time and space to shut the screen off and place it down quickly, all without raising any suspicion. God, he’s an asshole. 

He’ll feel bad about it later. 

Katsuki is beyond grateful for your lack of the private notification setting, the text and content of your alerts completely visible to his searching eyes. The most recent notification, the one that led him here in the first place, is a text from Shinso. It’s some jumble of excitement about a new movie coming to theaters that you “need to see” with him. 

You also have notifications for a delivery update regarding an online purchase of lingerie, an email from some big-wig production company team member, a message from someone named Jennie which reads: “Perfect execution. So, we really don’t need to go down the blackmail route?? Because I already got started.” (whatever the fuck that means), and a calander reminder of an upcoming virtual meeting having to do with a book-signing event. There’s a litany of texts from Jirou, which are typed so poorly that Katsuki can barely fucking read them, and a singular text from… Todoroki. 

The time stamp is from the late hours of the previous night, after he had already fallen asleep on your lap. 

11:56
Todoroki
Sure. That’s no problem with me.
I’ll see you at 2, lovergirl. 

The fuck? The fuck’s that supposed to mean? Lovergirl? A dumbass nickname like that being thrown around by Todoroki of all people doesn’t make the least bit of sense. Katsuki can't remember that bastard calling anyone a cheeky pet name, ever. And why are you meeting up with him? Just who is Todoroki to you? Didn’t you hang out with him like, what, twice during fucking high-school of all times? 

“Mm,” You hum as your eyes flutter open, slow-blinking and hazy with sleep. Rooting your head around for something on his chest, you press your nose to his sternum and breathe in deep. “Good morning…”

Katsuki is swift to drop your phone with a quiet thump against the mattress, returning his guilty palm to paw at your bare thigh. He schools his expression into his typical frown, one not so confused and heated as a few seconds before, and levels you with a cool look of boredom. His shoulders are too stiff to look relaxed and sleep-roused, and he desperately hopes that you don’t realize just how unnerved he feels. 

“Mornin’,” He rumbles, morning-voice deep and smooth above you. His eyes trace the mossy growth along your knuckles as you bring your hand up to yawn into it. “Finally waking your lazy ass up?” 

“Guess so,” You shrug and shift so that the arm curling around his waist can instead slide over his shoulder blades. Your warm palm cups his nape, squeezing and stroking, unbothered by his jab at you. “You were watching me sleep this whole time?” 

“No,” Katsuki grunts, stubbornly tilting his head to look away from your face and towards the grand window behind your splayed body. “Got better shit to do than watch you snore.” 

He denies you smoothly, even though you definitely woke up to him staring down at you. And you don’t even snore. And he knows that you know that he was watching you sleep pretty much the whole time. Doesn’t mean he can’t pretend that he wasn’t. Whatever. 

“Oh, really? Like what?” 

“Huh?” He questions dumbly. 

“What ‘better shit’ did you get up to while I was asleep?” You’re pushing at his chest now, forcing him flat on his back while you stay laying on your side next to him. One of your thighs hooks over his waist, latching onto him with a little grind of your pelvis against his hip. 

He tries not to squirm and twitch at the barest of touches like a horny teen, but he truly does fucking feel like one. You make him sensitive and stupid and pliant, and he’s trying his absolute hardest to come to terms with that fact, so what-fucking-ever. 

Instead, he allows you to maneuver him to lay on his back obediently, huffing as though he’s irritated with the teasing grind on his hip. He’s more irritated with himself for liking it so much than anything, but you don’t need to know that. You definitely don’t need to know that he could probably get off to you grinding on his hip alone. You have too much power over him as is, best not fill your head. 

“Couldn’t do much with your heavy ass smothering me,” He lies, trying to push the annoying little text from Icy Hot out of his head. Lovergirl? What does that mean about you and him? Is it just an inside joke? Is he flirting with you? 

“Grouchy in the morning, are you?” You laugh, easily dodging his prickliness, and playfully tug at the silver band of his belly ring. Your soft laughter furthers at his answering groan and the tensing of his abs. 

Your voice is a bit raspy with sleep, soothing and deeper than usual, and Katsuki has to adjust his hips slightly so that you aren’t made aware of his embarrassingly reactive morning wood. Though… you probably already saw the growing tent peaking his sweatpants when you first woke up. Shit.

Your voice affects him in the most annoying fucking way, swooping low in his gut and guiding him to try and coax more words, any words, out of you. The melody of your voice urges him to shut up and obey when you’re being mean and stern, teasing and suggestive, sweet and praising. He wants all of it, all of you, like you’re some craving that he just can’t fill or an itch he can’t successfully scratch. 

He can feel his frown deepen across his features, a petty frustration simmering beneath his skin. He’s helpless. Truly a dumbass. 

“Y’know, you got somethin’ on your…” He gestures to your cheeks, eyes gliding along your shoulder to sight the sprouting flowers once more. 

They’re pretty, he thinks, brushed upon your skin like body glitter or decorative paint. You smell sweeter than usual this morning, fresh and dewy, and he can’t help but wonder what your cunt tastes like after a long night of sleep leaves you blooming. He knows he’s being fucking perverted, smelling you and drooling like some creep, but the memory of your sweet taste on his tongue is enough to guide him to shameless territories. Do you taste as sun-sweet and sappy as you smell right now? Pretty and flushed, sprouting flowers just for him? 

“Oh,” You hum plainly, as if you’ve woken up with blooms and moss coating your skin a million times, and swipe at the sprouts with your finger tips. “Didn’t even notice. They— well. I sometimes grow them by accident in my sleep.” 

Under the caress of your fingers, the greenery fades into nothingness along your skin and hair, like water evaporating into the air on a hot day. Even the blooms and growth you don’t directly touch fade away under your thinking-persuasion, leaving you bare again. 

Katsuki finds himself mourning the loss of the petals almost immediately, wishing them back into existence with a flood of disappointment and pleading thoughts, but the flora does not hear him. He’s not you. 

“Didn’t say you had to get rid of ‘em,” He tries not to pout like a sulking child, but the scrunch of his brow gives him away regardless. “…I like your freaky little bastard plants, I guess.” 

Around the room, said plants rustle their leaves excitedly, and he almost flinches at the rush of liveliness. They had been carefully silent and unmoving this whole morning, watching him, studying him. So sneaky and tactical that Katsuki forgot they could be watching him, forgot that they’re the perfect sentient spies to be climbing your walls. They must learn that studying behavior from their fucking mother.  

He swallows around a suddenly dry mouth and prays that you don’t notice the nervous tick. They watched him snoop through your phone. 

“They like you too. They think you’re just the cutest,” You pinch the meat of his cheek like an old grandmother would, just to taunt him. 

You don’t glare at him, or try to choke him out, or punch him in the face, or smother him with a pillow, or order him to get the fuck out of your bed. You don’t do anything really, besides smile and tease, your hair a pretty mess cascading down your shoulders from your night of passion and rest. Maybe the plants haven’t told you… Yet. 

“Oh, fuck off. You’re annoying. I’m not cute.” He grumbles, though he leans his cheek into your touch, no matter how insincere it is. 

“No? That’s a shame. All of your fans commenting on my latest post seem to think so.” 

Ah, shit. Of course you would be the type for petty revenge. 

Your relationship with Todoroki is complicated. 

“Hey, stranger. Long time no see,” You greet him with a familiar hug, wrapping your arms around the broad expanse of his shoulders. 

He’s a bit revealing in attire, slim-fitting white tank top paired with men’s lounge shorts that grant you miles and miles of those perfectly creamy legs, muscular and sensitive— but it is his house, so you don’t pay much mind to his relaxed choice of clothing. His neck smells of fresh laundry and sandalwood when you press your face into it to complete your hug. 

“Hey,” He answers simply, monotone and deep as per usual, but after knowing him for so long you can hear the hint of a smile in his voice. “Are you hungry? I’m already cooking for you, so you’ll have to eat it anyway. Sorry.” 

Todoroki’s grip on your waist is gentle and warm as he greets you, allowing you to pull back from the embrace with ease. 

His dual-toned hair, you realize, has gotten longer since you last saw him in person. It’s always thick and shiny under direct light, but now it rests just shy of his shoulders, fanning out around his neck. He’s pulled most of it into a messy half-up style, leaving the hair above his nape and the strands framing his face to remain outside of the up-do. He looks good, he always looks good, stone-faced and charming. 

“S’okay, I’m always hungry. Your hair is cute, Todo,” You bring a hand up to curl your index finger around a stray lock of hair, twirling it with a grin. 

“Thanks. I grew it myself,” He jokes, though his tone doesn’t dip or peak at all with the blunt humor. 

In your second year of highschool, you took Todoroki’s virginity. It was a sudden encounter, after months and months of tension and build-up and meticulous patience on your end. He was incredibly dense, a bit confused and particularly unaware of your advances, but that made you all the more drawn to him. If anything, you enjoyed his flustered confusion when your hand lingered a bit too long on his bicep, or when you pressed your thigh to his on the couch of Midoriya’s living room, or at the sound of your voice teasing him with some nickname. 

“You’re quite the loverboy, huh?” You had snuck up behind him at the public library, smacking a hand down onto his shoulder from behind as he occupied an isolated table. “I saw your interview. Got used to girls screaming your name yet?” 

He only slightly flinched at your sudden appearance, titling his head back to stare up at you— only for his view of your grinning face to be blocked by the swell of your chest. He realized, without much grace, that you were standing close enough behind him to press the length of your torso against his broad back. His head was resting on you by accident, tilted back into the underside of your breasts. A swarm of thoughts left him blank and mute for a moment. 

Could you see him staring? Was he allowed to stare? That’s a guy thing, right? Wait, what do guys do again…

“Uh…” He started slowly, searching for proper words. His Adam's apple bobbed around a thick swallow. “Loverboy?” 

“Yeah, y’know, like someone popular with the ladies. A rolling stone.” 

“I don’t know… I’m not very good at that.” 

“No?” You questioned breezily, abandoning your place behind him to instead sit across from him at the study table. He could see you clearly now, cozy and pretty in your big knitted sweater, sleepy-eyed with some store bought latte in hand. “Could’ve fooled me. You’re handsome enough for it.” 

“Really?” He didn’t blush or prickle with embarrassment at your bold proclamation, though his eyes did get a bit wider with wonder. 

“Oh yeah. A true stud.” 

“Thank you. But aren’t you more of the lover… uh, girl. In this scenario?” 

“You think I’m handsome?” You teased, taking a swig of your drink. 

“I think you’re beautiful.” He seemed almost puzzled as he said this, nose scrunching, head tilting like a puppy. “I guess you could be handsome… if you want me to call you that instead. Do girls like being called handsome?” 

“You’re funny, Todoroki.” 

“Really?” 

Getting close to Todoroki was made easier by your connections with his friends. He was open to your provided friendship, though awkward and odd at times, but he seemed to enjoy you well enough. He never openly sexualized you or tried to come onto you, as the other boys of the group sometimes did, but you mostly chalked that up to his total lack of experience. And, lack of general romantic and sexual knowledge. He was a lamb in the woods, innocently thrusting himself within the dripping fangs of your waiting maw, unaware of your desires to fuck him silly. 

You have a bit of a predator complex, whatever, who cares. 

You don’t feel bad about it. Didn’t feel bad at all during the first time, not when he was so mouth-wateringly bewildered and sensitive under your heavy petting, allowing you to experiment with his hot and cold body in the seclusion of his dorm room (which he so kindly helped you sneak into). 

He was twitchy and soft with his moaning, those long slender fingers exploring and exploring and exploring your own body like he was made to please a woman, endlessly sensual and giving through his arousal. After every hook-up, every hushed quickie shared in various places that you probably shouldn't have been fooling around in, he smiled lightly through panting breaths and asked when he could see you again. 

“So. Bakugou, huh?” Todoroki asks over the heat of a sizzling pan, those same slender fingers stirring an array of vegetables in a small pool of popping oil. 

“Ugh, god, please. I do not want to talk about it,” You whine into your folded arms, face dramatically pressed to the cool marble of his kitchen island. 

“That bad?” He chuckles low, and you faintly hear the sound of an egg cracking against the stove. 

“It’s not.. bad. It’s not bad. I just feel like,” You start, lifting your head from your arms to watch the muscles of his back shift and tense as his body moves with the flourish of cooking. “My whole world has been Katsuki for the past week or so. I need a break. Otherwise, I’ll actually go crazy.” 

“Hm, yeah, he seems difficult to handle. Makes sense. I would’ve already shot myself, I think. Twice.” 

“Not helping.” 

You haven’t fucked Todoroki in a few months. Not that you’re keeping an explicit count, but when you think back on it, you’re sure it’s been at least a few. 

You never dated the boy, you were never even exclusive lovers, but your… encounters were pretty constant. Fooling around at his dad’s house while he was off on a mission, fucking him in the shower of your old apartment with the frustratingly thin walls, giving him an edging handjob in the storage closet of an aquarium, getting away with some mutual petting under the table at a fancy private restaurant he brought you to, et cetera. You had fun with him, he made you laugh, he was incredibly attentive and charmingly blunt and an excellent lover, but. Well. 

You just didn’t have time for a committed relationship. And neither did he. There was no hard feelings, you were completely on the same page, agreeing to just be friendly fuck buddies. Still, the way he looked at you, the way he touched you… there was something budding, something dangerous and threatening and terrifying, and you almost fell into those dark waters. Almost. 

When he got busier with hero work, when you got busier with the success of your career, your meet-ups became less frequent. You suffered a frustrating dry spell of sex, and, as a last minute resort… The whole Katsuki thing came about.

You found yourself thoroughly enjoying the crass blonde Hero’s company more than you ever would have expected. Much more than you considered yourself capable of. More, even, than you ever felt with Todoroki. 

You do feel bad about that part. Even though you never agreed to be exclusive or have the kind of relationship where you have to ask before fucking around with someone else. You still feel guilty and betraying and sneaky, like an inconsiderate little bitch who can’t keep her dick in her pants. It’s a slow growing feeling, like weeds winding around an abandoned bicycle left to rust in a field. 

Still, Todoroki didn’t make much of a fuss. He was surprised and intrigued after that first faithful selfie sparked a wave of dramatics, flooding you with questions and comments, but he didn’t seem mad. 

Or, maybe he was mad. Sometimes it’s hard to tell with his monotone words and passive aggressiveness. Maybe he’s going to poison you over lunch and throw your body to the bears of the woods, watching as they pick at your bones. Maybe he’s going to frame you for cheating on the world’s beloved Ground Zero, telling the internet that you’re at his house, eating his food, and sucking his dick. 

Really, you’re not sucking his dick tonight, but that doesn’t mean that he can’t claim that you are.

“What’s new with you, hotshot? I missed you, I need some details,” You swiftly change the subject, swinging your foot idly from its place on his high stool. 

It’s nice to catch up with Todoroki. He’s the same as always, tranquil and funny in an odd way, his keen listening skills welcoming your conversation. You truly did miss him, even without focusing on the exciting sex. 

He’s delightful to be around, interesting and open to new experiences, curious and eager to please you in any way he can. He’s incredibly perceptive of you, guiding the conversation to topics that he knows will make you gush the most, bringing up old pieces of information you’ve given him in the past that even you forgot you spoke of. 

You eat with him on the cushioned floor of his living space, laughing and teasing over bowls of fried rice and sliced chicken cutlets. The food is satisfying and gives foundation to the following shots of peach soju that he pours for the both of you, just enough for you to buzz with warmth. 

“I missed you, too.” Todoroki says suddenly, his words out of place with the current giggling conversation about the time Aizawa caught you half-naked in his dorm room. 

“Huh?” You’re less eloquent when a little tipsy, cheeks flushed with the effects of liquor. 

You’re sitting thigh to thigh now, your body sloppily leaning into the secure space of his corded arm and strong torso. He’s leaning into you just as much, hand placed on the floor just behind your ass, twisting a bit to support your body with his wide chest. When your head turns to make direct eye-contact with him, he’s already staring down at you with an intensity in those mismatched eyes, darting his tongue out to lick at his bottom lip. 

He leans down slightly, slowly, like he’s approaching a vaguely threatening animal. His breath smells sweet with soju, but his skin is heady with something masculine and woodsy, a scent you’ve grown familiar with. 

“Earlier, you said you missed me. I missed you too.” 

“Oh,” You breathe, blinking up at his pretty face. Is he getting closer? Are you getting closer? He smells so good. You pat a hand over one of his muscled pecs, like patting the head of a particularly well-trained dog. “Thanks. You’re a sweetheart.” 

He doesn’t reply with words, though his eyes do crinkle with a barely there smile, and before you know it, he’s breathing in your exhales. He’s so close to your lips that you almost want to bite him out of instinct, to react in reflex and pull him into the wet of your waiting tongue, to drink him down until there’s nothing left. 

“Wait. Fuck, wait,” Your mind catches up to you before inevitable disaster and you pull away from his luring mouth with a sharp inhale, bringing your hands up to rub insistently at your eyes. “Shit. Sorry.” 

“What’s the matter?” Todoroki is on you in a flash, calming hand cupping the line of your back to soothe you from whatever panic you’re having. 

It’s his warm hand, you realize with fleeting attention, thawing the tension in your spine. His palm is large and heated on your clothed skin, rubbing at you with a careful slide of fingers.  

“I just— we can't.” 

“Oh.” 

The seconds of silence that pass kill you and you almost backtrack on your refusal just so that he’ll speak again, say something, anything, to rid the air of awkward tension. Your stomach churns with alcohol and anxiety. Why did you drink, again? 

“I’m sorry. I should’ve realized that you were uncomfortable. It won’t happen again.” 

“Ah, fuck,” You sigh, removing your fingers from their assault of your eyelids. You turn to the now-guilty man once more, bringing a hand up to cup his jaw and tilt his head towards you. He’s obedient under your touch and instantly searching your eyes with the given permission. “You don’t make me uncomfortable, Todoroki. Don’t think that.” 

“Then… what’s wrong?” He’s increasingly confused and you almost want to groan aloud at his expense. His head tilts in that cutsey puppy way, awaiting a proper answer. 

“Well, uh— Katsuki and I are exclusive. To, like, prevent any problems and… yeah. I don’t want to go against that agreement.” 

Your mind unhelpfully reminds you that you went behind Todoroki’s back without a care in the world, but you quickly push that eating thought out of your head. You never agreed to be exclusive with Todoroki, he knows that, you know that, it’s fine. 

“Oh,” He replies once more without further comment for a minute or two, though a swarm of emotions flicker on his face as he settles with the new information. “I thought you were just fooling around?” 

“We are,” You’re quick to reply, to give him that at least, to present him with an olive branch. “It’s just… we both agreed not to see other people while we’re in this arrangement. I’m sorry, I forgot to mention it.” 

He’s quiet again for a stretching moment, eyes never straying from your own. It’s almost intimidating, the way he stares into you without abandon, searching for something within your gaze. He brings his cool fingers up to glide over the hand that’s pressed to his cheek, holding you against his face. He must find whatever it was he was looking for, because he sighs shortly after, sounding… defeated. And very reluctant. 

“It’s okay, lovergirl,” The nickname almost makes you visibly wince before you have the mind to control your expression. His words are soft and calm, deep in his throat, as he comforts your guilt. “You’re a rolling stone, right? No big deal.” 

Ah, fuck. You really are an inconsiderate bitch, aren’t you? 

“Todo, look, I—“

“You don’t have to explain yourself. I get it.” His hand doesn’t cease its rubbing at your back as he says this. If anything, his touch grows a bit firmer, as if to console you. 

“…You do?” You question with a touch of hesitation, tense body relaxing under his comforting ministrations. 

“Yeah. I do,” He murmurs, and his tone speaks of a secret that only he knows. “You really like him, huh?”

You don’t mean to go silent on him, but any words that may have been climbing their way out of your throat catch on the tip of your tongue, barely present. Completely inaudible.

Your thumb swipes over the corner of his mouth to replace your potential words, confirming something, denying everything, a contradictory caress. You can’t bring yourself to speak truth into the air. If you speak it, if you allow that stupid little feeling to swarm your gut at the thought of Katsuki, then you’ve already lost. And you’re terrified of losing. 

“I did miss you, though. With or without the sex,” He continues when you don’t reply, pecking a friendly kiss to the palm that still cups his cheek. “Watch a movie with me?” 

“Um, yeah. Thanks. I’m sorry,” Once the ‘sorry’s start spilling from your lips it’s hard to get them to stop, they tumble out like a million folded crane peace offerings, even after everything’s been forgiven and put to bed. 

“No reason to be sorry,” He supplies easily, and one last lingering kiss is pressed to the skin of your hand. The moment is profound and lasting, and his striking eyes flutter shut with the contact, as if he’s steeling himself to accomplish some harrowing task. 

“Okay.” Your voice is soft and raw as the word is spoken, but you muster up enough thankfulness and appreciation to bless him with a smile. 

“Okay.” He agrees without malice, pulling away from your touch. 

And… that’s that. 

“Are you free?” You speak a little too eagerly into your cell while pacing the space of your home. Really, your enthusiasm is due to the fact that he answered your call in the first place. 

“It’s three in the morning.” Comes the gruff voice from the other line, painted with exhaust and annoyance. 

“Ha, yeah, well… Are you free?” 

Aizawa is always made of sighs and grunts as he speaks, though in this moment, he sounds especially gloomy. “Right now?” 

“I don’t know. Soon? Tomorrow or something?” 

“Why?” 

You’re going to fucking kill yourself if he’s this stubborn throughout the whole phone call. 

“Because I wanna know. Are you free?” 

“Hm,” He hums with a brief pause, and the sound of something rustling on his line has you raising an eyebrow. It sounds like a box of cereal being shaken, or kibble perhaps. He keeps shaking it for a moment before the sound is replaced with a clink of glass on a counter. “I guess so. Sort of. Why?” 

“I need to see you,” You huff your irritation at the meandering conversation, although you’re the one that called him. 

“Need to, or want to.” Aizawa’s question doesn’t come out with much of an inquiring tone, and the soft meow of a cat punctuates his sentence. 

“Want to, oh my god. You’re so difficult. What if I was in trouble?” 

“I would know if you were in trouble. Why do you want to see me?” 

“Oh, I don’t know,” You breathe deeply through your nose and turn on your heel to begin your trail of pacing once more, munching on a popsicle all the while. “Just wanna see you, old man.” 

“I don’t talk to brats who call me old man.” 

“Don’t give out your number then!” 

“You were walking home alone every day. It would be irresponsible for me to not give you my number.” 

“Oh, cry me a river. I’m just gonna ask Present Mic if he can spare his precious time to see pitiful old abandoned me—“ 

“—I can see you. When?” He’s nimble to swipe the offer back up, which is probably due to the fact that he doesn’t want to suffer through the never ending bragging from Mic about you going to seek him out specifically, instead of your supposed ‘favorite UA teacher’. 

You aren’t in too much of a serious hurry to see the Pro, but you’re at your wits end here. Your parents are out of the picture, you’re a bit awkward and vulnerable around your friends lately, and you also feel like a titanic bitch. Will Aizawa be able to actually cure any of that? Likely not. Will he want to hear about your sappy little boy problems? Definitely not. Will he be sweet and compassionate? Sure… in his own unorthodox way. 

It’ll just be nice to see him again after such a long stretch of time. The last time you saw him was a handful of months back when he landed on your balcony like a stalking creature in the night, capture weapon secured around the curve of your rooftop, in the middle of his patrol, bearing a birthday gift.

“Dude! What the fuck? Why are you— come inside!” You had been woken up by the thud of his body weight landing on your balcony, and the sight of his hulking frame scared you half to death until you recognized those bright yellow goggles hanging around his neck. 

“Can’t, I’m on patrol. Here,” He thrust a pot into your unprepared hands, and you fumbled for a moment to keep the delicate ceramic from dropping onto the hardwood floor.

“What…” You started, blinking dumbly with a brain still foggy from sleep. 

“Birthday.” Is all he muttered in reply, sigh heaving in his chest. 

“Oh!” There wasn’t much light in your living room, but the shine of the moon illuminating the sleek design of the pot revealed that it was supposed to be a fat white cat, its smile sharp and stuffed with flopping blue fish. “Thanks, Aizawa. Wow. I didn’t expect a gift.” 

“Don’t expect another for a while. You only get one every five years.” 

“Okay,” You laughed brightly, even though he sounded deathly serious. Then, quick enough to have Aizawa furrowing his brows at you, your laughter died in your throat. “Wait. How do you know where I live?” 

“I know where all of my previous students live.” 

At the time, you didn’t mention that you were never really his student, if only to not accidentally hurt his feelings. 

“Oh. That’s… kinda creepy. Haha…” 

“Mhm,” He only hummed in agreement and placed his hands along the rail of your balcony, leaning his body against the bar despite the risk of falling to his utter doom. 

His knuckles were flushed red and almost raw when you glanced at them, bloodied and split under the force of earlier punches. Wavy black hair whipped behind him in the gentle whispering wind of the night, presenting you with his scruffy face and tired eyes. He was roughened up, worn out, but ruggedly handsome nonetheless. You appreciated that fact silently, without making the usual flirty comments that you would bestow upon any other random man. 

The dancing of his hair in the wind reminded you of just how cold you were, standing before him on your freezing balcony in thin pajamas and fuzzy socks. A quick glance at the digital clock of your phone’s lockscreen read that the time was exactly midnight, the very first hour of your birthday. 

“Do you give birthday gifts to all of your old kids?” 

“No. Only the stupid ones.” 

You snort suddenly at the memory of the conversation, briefly forgetting that you’re currently on the phone with the teacher. 

“…Why are you laughing?” 

“Huh?” You blanch at the question, pausing the distracting movements of your pacing. “Shit, sorry. Uh. I was just remembering something.” 

“Are you okay? You need me to see you now?” Though his words are rumbling and dry, a tinge of concern laces his questioning. You know that if you asked it of him, he would be here to save you from yourself in an instance. 

“Nah, sorry, I just got distracted. Really. So, can I come see you in a few days? I’ll bring coffee.” 

“Sure, kid. You don’t have to bribe me with coffee.” 

“Just being nice.” 

“Uh-huh. You must want something.” 

“Just your time! And a pat on the head.” You continue cheekily, mood brightening with the familiar banter. 

“How’s about a kick in the ass?” He drawls through the phone, and there’s a faint little crunching sound from the mouth of a feline chowing down on kibble. Does he let his cat eat on the counter? 

At the silly teasing phrase, you’re reminded of Katsuki. He was antsy when he left you yesterday morning, stiff and oddly reserved. He still kissed your cheek twice before he left, as has now become custom, and welcomed your farewell hug with a surprising tenderness. You kissed him back, right below the pointed outer-corner of his eyes, and ruffled his hair with a smile. It was nice, the soft morning you shared. Amazing morning sex, obviously, but the following moments of lounge… yeah. It was nice. 

“Hey. Where’d you go?” Aizawa’s firm tone snaps you out of your little stupor, and you're promptly breathing out another curse.

“Damnit. Sorry. What did you say?” 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He ignores your question, voice a bit less sleepy and relaxed as it leaves his mouth. 

“Yup! Yeah. I’m just really tired. Gotta go to sleep soon.” 

Aizawa is unnervingly silent on the other line, and the long drag of thinking and light breathing makes your wandering legs restless to keep pacing until you pass out from exhaustion. 

“Um, so I’ll see you soon?” You break the silence after a while, itchy to get out of the sudden confrontation that the quiet brings. 

“…Sure. I take my coffee—“

“Black with two sugars and a disgusting amount of cinnamon, yeah, I know.” 

“Atta girl,” He says without much animation, but your cheeks bunch with a satisfied smile anyway, because Aizawa-praise is always nice, no matter the intonation. You’re like a Pavlov dog, drooling at an unsatisfactory bell. 

“Good night, teach.” 

“Night. Sleep. Now.” 

He hangs up before you can reject his command, but you don’t mind much. You weren’t lying when you said that you’re tired. 

Still, you prolong the amount of time it usually takes you to get ready for bed. You drag through your skincare routine with the sluggishness of a zombie, rubbing a dollop of moisturizer into the expanse of your forehead. The texture of the cream is slimy and a little thick, cooling your heated skin and providing it with a nice glow. It’s some weird product that’s supposedly made with snail secretions, which you aren’t entirely sure is true, but Momo recommended it and you absolutely trust her perfect skin. 

As you primp and preen in the mirror of your bathroom, you take time to finally confront your swarm of social media interactions. Most of the receiving crowd is supportive and excessively excited, and maybe a little too invested, in your “relationship” with Ground Zero. The spike in your book sales is a nice treat, even though you’re sure a lot of the new readers are buying your book to scan through the lines like hawks circling a vast desert, desperate to find any line that may allude to Katsuki. 

There’s some people calling you various titles, an army of ‘whore’s and ‘slut’s and ‘gold digger’s, but hey, what’s new? A few death threats reach your inbox, some simple and horribly spelled, others a bit more lengthy and threatening. You brush it off with a frown and a tingle of nerves, promptly blocking the accounts without a merciful second chance. 

When replying to a few comments and tweets, your crowd work is flawless and charming. You’re sweet and playful, just enough to steal some weaponized tension from the media. They can’t tear you apart if you welcome the buzz with open arms. 

The flowering tendrils of a Moth Orchid curls to brush up against the wrist that hovers over your phone, gliding downy soft petals over your skin. When your eyes shift to take in the sight of the Orchid resting on your bathroom counter, you notice the slight tremor in your fingers. You clutch your fist tightly, squeezing for a moment, before your chest rattles with a sigh and you release the pressure. 

“Hi, baby,” You murmur softly, petting the sturdy leaves of the plant. 

The rest of the plants throughout your home, from the bathroom to the kitchen, from every high shelf and low table, sway with the acknowledgment. They are all inherently connected to one stream of consciousness, they all feel and see and hear the same string of experiences. 

They’re elated to talk, curious little things packed full of questions and comments. 

They smell Todoroki on your skin, they speak of him with a joy of remembrance. They feel your stomach clenching at the mention of his name, and they prod you for answers. They say that you must be thirsty, that your thirst is their thirst, and that they can feel it thrumming within you. They whine that they miss you even when you are home, that they miss their new blonde friend who pets them and talks to them and makes the silliest sounds. They wonder, briefly, about how his skin would taste in the mouth of a Venus Fly trap— before you shut down that train of thought. 

They even mention the most peculiar thing that they saw yesterday morning. Katsuki is cute, they say, so cute and funny and so forgetful of their intelligence. 

Chapter Text

You’re not mad that Katsuki snooped through your notifications as you slept. Not even in the slightest.

Really, you would’ve done the exact same thing. Your curiosity would get the better of you before you could prevent yourself from invading the privacy of your lover in that way. Plus, it’s just notifications— who cares? It’s no big deal.

You may be a bit of a hardass, somewhat of a player, a little too blunt for comfort— and you’re definitely no man’s peace. You're more a man’s torment, if anything. But, even still, you’re not a hypocrite. That’s something that you can’t stoop low enough to be. 

So, you don’t bring up the ordeal to Katsuki. You don’t try to punish him or tease him or torture him with any accusing fingers. 

You’ll let him keep thinking that you’re blissfully unaware of his snooping. Instead, you tuck that tidbit of information in your pocket for later and keep on with the arrangement, happy to send him his payment once Monday rolls around. 

You’re even happier to accept his company when he meets you at the public gardens in Shizuoka that following Thursday. 

“Hey,” he greets as he approaches you, lacking much of a smile. Katsuki’s face is typical in that way, devoid of brightness unless it’s in the form of some cocky grin or self-satisfied smirk. Still, he looks good. Pretty. “This where you fuck off to when you’re not busy?”

There’s a faint gust of wind that brushes along your cheeks, painting them pink with chill. The weather hasn’t completely plummeted into the freezing cold of winter yet, but the gloomy absence of visible sun has picked up as of late; along with rain storms and yellowing leaves. 

It’s the best time to visit the Koi ponds before the lakes freeze over and the fish go dormant with torpor.

“Technically, I’m still pretty busy,” you drawl as he saunters over to stand directly in front of you, hands stuffed in the pockets of his zip-up hoodie. 

Before you can stop yourself, your hand is coming up to lightly cup one of his pecs through the layers of clothing that he wears in some sort of absurd greeting. He’s just so warm and sculpted, you can’t help it. You know exactly how plush and heated his skin feels under your palms, and you find yourself craving the give of his flesh beneath your seeking fingers. It hasn’t been so long since you last saw him in person, only a handful of days, but you’re a bit needy when it comes to touch and contact.

Your groping hand reflects that truth. 

He visibly bristles at the boldness of you fondling his right pec in public and his chest tenses to a light flex despite himself. You snicker at his suddenly peeved expression, the slight pout on his lips that you’ve grown to adore. His ears are quickly tinting red under the attention, and even though he tries to act like your touch is a nuisance, he doesn’t make any moves to retract your hand. 

You remove your offending hand on your own, seeing as he would stand around in flustered shame while you feel him up rather than tell you to knock it off, for some reason. “I have loads of work to wrap up. Deadlines and all that.” 

He takes a breath when your hand is off of him, but he’s no less distracted. It takes him a second or two to catch up to your words and grunt out a reply. “So, you’re just slacking off then.”

“I have writer's block!” You exclaim with a huff, flicking his earlobe. He doesn’t flinch at the flick, even as the silver studs lining his ears click against your nail. “This is productive. Helps me get the creative juices flowing.” 

“Of course your perverted ass has something to say about flowing juices.” 

“The pot calls the kettle black.” 

“Whatever,” he grumbles and trails after you for the few short steps that you take towards the edge of the Koi pond. 

Near the edge, a rickety wooden bench sits surrounded by tufts of grass and clumps of weeds. You know these weeds and blades of grass personally, seeing as you frequent this tired old bench a lot and the flora always greets you whenever you come by. The surrounding space in this area is more secluded and quiet compared to the rest of the bustle within the gardens. 

For this visit in particular, you’ve brought a bag of softening fruits and veggies for the greedy fish to feast on. Green grapes that have gone too mushy to enjoy, lettuce that’s now wilted and browning at the edges, bruised mini cucumbers, and uncooked peas that you never got around to eating. 

The leftovers are all chopped and sliced, small enough for the Koi to easily munch on and digest. They sit in a plastic ziplock bag on that familiar bench, waiting to be fed to the swarming fish that splash along the edge of the body of water. You’ve been to this exact pond enough times that the Koi recognize your blurry shape from within the ripples of the pond. They’re always excited for the treats you bring. 

You grab the bag of treats from the bench and get started on feeding your slippery little friends, casting out a handful of the chopped produce before jerking the bag over to Katsuki for him to have a go at feeding them. 

He pauses at the offered bag and frowns down at you for a moment. “You’re not gonna hug me this time?” 

“Huh?” You look away from the flurry of fish and furrow your brows at Katsuki, confused. “What are you talking about?” 

He huffs, as though he’s so helplessly annoyed with your incompetence, and roots his hands deeper within the pockets of his sweater. 

He looks cute today you muse to yourself as you take a moment to check him out. Dark baggy jeans, a pair of beat-up converse, his black zip-up sweater that partially conceals the band-tee he’s wearing. It’s left unzipped— which you have no doubt is due to the fact that he wants to seem cool and decidedly not cold. 

The jewelry lining his ears isn’t too flashy, along with the bracelets he wears to complete the look, and that’s an attractive trait to you. He doesn’t have to show out to be alluring, he already knows that he is alluring. He’s confident. So confident that you want to bite him and suck all that cockiness dry from his body. 

The outfit is simple, but cute. It has a boyish charm to it, like you could catch him at a skatepark doing tricks for a crowd of giggling girls, or find him vandalizing some shady alley with spray paint. That mean mug certainly fits the last description more than the first. 

“You hug me every time you see me. Don’t think I didn’t notice,” he almost sounds like he’s scolding you, which makes you want to outright laugh at him, though you don’t actually do it. He continues with a dramatic eye-roll, “Don’t tell me I’m in trouble again.” 

“Oh,” you smile guiltily, and place the bag of produce down once more. The fish wriggle with frustrated movement behind you as you turn to properly face him. “You’re not in trouble, baby. I just forgot.” 

It’s the truth. You really did forget… you think. You hope. Sometimes, without your complete awareness, you find yourself doing things to punish people— even if you don’t really want to or intend to punish them. 

Like that one time when Hitoshi blew you off for a training session with Midoriya that he didn’t even tell you about, despite his plans with Midoriya coming up after the two of you had already arranged to see each other. So, coincidentally, you just so happened to forget about the very important hang out plans you had scheduled with him for the following week… and instead used that time to fool around with Todoroki.

But you really did forget! Truly. 

You were halfway through practically milking the half-and-half boy when you got a few baffled texts from Toshi; asking you where you were and when you planned on showing up. You couldn’t exactly rush to meet your best friend in that instance, not while completely naked with your fuck buddy’s dick hard in your hand, so you had to call the whole thing off. 

Hitoshi, without your intentional planning, was essentially punished. 

Sometimes your body just… makes up your mind for you. Almost as if there’s something within you that motivates your actions while you’re none the wiser. It’s more frustrating than amusing. You don’t want to seem bitter. 

And you don’t want to punish Katsuki for something that isn’t a big deal to you. You wouldn’t intentionally not hug him just because he snooped through your lockscreen. That’s such petty bullshit. Why didn’t you hug him this time? 

“Yeah, cause you were too busy molesting me.” He’s joking, even if his tone is dry, but he still looks suspicious of you as he speaks; wary of any mind games you may be playing. 

You’re not even playing any mind games with him. At least, not this time. Shit. Are you really that horrible? 

“I wasn’t molesting you, I was praising you. You have great tits, Kat.” 

“Don’t fuckin’ call ‘em that!” 

“Right, sorry. You have great boobs. A great rack? Great melons—“

“—Shut the fuck up. C’mere,” he’s begrudgingly pulling you into a hug before you can protest. His right arm loops around your waist to press your body into his, but his left hand grabs at the back of your head to force your face into his neck. It’s his way of shutting you up, you suppose. 

Still, you giggle against his throat and force yourself to not make another comment about his plump chest. Your own arms curl around the broadened expanse of his upper back, and you rub at the prominent muscle definition upon his shoulder blades from over his clothes. 

“Didn’t know you were such a cuddle bug, Suki.” You hum into his heated skin and press your cold nose to his jugular to warm it up, sighing at the satisfaction of that ebbing chill. 

After placing a short kiss to the pulse-point at his throat, you pull back from the embrace just far enough to get a good look at his face. His eyes are bright with emotion and ever so slightly lidded as he stares at you. He stares so hard that you think you must have something on your face— a flower? You’ve been blooming a lot more without meaning to, recently. 

When you push your mental presence into the entire workings of your body, you don’t sense anything that has grown without your permission. What is he looking at so damn intensely? 

“Suki?” He asks curiously, but his tone isn’t judgmental or cruel. He’s a bit dumbstruck, if anything. 

“Oh, yeah— a nickname. I just think it’s cute. It fits you,” you explain with a bit of a ramble, slightly embarrassed to be caught in the act of calling him Suki. 

It’s a cutesy name, something expected of his girlfriend to call him, and you hadn’t meant to say it out loud. You’ve taken to calling him Suki in your head from time to time, when you’re up late and alone in bed, missing his company. You don’t know where the name came from. It’s a shortening of his first name, obviously, but it just.. popped up in your mind out of nowhere and stuck around. 

Plus, you already have a nickname for him. Kat is more casual, more appropriate. It can be passed off as a common nickname among friends and family. It’s safe. Suki, on the other hand, is so sticky and sappy and lovey-dovey that you should’ve choked on the word as it was leaving your lips. Even calling him baby feels less personal and embarrassing. 

“…You don’t like it? I can just call you Kat if—“ 

“I didn’t say that. Stop putting words in my mouth.” 

You glare at him without much ferocity, “Someone’s snappy.” 

“I meant— I mean,” he groans and tilts his head back for a minute as he gathers his thoughts. He’s still holding you, his thumb stroking over your bare waist from where his hand has boldly trailed up beneath your baggy knitted sweater. “I mean I don’t mind it. The name.” 

You frown a bit at his reluctant admission and absentmindedly scratch at his shoulder blades through his sweater, lightly enough to be innocently pleasurable. “That doesn’t sound very convincing.”

If Katsuki could purr, you’re sure he would be happily purring away at the feeling of your nails scratching his back. He almost melts into the touch, but he’s aware of his surroundings and the fact that he’s in public just enough to get a grip on himself. Still, he leans into your scratching fingers with as much reservation as he can muster. 

“I meant that I like it. The nickname. It’s fuckin’…” his words are soft and slightly stilted, and he squeezes at your waist with that wonderfully hot hand, almost as if he’s trying to make up for his poor communication skills. “Cute. Or whatever. You can call me that. If you want, I guess.” 

You’re quiet for a second before a pleased smirk tilts your lips upwards and has your eyes scrunching at the corners. He’s back to firmly staring at you now, and this time his cheeks are slightly pink to match his ears. The blush compliments his stubborn scowl.

“You’re such a softie.” 

“Fuck off. Are you gonna feed your dumbass fish or what?” 

“Oh! Yeah, look,” you’re pulling away from the embrace swiftly enough to leave him hissing for you to ‘slow your ass down’, but you pay his complaints no mind. You pick up the bag of produce once again and gesture for Katsuki to grab a handful. “Come on, It’s fun.”

“Wouldn’t call feeding fish fun. They’re gross.” 

“What?” You gasp in mock offense and reach your own hand into the bag to toss a hefty scoop of sliced grapes into the excited cluster of Koi. “They’re cute! They’re like little water dogs.” 

“More like water vermin.”

“Not even. You’re just a bully.” 

“Maybe,” Katsuki grimaces at the sight of the fish floundering around to snag bits of fruit from other competing mouths. “Doesn’t make them any less gross. Bet they’re fuckin’ slimy too.” 

“You’re such a spoiled little princess. You’ve never held a fish before?” 

“Hell no— not a live one. Why would I do that to myself?” 

You snicker at his dramatics as you work your way through tossing out handfuls of lettuce and peas, taking a glance at him from your peripheral. He’s taken to watching you instead of the Koi, and he wordlessly shuffles a bit closer to you when he catches your eyes on him. 

“Us common folk grow up catching our own fish instead of getting them from the market. It’s a kid’s rite of passage.” 

“Common folk my ass.” He barks out a laugh, suddenly brightened with amusement, and bumps his upper bicep into your shoulder with the jostling movement. When did he start standing so close to you? “You’re fuckin’ loaded.” 

“Not always,” you hum with a small smile. “I was dirt poor as a kid. Scruffy little thing.” 

“Wouldn’t call you scruffy, really.” 

“How do you know, genius?” 

“Seen a picture,” he thumps his middle finger against your forehead with a teasing flick that has you batting his hand away. “Smartass.” 

“Wait— you saw a picture of me as a kid?” 

“On your Instagram. If ya can’t even remember what you posted then you’re losing it. More crazy than I thought.” 

“Dude,” you laugh in realization and poke at his chest with your clean hand. Your smile is wicked and you know it. “That post from, like, two years ago? Were you stalking my socials, you little creep?” 

You don’t mention that you had done the exact same thing to his socials last week. Plus, it doesn’t really count, because he barely posts anything; so you didn’t have to scroll far. Multiple fan-run accounts and hero pages take credit for most of Ground Zero’s social media presence, seeing as he isn’t very active. 

You know for a fact that your social media presence is far larger than his in terms of posted content alone. He must’ve been scrolling for a while to get to those childhood pictures that you posted. 

“Oh what-fucking-ever! Leave me alone.” 

“If I didn’t know any better, I would say you have a crush on me Mr. Ground Zero.” 

He pauses and carefully tracks the movements of your hand feeding the Koi. The next time he speaks, his voice is low and tentative. “Do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Do you know better?” 

You turn your gaze from the water to fix it on his face instead, searching his features. The textured scar hugging his face taunts you from its resting place on his right cheek. His brows are unfurrowed, and he looks so much younger when his face is soft with the absence of a scowl or frown. Later, when you’re alone with no one to hear you but your many plants, you’ll tell them that he looked… hopeful. Longing. 

But you’re not alone now. There’s too many beings present to witness your sprouting revelations and softening outer shell— so you do what you do best. You steel yourself with an unforgiving stronghold of metal armor and cast out any lingering sap that may have saturated your heart to be mushy and overripe; too richly sweet for comfort. 

“…Yeah. I do.” 

Katsuki hums in reply rather than speaking and goes quiet for a peaceful moment. The only sounds that fill the gap in conversation are the glubbing mouths of Koi eating from the surface of the pond and the casual chatter of the rest of the garden. There’s some giggling kids that squeal with delight from a distance, likely playing a game of tag, and soft raspy words that float from an elderly couple passing nearby. 

From time to time, you think you hear a few murmurs of Ground Zero or Hero, but Katsuki has no visible reaction to it. He must be used to the whispers that trail him by now, even if it does get a little annoying at times. 

You’re sure that people are snapping sneaky photos of the two of you, spinning the tale that Ground Zero is on a romantic stroll with his shiny new girlfriend, but you don’t mind. Not much, at least. The cat’s already out of the bag, technically, even if you aren’t really dating. 

He breaks the silence when you’re nearing the end of the bag of fish food. “What about your parents?” 

“Hm?” 

“As a kid, I mean. Were you close with your parents?” 

“Oh,” you sigh plainly and purse your lips a bit at the thought of your childhood. “Never got close to them. They shipped me out to Japan to come live with my grandma when I was eleven.” 

“Shit. I shouldn’t have—“ 

“It’s okay, Kat,” you bump your hip into his playfully and present him with an easy smile. “I’m not butthurt about it or anything. My grandma was cool as fuck. Taught me everything I know.” 

“So she was scary, then.” 

“Aw. You think I’m scary?” 

“Terrifying,” his voice is entirely honest and flat with the confession, so serious that it makes you laugh. Katsuki roves his eyes over your laughing face with a growing smirk, and his next words sound a little smug. “Sadistic, too. Not the average girl.” 

You zip the plastic bag back up and fold it a few times before stuffing it in your pocket, having polished off the produce by now. Once the bag is tucked away and your hands are wiped clean of any lingering food residue, you turn to face him with a quizzical smile. 

“You sound proud.” 

“I can’t be a little proud?” 

“Depends. What exactly are you proud of?” Your arms come up to loop around his neck and rest on his strong shoulders, and he accepts the closeness without bite. 

You had never expected Katsuki to be so open to PDA, especially because he seems so romantically stunted, but seeing him enjoy all the public affection is cute. He laps it all up like a hungry little thing. Really, it shouldn’t be that much of a shocker since he was the one to basically shout from the rooftops that you’re fucking him. 

He likes to claim and be claimed. That feeling is mutual, although you’re a bit testy when it comes to people claiming you in certain ways. 

You will admit, you’re picky when it comes to shows of possessiveness from a lover. You can’t let certain actions slide, it leaves your sense of dominance and control threatened. You’re just… difficult in that way. But he knows that now. 

Now that he’s learned his place, he’s more than happy to let you take the lead in the game of marking territories. He practically thrums with pleasure and satisfaction whenever you suck a hickey into his skin or grind your wet cunt over him; his hot hands, his pretty face, the hard ridges of his stomach. Soaking him in your claiming essence. 

He likes using your soaps and oils and smelling like you, he loves when you tug him in by his hair and give him permission to touch you, and it drives him crazy when you order him around for the sake of your own enjoyment. 

So, yeah, maybe the welcomed PDA makes more sense than you initially thought. 

“I’m proud that you’re difficult and hard to please. You’re fuckin’ strict, and you know exactly what you want.” Katsuki makes a grab for your hips and squeezes the layer of fat there, tugging your pelvis into his own. He’s gotten bolder with the passing weeks of you fucking him. “And you picked me. Sue me if I’m a little cocky.” 

“Down, boy.” You order and press a hand to his firm chest to put some space between you two. Your eyes trace the line of his plump lips wistfully. You’re tempted to jump his bones and put those lips to use, but it would probably be a bad idea to do so in public. Probably. “Before I fuck you right here in front of all these people.” 

“Would that be so bad?” His voice is husky with a tone that you’ve grown familiar with; arousal, excitement. He’s eager to play, to please, to obey. 

“Katsuki,” you breathe and move your hand from his chest to instead cup his jaw. He allows you to tilt his head without any restraint, and you lean in to whisper into the ear now closest to you. “Be a good boy now and I’ll fuck you good later. Okay?” 

Katsuki groans lightly under his breath at your sultry words but he nods nonetheless, retracting his squeezing hands from your hips. When you pull back from the side of his face, he looks almost pained at the sudden lack of touch. That, or he has a hard-on straining the unyielding fabric of his jeans and it’s causing him discomfort. You can’t really tell without making it obvious that you’re staring at his crotch, so you don’t try to figure it out. 

“Come on,” you grab his hand and begin to lead him down the distinct path of the gardens, taking notice of the passing folks whose eyes linger heavily on the sight you two make. “People are watching. We probably look like we’re eye-fucking right now. Let’s just act like a normal cutesy couple and go for an innocent walk, okay Suki? ” 

“Yeah yeah. Normal cutesy couple…” he grumbles, but dutifully follows your guidance along the trail. 

You’re briefly reminded of when you guided him to your bed to have sex with him for the first time— but you shove that thought into the deepest darkest corner of your mind and force it to sit in time-out. Now is not the time to be fucking horny. 

And really, the innocent walk is nice. You lead your hero throughout the winding paths of the gardens, pointing out certain trees and clustered bushes that you typically stop to connect with. Snowbells, Camellias, Hostas, Laurels. The greenery stretches and preens under your attention, greeting you two with slow-moving waves and dancing leaves. They aren’t as fluent in language or packed with individual personalities as your own plants are, since they have been grown naturally and not within the influence of you and your quirk. Still, they’re alive enough to provide decent chatter. 

Most of the flowers have died off by now, and some of the branches are beginning to go barren, but it’s all a part of their natural life cycle. They tell you to make sure you come visit when they’re bright and lush with springtime, if only to show off their growth to Katsuki. 

As the two of you turn a corner on the trail, an elderly man stops in his tracks to gape at your hand-holding. He fumbles around with his pockets before pulling out his phone and snapping a photo of you and the notorious Ground Zero, unashamed with his leering. 

Katsuki leans closer to you to speak into your ear with a grouchy mumble as he pointedly glares the man down. “Fuckin’ shoot me. They’re takin’ pictures.”

“Sorry,” you laugh and lace your fingers with his own in an attempt to soothe him. His palms are slightly sweaty, but he’s been adamant to wipe them every few minutes on his clothes to rid them of that sweet sweat. “There’s usually not this many people here around this time of year.” 

“It’s probably my fault. Once one person sees me, they go posting about it and shit. Then a buncha people come flockin’.” 

“Guess I’m pretty lucky to be on a date with some big hotshot hero then, huh?” 

He looks you over from the corner of his eye, letting his stare linger on your mouth, and squeezes your hand a little tighter within his own. “This is a date?” 

“In their eyes, yeah. In reality, it’s more like I’m taking my puppy on a walk.” 

“You’re the worst,” he gripes and carefully lowers his next few words to shield them from any prying ears. “You gotta kink for comparing me to a dog or something?” 

“Maybe just a little,” you’re grinning before you can even think to mask the devious expression on your face, and you bring his hand to your lips to brush a kiss upon his knuckles. “Don’t tell me you don’t like it. I can feel your dick twitch whenever I order you around like a dog.” 

“Fuckin’— easy!” Katsuki hisses through a whisper and whips his head around to seek out any nosy listeners that may be wandering nearby. “You’re gonna get me in trouble talking like that. What if someone hears?” 

You hum in faux agreement before continuing with more vulgarity, albeit a little quieter. “You know how I said I was gonna fuck you later?” 

Katsuki runs his free hand through his hair with a litany of garbled curses at your boldness, but he lets you talk without interruption. Instead of responding, he removes his hand from your grasp to settle his arm around your waist and guide your body closer to his own as you walk. His palm rests on your hip politely, lacking the pawing gropes that he had taken to performing earlier. 

He’s been so good with following orders throughout the lengthy nature walk— which kind of screws you over in the long run. 

Watching him be so obedient to your commands and strive to behave sends pangs of heat through your core. You can feel yourself begin to dampen the soft cotton of your panties at the thought of rewarding him for his good behavior. Why was it ever such a bad idea to fuck him in public? You can’t really remember…

“Wouldn’t it be fun to just… do it now?” 

Katsuki blanches so suddenly at your offer that you huff out a loud bout of laughter. He regains his composure with a faint hue of embarrassment and keeps up a light walking pace to maintain normalcy, but you’re still thoroughly amused. The laughter trails off into soft giggles once he speaks up again. 

“But— you just— you said later. Like, not in public. Wasn’t that the point of us walking around and shit? So that we, y’know, don’t try to fuck in public?” 

“Yeah, well. You’ve convinced me. Ever fooled around in public before?” 

He promptly ignores your question to continue on with his barely whispered bafflement. It’s more of a whisper yell, if anything. “I didn’t convince shit! I barely even said anything.” 

“You don’t have to say much when you look at me like that,” you whisper back, much more reserved than he is, and continue guiding him towards your desired destination. 

Katsuki has a bad staring problem, that much you’ve come to know. He’s constantly staring you down without even a semblance of shame. It doesn’t help when he has those sultry lidded eyes, when he puts those long fluttering lashes to use, and doesn’t break the sexually charged eye-contact. It’s like he’s begging you to have your way with him. 

“Look at you like what?” 

“Like you want me to eat you.” 

He doesn’t deny the claim. He actually quiets down for a moment and wanders beside you aimlessly, following you throughout the curving path. 

As you walk further down this specific trail, less and less people occupy the space that you navigate. The structure of the path in the ground turns from one that is obviously man-made into one born of self-fulfilled exploration; a desire path. Grass and weeds permanently pushed down into the earth from wandering feet that have decided to walk this line again and again. The trail isn’t officially marked on any map or sign of the gardens. 

The clearing you lead him to is partially hidden from any onlookers and surrounded by thick swarms of leafy greenery. It’s not your first time discovering the secluded spot, and the flora welcomes you with undulating leaves and branches. You often come here to get some alone time. The semi-secret spot provides you with more peace and quiet than the rest of the gardens. 

When you approach the entrance of hanging vines and fluttering flowers, you don’t attempt to enter it. Not yet. Instead, you stop right before the opening and turn to fully face Katsuki head-on. You won’t force him to do something that he’s uncomfortable with… so you’ll give him an out, if he wants it. 

Judging by the red flush on his face and the bob of his Adam’s apple closing around a dry swallow, his eager hands clutching at your hips, it seems that you may not need to give him an out after all. 

“Have you?” His voice is gruff and slightly rasping, giving away his rising arousal at the thought of doing something so scandalous with you by his side. 

“Have I what, baby? You have to be more specific with these questions of yours.” 

“Have you ever… fooled around in public?” 

You smile at his obedience and pat his cheek in reward to the properly phrased question, “Yeah, a couple of times. It’s fun, when you’re safe and respectful about it. Well, as respectful as you can be while fucking around in public…” 

“…Who’d you do it with?”

A growing smirk plays upon your lips. “I don’t kiss and tell.” 

You definitely kiss and tell— with friends, among shitty giggling gossip. Just… not now. Not with him. If you tell him who you’ve fooled around in public with, you’re sure that it would only lead to trouble. You already feel like you’ve fucked up your friendship with Todoroki, even if he hasn’t explicitly said as much. Best not to poke the bear. 

“Hm,” he grunts and lets his eyes wander over your face, very apparent with his suspicion.

It looks like he needs some encouragement to do anything besides stare and hold you close to him. You know just the trick to egg him on.

You smoothly glide your hand beneath the layers of his shirt and sweater, running your fingers up the warm expanse of his abdomen. “Don’t you wanna fuck me, Hero? I've seen you checking me out all day…” 

“Shit. You’re sucha tease,” Katsuki’s brows pull down with a troubled look of conflict, but he places his own hand over yours to guide your palm further up the twitching muscles of his stomach. 

“Is it really being a tease if I plan on making you cum?” You can’t help but fiddle around with the belly ring he wears, seeing as he’s always so sensitive to you tugging at it. 

He bites his bottom lip to restrain what you think is a whine and takes a deep shuddering breath. You can practically see the self-control melting away from his body in cascading waves of surrender, leaving him open and needy for you, thirsty to gulp down anything you may offer. Still, he’s looking at you with a vague sense of disbelief, even with all of his needs and wants, like he’s afraid that you’ll pull the rug out from under him the moment he gives in to temptation. 

“You’re not fucking with me, right?” 

“No,” you confirm and finally pull him towards the opening of the little hideaway, since he seems pretty game to let you fool around with him. “We don’t have to go all the way. I just want to feel you on me. Can you do that, Suki?” 

The surrounding trees and bushes part their branches under your control and welcome you into the small clearing of Weeping Love Grass and soft lighting. The gaps in the trees above you are the only things allowing for the sun to shine down on your skin, and even then, the sun is partially hidden by hulking clouds. The area is soft and sweet with a scent of bloomed flowers, and the only sounds to be heard around you are your low voices and the brush of leaves in the wind. 

“Goddamnit,” he murmurs in defeat, mostly to himself, and crowds you into a nearby tree with a press of his front to your own. “Yeah. Yeah, I can do that.” 

The tree that you lean against is thick and rough on your back, but you pay it no mind. You’re too busy tugging Katsuki in by the strings of his hood and kissing a line up his throat to think about complaining. The soft moan he grants you at the kisses is heady with relief, like he’s been dying to get this close to you all evening. His hands are immediately caging you in, roaming beneath your sweater to grope at your hips and waist. 

He’s definitely come out of his shell since the first time you fucked him. He’s not shy with his grasping hands, exploring your body with reverence and seeking out the places that provide you with the most pleasure. You’ve found that he loves to hear you fall apart for him, any moans and gasps and hissed words— it drives him absolutely mad. He’s so motivated during sex. It’s like he’s in some grand competition with himself to make you cum the hardest. He’s all about your pleasure, he gets off on it, you’re sure. 

Even now, as he squeezes at the flesh of your body, his fingers are drawn to your breasts to play with your nipples through your thin bralette. He’s learned exactly how to worship your chest in such a way that leaves you panting and praising him. His thumbs, ever so achingly heated, rub firm circles into the peaked buds of your nipples. 

“Good boy,” you moan into his neck, careful to keep quiet, and punctuate your approval with a bite to his collarbone. “You’re such a pervert, feeling me up against a tree.” 

“Shut up,” his words come out as more of a deep groan of pleasure than true reprimand, raspy with desire. “You got me into this fuckin’ mess in the first place.” 

You bring your hands down the curving muscles of his body with a few self-indulgent gropes here and there, and settle them on the swell of his ass. He gasps in a sharp inhale when you push his pelvis into your own and grind against him, using your grip on his ass to aid in maneuvering his hips. You’ve pulled back from kissing at his neck by now, leaning your head back into the bark of the tree to level him with a teasing smile. 

“You like it, though. You like being my little toy, huh baby?”

Katsuki is quick to follow your lead and grind against you, keeping pace with your directing hands, and the pressure of his bulge against your cunt is heavenly. He’s already so hard and thick in his jeans. You’re sure that his sensitive cock rubbing up against harsh denim has to be at least a little painful, but he’s still moaning and whining like he enjoys it. He is a bit of a pain slut, you remind yourself. 

“‘m not a— fuck, god. Not a fuckin’ toy.” 

“No?” Your legs are parted in a widened stance to accommodate his rolling hips, and you lift one to hook behind his upper thigh and drive him deeper into your clothed cunt. The next time you speak, it’s against his ear with a heated whisper. “Prove it. Show me you can be more than a toy.” 

With a sudden show of strength that leaves you reeling, he swiftly removes his hands from your breasts to scoop up your thighs in his grasp. You’re pushed into the sturdy tree and raised above him as he holds you up without even an ounce of struggle— in fact, instead of struggling, he looks rather pleased with himself. You muffle a startled laugh into your hand so as to not blow your cover from any passing garden-goers and loop your legs around his midsection, welcoming the manhandling. 

“You’re so pretty,” he grunts into your skin when he leans in to mouth at your neck, sucking a love-bite into the dip near your throat. “It pisses me off.” 

“Good,” You tilt your head back to allow him better access to your neck and moan softly at the scrape of his teeth on your skin. His canines are pleasantly sharp. “You’re so cute when you’re pissed off.” 

His hips have resumed their grinding thrusts against your sex, and the new angle provides for a deeper pressure against your clenching hole. You’re so fucking tempted to strip the both of you naked and have him actually fuck you right here on the ground, but it would be much easier to get caught in the act that way. He’s such a noisy thing, you can’t hope to believe that he’ll be able to keep quiet if he’s inside your wet heat. 

Instead, you bring a hand down to rub at your throbbing clit through the thin layers of your pants and undergarments. Your pants are nearly sheer with how thin they are, simple black flare leggings that hug your curves, which is perfectly convenient to properly pleasure yourself through the material. 

Katsuki watches the display with his forehead resting against your shoulder and picks up the pace of his thrusting. He’s getting more reckless as the frottage session continues, whining low in his throat and moaning deeply at each particularly good jolt of pressure against his cock. You’re brisk to snatch him up by the jaw with your free hand and force his face to meet your own, staring him down. 

“Are you trying to get us found out?” You mutter into the barely there space between your mouths, tone sarcastic. 

Despite your chiding, he groans when your fingernails bite into the meat of his cheek. His eyes flutter while he gazes up at you, full of something like awe and admiration, and he continues rubbing up into your clothed heat without pause. It’s like his tongue has gone heavy in his mouth, slurring his moans and preventing him from answering you. 

“Look at that. Just a dumb puppy humping my leg, can’t even respond. Are you that eager to get caught, Ground Zero? You want all of your precious fans to catch you humping me into a tree?” 

He huffs a frustrated little noise and squeezes around thick handfuls of your thighs from where he’s holding you up, body tense with an approaching orgasm. He’s gotten riled up quicker than usual today, and you wonder if it’s due to the excitement of potentially getting caught. Or, maybe, all the teasing that you put him through in public. 

You notice the way his cock twitches in his jeans at the sound of his hero name leaving your lips, at least. That much, you know, is contributing to his sensitivity. 

“‘m sorry, shit, can't help it—“ he gasps a moan when you shove your middle three fingers into his mouth to shut him up, seeing as he can’t possibly do it himself.

He sucks the digits into his mouth hungrily and his wanton noises are successfully muffled with your fingers. Good thing too, since he moans like a fucking pornstar. The only sounds to be heard from him are concealed groans and whines, along with his harsh panting breaths that puff heat over your neck and hand. 

The scene he makes is excessively lewd. His tongue wedges between your index and middle finger to lap at your skin as he molds himself to the swell of your cunt like he belongs there. You press your fingers down on his slick tongue, testing his gag reflex, but he accepts the challenge like a pro. He’s swallowing around you and begging for more with that weepy look in his eyes, a mist welling up along his lower lash-line as he behaves so well for you. 

“Fuck, Katsuki. I’m gonna— Ah,” you moan and bite your lip to restrain the noise, rolling harsh circles into your clit all the while. “I’m gonna cum, baby. Can you be a good boy and cum with me?” 

He jerkily nods his head in reply and bites down on your fingers with a teasing pressure. Your growing pleasure leaves you soaking through your panties, and from where your hand is pressed to your cunt, you can vaguely feel that damp heat. Katsuki is good with his servicing of you, dragging the firm line of his bulge between your lips as much as he can, and you feel yourself approaching the edge faster than you can keep track of. 

What pushes you over that edge is the act of him removing a hand from one of your thighs to place it over your own, pressing your fingers into your clit for you. He does so with a pitchy whine caught in his mouth, like he’s begging you to hurry up and cum already so that he can too. It’s such a vulgar action from your boy, yet so gentle and pleading, that your legs clench around his waist with the force of your orgasm. That, and the fact that he’s able to hold you up with one hand without even faltering or straining. 

He’s so strong. Why haven’t you put his muscles to use before? Do you have a strength kink…? Shit.

Katsuki allows himself to cum as soon as he realizes that you’ve reached your peak, and a line of spit trails down your palm as he whimpers around your fingers. He bucks into the gap between your thighs with greedy persistence, stimulating the both of you through the fluttering shocks of your orgasm. He’s still gently grinding into you after the last waves of release slip from your body, keeping your clit buzzing with anticipating pleasure. 

“Lick,” you order when you slip your fingers from his mouth and present the wet skin of your palm to him. “Clean me up.” 

He does so without hesitation, leaning in to lap up any excessive drool and lave his tongue over the indent of his teeth on your fingers. When he’s finished his task, your hand is no longer dripping wet with drool but instead slightly damp from his thorough licking. 

“You okay? Did I hurt you?” Ever the gentleman, Katsuki soothes his free hand over your cheek as he looks you over to be sure that he wasn’t too rough with you. 

You’re instantly reminded that he’s still supporting your weight with one hand and take a deep breath to remain level-headed. His hips tick once more into your cunt before coming to a stop, as if he’s forcing himself to calm down and be still. 

You don’t attempt to hide your humor in the situation, breathing a light laugh, “I’m good baby. I liked it.” 

“Yeah?” His growing grin is accomplished and gratified, and his voice is coated with satisfaction at your approval. 

“Yeah. You’re so strong,” you purr and rub your hands over the planes of his biceps through his sweater, happy to reward his ego. 

“Damn right. You’ve never been picked up while… y’know. Before?” 

“No,” you snort and card your fingers through his platinum hair, scratching along his scalp with gentle persuasion. “I guess you’re the first. Lucky you.” 

“Yeah…” he hums and tilts his head into your scratching fingers. His eyes close for a brief moment of serenity, but he forces them open once more and meets your gaze with this look of his, one so potent and deep that you feel your heart stutter. “Lucky me.”