#but i was inspired what i can say so in return i gib u……… this

[ofmermaidstories]

U think bakugo ever gets so angry his mouth misses surrender reader’s when he’s trying to have a passionate heated make out session because I do

Katsuki’s home for once, sleeping off the last few days in the darkness of his room, cocooned.

It’s early evening before he remerges. You’re peeling the potatoes for dinner when you hear him shuffling from the room to the bath, keeping track of him by the running of the taps before he closes the door, the sound cutting off — leaving you alone in the quiet of his large apartment, trying to amuse yourself by carving the perfect spiral of a potato peel; petty, silly.

When he wakes up after a marathon sleep it always takes him a while to come back, to return to the here and now; his mind catching up with the rest of his body as it realises it can finally relax, can take these next few hours to pause and breathe. He can be reticent even on good days: after big missions, after a series of demanding patrols, he’s even more silent, staying that way until something annoys him enough that he comes back into himself — or makes him laugh in his startling way.

The city outside is falling into dusk: the windows opened wide to the pink-twilight city glimmer. You hum along to a song on the television, jiggling the rice you’re rinsing and hear the traceable movement of your Pro Hero as he shuffles back into the living room.

“Hi!” You call out behind you cheerily, rinsing your hands and darting between the sink and the fridge. The door rattles as you open it, looking for the cold water bottle you set aside for him, earlier — but then big arms are slipping around you, enveloping you, and there’s the touch of lips against your neck, the feel of Katsuki’s fine hair against your face. The soapy, minty freshness of him, clean from washing up.

You lean back into the weight of him, the warmth, and he pulls you in tighter; breathing in deeply, like he’s still half-asleep. He very well might be — for a moment you stand together in front of the open refrigerator as you trace the veins of his hands, his arms, nosing into the side of his head where its against you.

“Hi,” You say again: softer, against the fine down of hair by his ear. Everything within you is vibrating that he’s here, that you’re together — your very cells rioting, hyperaware of his closeness. The invasion of space that only belongs to him.

The fridge beeps. You try and tug away from his arms to get his drink, to close the door — he pulls you back and kicks the door shut with a grunt. “No,” He says, and it’s ridiculous enough that you laugh. It’s the jiggling of the rice you were rinsing, the weight against the sieve; your body moves against his and he buries his face in your neck, like he’s trying to osmosis your laughter through your skin.

You breathe in and settle and eventually he lets you turn in his arms, your hands snaking up between you, his bare chest and going to his face, cupping his cheeks. The lines under his eyes are deeper, now, than they have been since you’ve known him — he looks at you, ruby eyes dark and tired, and your heart tightens.

You thumb the shadows of his face, gently. The feather-light touch of handling something so irredeemably precious. In answer he dips into you, a headbutt with no real force; you’re breathing one another in now, and you let your hands slip from the panes of his face to his shoulders, your fingertips mapping the familiar feel of him.

“You need more sleep,” You whisper to him; the tiny space between you gaining all the sanctity of a Library’s quiet.

Katsuki huffs. It’s light against you. “D’wanna.” He says, annoyed, childish. His hands - hands that have destroyed, that have saved, that are now on you - tighten. You wait, tracing the edges of the scar on his shoulder.

“Missed you ‘n shit.” He says at last, even more annoyed, now.

You droop into him, wilting like a flower; you’ve missed him too. He hasn’t been home in almost a week — it’s not the longest of his stints, not lately, and you knew what you were signing up for, when you fell for him — but it doesn’t make it any easier. When he is home the two of you sleep in shifts, almost: only able to be together, both awake and coherent, for a few stolen hours. It means the need to be near him has gotten so persuasive, lately, that sometimes when you’re here and he’s in bed, sleeping off a battle, you crawl in next to him; carefully and lightly, curling into his warmth and forcing yourself into a midday nap, just to be near him, to share his space. You always awake entangled and overheated, afterwards — Katsuki finding you in his sleep and dragging you close, missing you just as much as you do him, even in his dreams. It’s never comfortable — he runs hot, constantly, and it’s like sleeping with a heater but —

It doesn’t matter. It’s just more proof that he’s there. That he’s with you, alive and home safe.

There’s a light touch of lips at your neck once more; leading, ghost-like tracing, kisses, from the dip of your collarbone to just under your jaw bone as you tilt, giving him more access. Everything within you pulses, tightens — he nips at the soft skin just below your ear and you finally turn your face to his, enough to feel the sharp intake of his breath before his lips meet yours, deepening the kiss almost instantly.

His mouth is cool and tastes of mint and aniseed from his toothpaste and mouthwash, respectively — you let him spin you, pressing you into the counter. He pulls away, grunting something, leaving you momentarily bemused — before he presses in close again, mouth on yours, his hands hot even through the fabric of your shirt.

You want to claw your way into this man. He tilts you back — like he’s trying to claw into you, too and you break apart only long enough for the both of you to draw in what breath you need, gasping before you are kissing again, sloppily. Hungry for the need to be close.

Behind you, something begins to vibrate — and then Katsuki’s phone is bursting into life with that ridiculous old All Might cartoon theme, sharp and loud in the apartment. You pull away from your hero with a sharp breath, your disappointment tangible — Katsuki rips himself away from you with a hiss, grabbing for his phone angrily, as he answers, “What the fuck do you want?”

You can hear Kaminari clearly. “Yo! Kacchan! Love hearing from you too, dude. A few of us are meeting up tonight — ”

That’s all poor Kaminari gets a chance to say. Katsuki pulls away from his phone, looking at the screen incredulously — and then hangs up, letting it clatter against the counter.

Despite yourself, you laugh. “Did you have to be such an asshole?”

Katsuki grunts, one hand pushing back his hair, irritated. “They all fucking knew I don’t wanna hear shit unless it’s about the case.” His eyes cut to you — in the kitchen lights, they glimmer, and his mouth softens. “They know I don’t get much… free time, or whatever.” To spend with you, he means.

You’re close enough that you can reach out and touch him, easily, so you do; pressing your fingers into his chest before letting your palm slide against him. Underneath it, you can feel the steady comfort of his heartbeat. He’s here. He’s alive and he’s home safe.

Maybe Katsuki is thinking the same thing. In a lot of ways, he remains a constant mystery to you; he covers your hand with his, pressing it further against him. His hand is warm; he’s warm. You trace the outline of your fingers together and then follow the soft lines of him, his collar bone, his adam’s apple — the motion of his neck as he swallows. And then your eyes are meeting his.

This man, you think. It’s awe and it’s love and it’s disbelief that he’s here. That you’re here, with him.

You lean into him; he catches you in a hug, tight and warm, his arms thick around you. Nosing against him, you breathe in his scent, the salty sweetness, and then say, “I’ve missed you.”

“Yeah,” He grunts. You feel his lips in your hair, and then against the shell of your ear, his breath. “Missed you, too.” He headbutts you again, the heavy thunk of his forehead against the top of yours. You snuffle against him, annoyed.

“I have to make dinner,” You say, like you weren’t the one to bury yourself against him.

“Don’t care,” He says, a large hand slipping to the back of your neck — forcing you to look up at him, to meet his gaze, heated and soft. “Don’t want it,” He adds, his thumb stroking the soft skin behind your ear. “M’ — just wanna crawl back into bed with you and get some fuckin’ rest for once.”

“What rest,” You tease, but his hands tighten against you and you know what he means. It’s the same thing that drives you to nap, just to be close to him. To wait while he sleeps off a hard day, just so you’re there to welcome him back to the living. It’s just — it’s just the need to be together, in whatever way you can.

“I love you,” You say out-loud.

Katsuki headbutts you again, harder this time and you make a small squawk of protest — but he’s keeping his forehead against yours, trying to rub his nose against you, affectionate in the fickle way of a cat.

“Love you, too.” He says. You try and bite his cheek in retaliation — he swears, and tries to bite back and you are laughing, shaking like your sieve of rice — Katsuki holding you close, like he’s trying to osmosis your laughter through your skin.