virginrosess - Tumblr blog

virginrosess · 1 year

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Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x best friend's little sister!reader

! Disclaimer ! NO INCEST. NO STEPCEST. absolutely nothing against those who write/read that, but this isn't that and I just wanna make that clear <3

Word count: 5k

Warnings: reader is Kiri's adoptive younger sister. fem reader, alcohol, intentionally making someone jealous, reader is wearing a skirt & a charm bracelet, reader gets picked up, missionary/intimate sex, no real prep, lots of feelings involved

Notes: I'm so sorry that this took literally over a year, but I hope that you enjoy it <3

Heartbeats & Handgrenades Masterlist

Your big brother is always looking out for you. You two have been close for as far back as you can remember and he’s always been very protective of you, because the absolute worst thing that he can think of is seeing you get hurt, so he does whatever he can to prevent that.

It’s sweet, of course, and you love him for it. Eijirou is the best sibling that anyone could ask for. It’s nice having someone who cares enough to look out for you the way that he does.

However.

The problem is that he does so damn good of a job trying to look out for you that he ends up scaring off most of the guys you’re interested in.

It started back in your school days. You’re only a year younger than your adoptive big bro, so you almost always attended the same school. But the moment that he put two and two together and realized that boys had taken an interest in you? It was like his protection skills leveled up. It was as if he had developed a sixth sense for when a cute boy was talking to you. He was always just around somehow.

It went beyond your time in school though. It’s now become a sizable problem for you well into your adulthood. The same routine over and over again. The guy you’re talking to finds out that you’re the Red Riot’s little sister and suddenly they’re ghosting you for fear of ending up on his bad side. They’ve seen what he’s capable of. Well, physically capable of. In actuality, you don’t think that anyone who did cross you would get more than maybe a stern talking to from the “fearsome” hero. You can’t really blame them though. Most people don’t look at the rock hard hero and think of him as the teddy bear that you know him to be.

The worst part is that doesn’t even realize that he’s essentially a chronic cockblock and you haven’t ever had the heart to tell him. Not that you think you want to. It is a bit of an awkward conversation to broach with your elder brother. How are you supposed to tell him that him being terrifyingly good at his job is what’s causing all your dick appointments to cancel on you? Especially when he thinks that you’re still such a sweet girl too. Such an innocent girl. Thankfully, he is incorrect there. His brawn doesn’t scare away absolutely everyone that you’re interested in. You’ve had plenty of practice by ways of shallow dating app hookups and bad decisions made after one too many at the bar. But it’s not like you’ve ever brought anyone home to meet the family, so he’s none the wiser to your ways.

You’ve never so much as mentioned anyone you were seeing to your brother, which is fine by him. In his humble opinion, no one’s good enough for you anyway, which is something that he has expressed multiple times; it’s not a secret that’s what he thinks. He’s more than prepared to see you as his pure, innocent little sister forever.

Bakugou though? He has a lot more trouble picturing you as innocent.

He’s spent too many nights fisting his cock to the thought of your tight pussy wrapped around him. He’s imagined the taste of you on his tongue one too many times to see you as the virginal sweetheart that his best friend believes that you are.

He hates himself for it too. Hates that he always ends up here, furiously stroking himself while suffocating the sound of your name on his lips into his pillow, lest his roommate—your brother—hear him. Hates it.

Because as much as he lusts after you, he loves you more. He's insisted to Mina, who can see through his ruse, that he loves you like a sister, but in truth, he loves every little thing about you far beyond that. The sound of your laugh, listening to you talk about your interests, even the face that you make when something’s bothering you. He knows it immediately, because all he does when you’re around is watch you. He wants to know what upsets you, so that he can avoid it, so that he can fix it. So that he can make you happy, because that’s all that he’s ever wanted for you. Happiness.

He couldn't tell you when it started, this little crush of his. As far as he can recall, he's always been drawn to you. You, who would always tag along with the rest of the gang back when you were all in high school. Who never seemed put off by his abrasive personality, even though it was certainly much worse back then. Who, even still today, always offers him a smile and makes his day just a bit brighter with only your presence.

He also couldn't tell you how he felt. First, he had no idea if you felt the same. He liked to think that he was fairly emotionally intelligent, good at reading cues and all that, but when it came to you, he was clueless. And he wasn’t sure that he’d be able to take the rejection.

Little did he know that you were trying to make it obvious. Your innocent schoolgirl crush had turned into something that ran much deeper than that after so many years of knowing Bakugou. Much like your brother, you immediately saw past his tough exterior and came to realize that he's actually one of the most caring and thoughtful people that you've ever met. He's always looking out for others, and you’ve noticed that you are no exception.

He saw you out on a date once, which was the point. You went to his usual coffee shop with some guy, because you knew that he would be there after his shift for an afternoon pick-me-up. You had hoped that it would make him jealous. That maybe you could get a sense for whether or not he harbored the same feelings that you did. Whether or not he had the same recurrent thoughts about the feeling of his skin on yours. You just wanted to know; you wanted an inkling of something to prove that maybe he was just as interested as you.

He did seem irritated beyond that typical gruff facade of his, but he also seemed genuine when he pulled you aside and told you that your date wasn't worth your time. Of course, he'd been right too. Not too long after Bakugou had scooped up his order and bolted, the idiot in question started visibly ogling other patrons in the cafe.

He was always right. About everything. It would honestly be annoying if he wasn't so good at giving advice. You knew that you could always go to him with even the silliest of problems and he'd offer you an attentive ear and a few words of wisdom that you never would've considered on your own. He had a knack for solving your every dilemma.

Which gives you a wicked idea.

He's always helped you out before. So why can't he help you with this little problem that you're having now?

Feeling a stroke of genius, you hatch a plan to send Bakugou signals that he can't miss.

You check the time on your phone. 2:16 PM. Your brother still has plenty of time left during his patrol shift and Katsuki is most likely at the apartment all by himself.

///

Half an hour later, you’re rapping your knuckles against the apartment door and before you can even drop your hand back to your side, the door’s swinging open.

Bakugou stands before you in gray sweatpants and a loose muscle tank that may have been a sleeved shirt at one point, but now it’s been cut nearly all the way to the hem on both sides. His face twists in confusion as he looks down at you.

“Didn’t your brother tell you he was workin’ today? He won’t be home for another couple hours.”

“I know,” you say simply, shrugging and clasping your hands behind your back as you stroll inside the apartment. “I came to see you.”

“Me?” He asks, sounding slightly incredulous, though he covers it by clearing his throat. “Why? Ya need somethin’?”

“Yeah, actually. Do you have a minute?”

You go ahead and slip your shoes off by the door before making yourself comfortable on the couch, fanning out your short skirt, so that it drapes across your thigh just right when you cross your legs.

“I’ve always got time for you.”

He shrugs, sauntering over to take a seat on the opposite side of the couch. He angles his body to face you as he sprawls out, his muscular arm laying over the back of the couch, fingers almost near enough to touch your shoulder.

“What’s goin’ on?”

It’s hard to focus on his question when you can see so much of his bare chest beneath his altered tank top, but his voice pulls your eyes to his face and your brain, thankfully, catches up.

“I’ve just been having some boy troubles,” you admit, a soft pout pursing your lips together. You don’t miss the glance that he steals at them.

“Well, that’s your problem,” he scoffs. “Stop dating boys and trying dating a man for a change. Boys are just gonna break your heart. A real man’ll treat ya right.”

“By a real man, do you mean someone like.. you?”

You ask so blatantly that it makes his head spin. He doesn’t even register your hand on his knee until a full two seconds later; he’s too busy trying to process whether or not you actually said what he thinks you said. He looks down and you swear you can sense the nervous energy radiating off of him as he lifts his hand to rest it atop your own. He doesn’t want you to stop touching him, but he’s already picturing folding you in half right there on the couch and he respects his best friend too much to ever do something like that to his sister. Or at least, that’s what he keeps telling himself.

“Someone like me, yeah,” he says as he starts to push your hand away, but he can’t bring himself to actually do it.

He presses his hand down on top of yours and finds the nerve to meet your gaze, which he immediately recognizes as a mistake. That little smile on your lips. The sense of longing that he’s almost certain he can see in your eyes. They’re both dwindling his resolve down to nothing.

“Well, why not you?” You shrug, daring to slip your hand up to his thigh. “Why can’t I have you, Katsuki?”

He can’t believe how simple you’re making it sound. As if you two could be together just like that? What would Kirishima think? What would he do? He’s at a loss for words. He can think of reasons to say no, but all that he wants to say is yes.

“Out of every man that I’ve ever met, you’ve always treated me the best,” you say as you look down at your hands, placing your other one on top of his. “You’re always here for me when I need you. You look out for me. You actually seem to care about how I’m doing. You even pay attention to the little things like how I take my coffee or even when I wear a different perfume. Why shouldn’t I be with a guy who does all of that?”

His heart is pounding in his chest. He’s never actually felt his pulse move quite this fast and considering his line of work, that’s saying something. He opens his mouth, trying to find a way to refuse you, but he can’t. He just can’t.

“You should,” he starts, brows knitting together with regret. “You absolutely should and you shouldn’t settle for anything less, but I don’t.. I don’t know if..”

His lips press together in a hard line. He can’t even say the words. You tilt your head and the disappointed look on your face just about kills him right there.

“It’s okay, I understand. I thought that..” you trail off, looking down as you start to pull your hands away. “I’m sorry. I must’ve been misreading things.”

“No,” he says quickly, sandwiching both of your hands between his own as you lift your head to meet his eyes once more and he finds relief in the hope that he finds there. “No, that’s not it. I,” he sighs. “You didn’t misread anything. I like you. Goddamn, do I fucking like you..”

HIs ruby eyes search your face, a melancholy smile just barely turning up the corners of his mouth. You hold your breath, trying to prepare yourself for the inevitable ‘but’ that you feel coming.

“But I don’t know if I could do that to your brother.”

Your shoulders slump and your face falls too, eyes averting to focus on a spot on the floor as you nod your head. You would try to mask your disappointment, but you can’t seem to. Even in this scenario, being Red Riot’s little sister hinders your romantic prospects.

“I was hoping that because it’s you it wouldn’t be an issue,” you say quietly, retracting your hands as you stand up. “I’m really sorry for bothering you with this. Just don’t even tell him that I was here, please. I’ll get out of your hair before I embarrass myself further.”

You turn to leave and he flies to his feet, reaching out to take your hand and spin you around to face him. His impressively large form looms over you, sizing you up with a genuinely curious expression.

“What do you mean by that? Because it’s me?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug, looking up at him with those doe eyes again. “I just figured that if ever there was a guy that he thought he could trust would treat me right, it’d be you. He respects you more than anyone else he knows. He’s known you forever. He even still looks up to you. If you don’t meet the standard in his eyes then.. I don’t know that anyone ever will.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that. He just stares down at you with knit brows and a scowl on his lips, rendered both pensive and frustrated by just how much sense it makes. He can’t deny that. But he also can’t ignore the seemingly infinite amount of times that Kirishima had warned every single member of their friend group growing up that you were strictly off limits.

Then again. You’re an adult. He’s an adult. And he’s always thought that his friend was a bit too overbearing when it came to your dating life. He gets where he’s coming from; he doesn’t want you dating an asshole, but they’re on the same page there. And this is different. Right? What you’re saying makes sense. He’d never hurt you. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he did. Kirishima would understand this logic, wouldn’t he?

He hoped so.

You’re waiting for him to say something. Do something. Anything. Finally, he seems to snap out of his thoughts and he tugs on your hand, pulling you closer to slip his arm around your waist as his hand leaves yours to cup your cheek. He kisses you the way that he’s wanted to for so, so long and it feels too right to seem like the wrong decision.

It happens so fast that you’re caught off guard. It takes a moment for it to register that this is actually happening, but when you realize, you kiss him back with just as much passion. All that tension is broken, shattered to pieces to leave nothing but a sense of all encompassing need in its place. You press your hands to his chest, fingers tightening around the fabric of his tank to tug impatiently. You’d both waited long enough. You’d both waited long enough for this and it was becoming evident just how little patience the both of you had left by the way that you’re hands are greedily exploring each other’s bodies.

“Are you sure about this?” He manages to mutter between feverish kisses as his hands start to skim beneath your top. “Because I don’t think I’ll survive it if you end up changin’ your mind on me, princess.”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” you reply without hesitation, reaching down to pull your top off completely before you reach back to unhook your bra.

You lean in to kiss him again, but he pulls back to take in the sight of you. He’s dreamed about this moment for too long, but it’s clear now that his imagination hasn't been able to do you justice.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says so sincerely that it makes you stop for a moment as your cheeks grow warm.

You lean in again to grab the hem of his shirt, giving him a chaste kiss before you lift it over his head and toss it aside. Your fingertips explore the shape of his abs, traveling up and over his chest until your hands are pressed behind his neck to pull him in once more.

“So are you,” you murmur against his lips, capturing them again to slip your tongue into his mouth.

His large hands find the small of your back before they dip lower to cup your ass. He flips up your skirt and groans when he feels the warmth of your bare skin, massaging your cheeks with a firm but gentle touch. His confidence seems to be growing as quickly as his erection has. You think to yourself that he must not have anything beneath his sweats with the way that you can feel his cock prodding at you.

He helps you shed the rest of your clothing, tugging your panties off along with your skirt before he lifts his arms to let you lift his tank and toss it aside. He’s thoroughly worked up and ready to go, but nothing could have prepared him for the feeling of your palm against his throbbing member. His breath hitches and the noise he makes almost sounds pained. All he can think about is having you wrapped around him. He nearly forgets to breathe as he bucks his hips into your touch. A whine even slips from his lips.

“You really don’t know what you do to me,” he murmurs, eyes closed and hands greedy as they knead the fat of your ass again.

“I think I have an idea,” you reply, wearing a playful smile as you cut to the chase and tug his sweats down to wrap your hand around his fully exposed and swollen cock.

He suddenly stoops down to grab you behind your thighs, effortlessly lifting you up onto his waist as he silences you with a commanding kiss. He steps out of the sweats now pooled around his ankles and carts you off to the bedroom.

Your arms are wound tight around his neck and neither one of you seems to want to come up for air. Even when he lays you down, he keeps his lips moving against yours. You part your legs and his fingertips skim along the outside of your thigh as his hips start to roll. He can’t even pretend that he’s in control of them as his tip begins to press against your slit, begging to part your lips and slip right inside of you.

“Do it,” you beg, the plea hardly a whisper as you continue crashing your lips into his. “Please, Katsuki. I’m ready, I promise. Just fuck me already.”

You shift your hips forward and, as much as he wants to take his time with you, he can’t help himself when you manage to nudge the head of his cock inside of you. He immediately gets lost in the warm, wet, and welcoming sensation of your walls. You apparently weren’t kidding when you said you were ready. He drags his hips back and then allows himself to be sucked in as he slowly sinks himself inside.

The both of you let out a sigh of mutual relief and he pushes himself up, placing his hands on either side of your body to stare down at your perfect face. He gives another roll of his hips and struggles to keep his own eyes open, so that he can watch the way yours fall shut and how your face twists as the pleasure courses through your body. He thinks to himself that it has to be one of the best things that he’s ever been blessed enough to see and he knows that he needs more. He needs to make you feel better than anyone else ever has.

So that’s what he does.

His lips connect with every inch of your skin as he languidly thrusts in and out, allowing you to fully cherish every glorious sensation. The feeling of him stretching you out so slowly, filling you up as his hips gently connect with your own. The loving kisses peppered all the way from your temple to the valley of your breasts. The soft yet sinful sounds of him losing himself within you, his hot breath tickling the shell of your ear as he sinks inside yet again and realizes he never wants to pull out.

You return his gentle touches in kind. Your hands blindly travel along his body, exploring his back, chest, and biceps at a leisurely pace, eager to offer him as many wonderful sensations as he’s lavishing you with until you feel a tightening deep within your belly that inspires you to clutch tight to his back, nails imprinting half moons into his flesh as your legs tighten around his hips.

Without a word, he knows what you need and he gives it to you.

He readjusts, propping himself up further to allow himself more leverage, which he uses to his full advantage as he starts drilling into you, steadily increasing his pace with each thrust of his hips. He tosses his head back, letting out a guttural groan and the odd curse word as his movements become more sloppy, but in the best way.

The both of you become completely tangled up with one another, a mesh of two bodies become one as you move in tandem, trading fervent kisses and wanton moans back and forth until your overcome by pleasure.

Your hands find the fabric of his comforter, now mussed atop his once neatly made bed, and you hold fast to it as your spine bows. Everything is rigid and all too much for a brief second before euphoria explodes throughout your every nerve ending, sending you into a glorious spiral. You call his name again and again in your bliss, too far gone to find any other words. They’ve lost all meaning. You beckon him closer with each utterance and every maddening pulse of your walls around him. He hardly has time to appreciate your orgasm for all it’s worth before his own hits him like a freight train.

“F-fuck!” He growls, overwhelmed by the force with which he cums.

He doesn’t even have the sense to think about pulling out, much less the time to do it before he’s pouring every last drop of his seed deep inside your cunt. He hangs his head, enveloping you in his arms as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, smothering it in kisses as he pants and groans through his release.

Eventually, you both slow to a halt, but you don’t disconnect right away. You exchange more tender touches and gentle nuzzles back and forth, content to maintain your proximity while your blood slowly begins to cool and the thrumming in your chests starts to dissipate, though both of you are pleased to find it never goes away completely. Not like it ever had before when you were around one another, but now that both of you know how the other feels, it’s different. It’s better.

Everything is better.

He opens his mouth to speak, to finally breathe life into those three little words that have died on his tongue countless times throughout the years in his cowardice, but the sound of the lock on the front door clicking open has them perishing yet again.

He freezes, realizing that there’s likely no way out of this now. You’re just as petrified, holding stock still until you hear the door swing open and both of you spring into action. Bakugou clambers off of you to snatch a pair of boxers from his drawer, hopping into them as he swings his bedroom door shut while you scramble beneath the covers to at least protect your modesty. Thankfully, your brother isn’t able to take a peek inside the room. You just hope that he doesn’t recognize your clothing piled beside the coffee table.

“Shit, I guess I should’ve told you I was comin’ home early. Sorry, bro,” Kirishima laughs as his heavy boots can be heard venturing into the living room. “I’m gonna go take a shower. Pretend like I’m not here.”

You breathe a sigh of relief, but it's minimal. You know you have to go and go fast.

“I’ll get your clothes,” Bakugou says quietly, listening at the door for the click of Kirishima’s.

You nod and sit up in the bed, waiting for him to return and hand you your outfit before you slip out from beneath the covers to dress. He does the same, stepping into the same sweats and tank top that you’d torn off of him earlier.

“M’sorry about this,” he mutters, nodding towards the door.

You shake your head, walking closer to wrap your arms around his middle as you tilt your head back and smile at him. His arms fold around you to pull you snug to his chest. You rest a hand on his cheek and pull him into a kiss that’s as sweet and deliberate as he had been with you and he’s grateful for it. He’d been half afraid that you’d scurry away and pretend as if this hadn’t even happened.

“Don’t be. We’ll figure out how to tell him together, okay? I just don’t want it to be this way.”

“Right. I don’t either. We’ll figure it out,” he repeats, his lips turning up in a smile that softens as he studies your features. “We’re gonna have to, because I love you.”

His admission renders you speechless, your eyes widening as heat creeps up the back of your neck. The pulse of your heart starts thumping in your own ears again, hammering throughout your every blood vessel as you will yourself to snap out of it.

“I love you too,” you blurt out unceremoniously, though you know you mean those three little words and the smile on his face says that he knows it too.

“I’m not working tonight. I can come by in a little bit?” He suggests, hopeful that you’ll agree and how could you not?

“I’ll make us dinner,” you confirm, smiling ear to ear as you lean in to kiss him once again.

He tightens his hold on you, finding it more and more difficult to let you go the longer that he has you in his arms, but reluctantly, the two of you soon part and he knows that you have to leave.

He pokes his head out to ensure that the coast is clear before he guides you out of the room and you hurry out the door, turning to blow a kiss over your shoulder before you head down the hall, giddy as you’ve ever been.

Bakugou tidies up his room, mulling over an excuse to offer his best friend until he and Kirishima both end up in the kitchen together.

“Seems like you’ve had a pretty good afternoon, huh?” Eijirou grins and bumps him on the shoulder before he ducks into the fridge for a beer. “Who’s the girl? Anyone I know?”

“Nah, just some girl from the gym. Don’t think you’ve seen her around.”

He feels terrible lying, but he figures it’s for the best, just for the time being. He’ll come clean eventually. No harm, no foul, right?

“Well, good for you, man. It’s good to see you puttin’ yourself out there. I was gettin’ a little worried about you being chronically single,” he jokes, chuckling as he travels into the living room to get comfortable on the couch and flip on the tv.

“Ha, yeah.” He nods, though he’s unable to even look his friend in the face as he snatches his water bottle and heads for the door. “I’m actually going over to her place for dinner, so I’ll probably be back later, but don’t wait up, okay?”

“Okay. Have fun, man,” Kirishima calls back, smiling genuinely as he waves him out the door.

That is, until he notices the small charm on the floor in front of him. He leans forward to pick it up and isn’t difficult for him to put two and two together. The clothes he’d spotted earlier had seemed familiar, but he didn’t think much of it. This, he couldn’t dispute. He knows this charm, because he had gifted it to you just last week as an addition to the bracelet that always adorned your wrist. And, as far as he knew, you hadn’t been over to their place since last month, yet here the charm was.

He doesn’t know what hurts more, that two of his best friends felt like they had to sneak around behind his back or that one of them had just lied to his face about it.

2K notes · View notes

virginrosess · 1 year

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sitting in your sweatshirt, crying in the backseat

ph! katsuki bakugou x fem! (though i don't state pronouns) reader summary: katsuki realizes his feelings a little too late contains: mentions of sex, angst (with a maybe happy ending) word count: 2.8k words masterlist

Under the shadows of the coming morning—the sun rising through the blinds of the bedroom windows in your apartment—Katsuki liked to pretend that you were his.

Just his.

He tended to be up earlier than you anyways—with years of waking up for hero work instilled in his sleep schedule—but he liked that time. It was quiet in the mornings; only the sounds of the early morning traffic and the birds nested in the tree next to your apartment to keep him company besides your breathing: breaths that were soft and sweet and slow.

He would curl his palm over your cheek, pressing your figure closer to his as he watched your chest rise and fall under him, stroking your skin softly with his rough thumb—because you were his in that moment.

Just his.

In those times, he would forget what the reality of his life was—the way you would stare at him tiredly every time he knocked on your door past 1 am, the lingering feeling of your fingers on his cheeks when he leaned in for a kiss, how you would oblige him no matter how many times you’d called him while drunk and upset, the kisses he left on your forehead before he left you alone the next morning—

—That you were not his and he was not yours, no matter how many times he liked to repeat it to himself.

It’s because of my work—he said to himself in the morning, stroking your hair out of your face.

It’s because I don’t have the time to commit—he whispered, nestling himself into the crook of your neck so he could smell the lingering scent of mint, strawberries, and sex.

If only we met under different circumstances… If only my job wasn’t so demanding… If only it was easier… If only I could commit…

If only…

After a while, you only nodded when he whispered those words at three am and your head was resting on his bare chest—like you believed him.

(Before you would get upset, turn away, tell him to leave—and the cycle would repeat.)

You’d kiss his neck in acknowledgment, curling up in his arms like a cat would—uncaring, unaware.

He wished he could do the same; just accept the reality in front of him.

But it didn’t matter, because right now, you were his.

Just his.

It was the complacency that let the cycle continue; but it was the complacency that became his downfall. He realized this when he stopped leaving you after ten minutes of waking up—waiting for the pink sky to turn bright, watching your eyes flutter open under the light of forthcoming day, the small smile that creeped into your eyes when you realized he was still there—mornings spent in the kitchen drinking coffee and sharing laughs while you paraded around in the sweatshirt he left the first time he came over.

(It was his favorite in school—black and oversized with a small embroidered insignia of All Might above the right breast.

He didn’t even know he’d lost it until you came out wearing it one morning—and some of his old cologne was still lingering on the collar.)

He let himself forget—deluded himself—into thinking it would last. That he wouldn’t eventually have to pull away, and the dream-like haze he’d lost himself in with you wouldn’t end.

Just his.

It happened five weeks later, after a month-long mission: the morning after, and you were standing in a shirt that wasn’t his with a coffee mug pressed up to your lips like it would hide what you were about to say.

“I think… I think we should end this here, Katsuki.”

The words didn’t register at first, and he stood there staring—trying to come up with an answer.

“This?”

“...us.” Your lips pressed together solemnly, as if whispering a prayer under your breath—and you let out a tired sigh. So very tired. “Our relationship.”

He grunted, unwilling to open his mouth in retaliation. The fear that had been festering in his head began to rise, ugly and thick like bile coming up his throat—and he stood still, silently, staring at the coffee you made for him with too much sugar in the mug he got you from a mission a couple months ago.

“...I’ve been seeing someone,” you let out—but Katsuki didn’t dare look at your face; Venom sat at the tip of his tongue, waiting to be spit out—

—Because you were supposed to be his.

Just his. “Don’t call it a relationship,” he settled on—enough spite in his voice that he knew it would deter you. “It never was one.”

He expected you to look relieved when he finally stared up at you again, but your expression seemed more soured than before: like you were expecting a different answer to push past his lips. It was quickly replaced though, by a smile that didn’t seem to meet your eyes like they did when you’d wake up in the morning to still find him in bed next to you, before taking another sip of your too-sweet coffee.

“Thank you, Katsuki.”

He didn’t know what you were thanking him for—your time together? For letting you go when you’d both been hooking up like this for almost a year?

And he wasn’t even sure why it felt so bitter. He’d known from the beginning that, whatever this was, wouldn’t last forever.

Why would you stay in something like this, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to give you more than the little bit of time he already did? Why wouldn’t you want someone who consistently woke up with you in the morning to give you breakfast in bed, or brought you flowers after work, or could take you out in the evenings for dinner?

You deserved that—you deserved all of it.

So why did he think (hope) you would settle for the little moments he offered you when you could have the world?

He kept his face blank when he left your apartment that morning—drilling the hole in his brain that had been dedicated to you in silence—simultaneously missing the sound of sobbing that came from your apartment as soon as he stepped out the door.

He thought he would be okay—that in a week or so, it’d be back to how it was without you.

But it wasn’t.

One week turned into two; two weeks turned into four; and four weeks turned into sitting at the bar, drunk while still in his hero outfit, with Kirishima sitting next to him as he rambled on about you.

You were the only thing he thought about, the only thing he could think about—he missed the scent of your body wash, the warmth of your skin on his, the small teasing smiles you’d give and the dimple that only appeared on one cheek, the too-sweet coffee he’d subject himself to drinking, watching the sunrise while feeling you laying next to him…

Everything about you felt like home.

He’d even gotten distracted the other day during a villain attack because there was a civvie who looked just like you in the line of fire and he’d panicked.

“It was such a fuckin’ rookie, stupid ass mistake, and I still made it,” he took the last sip of his pint before letting out a small, frustrated grunt because it was finished.

Eijirou moved to prevent Katsuki from flagging the bartender down for a refill—he was drunk enough after two pints; instead, he signaled for the check while Katsuki groaned in response.

“I’m not fuckin’ finished.”

“Yes, you are,” Eijirou stared at him with a pinched expression. “You have patrol first thing in the morning—you’ll thank me for it then.”

Katsuki huffed under his breath in resignation—unfortunately Eijirou was correct. Not only that, but the upcoming lecture he knew would be coming from the higher ups would be infinitely worse with a splitting hangover.

“I’ll pay for it,” Eijirou shooed him off his barstool. “Just go stand outside for a bit, maybe the cold will help sober you up a little before you go to sleep.”

Katsuki could only huff in response; his mind was swimming and blurred and his head felt heavy enough that he could only comply with what Eijirou had said—he’d have to pay him back for it later. Shoving his hands into his coat pockets, he trudged outside.

The late-winter-early-spring winds nipped against his skin as soon as the door shut behind him, and Katsuki pulled the scarf he was wearing higher up to fully cover his neck and chin—shifting uncomfortably in the cold while he waited for Kirishima. The street was basically empty except for the couple people walking in and out of the bar; he guessed that it was too cold for people to be wandering around at night. Most of the shops on the streets were closed too, leaving the only illumination to come from the blinking street lamps that lined the sidewalk and the gibbous moon above.

“What’s takin’ so fuckin’ long…” he muttered under his breath—trying to peer into the window to see what Kirishima was doing.

When he turned back, he spotted a couple walking in the distance; though he couldn’t make out their faces, their intertwined hands and the closeness they exuded was enough. Katsuki could see his breath in the air when he sighed, loudly, mind buried in the memories of what could have been—until they were close enough that he could make out their faces: and he realized, it was you.

And you looked happy with the extra, he couldn’t lie—all cheeky, rosy smiles and giggles as he told you some joke that he could barely get through without laughing himself; you were holding a bouquet of pink and yellow tulips in one hand, with the other hand clasped in his (which he occasionally brought up to his lips to kiss the back of); he was carrying both the leftovers of the restaurant you both just went to and a shopping bag from a store you’d always liked.

You looked… at peace—with yourself, your situation.

But as happy as you looked, he couldn’t help the ugly, selfish feeling boiling in the back of his throat.

Because you were just his.

Because… that should’ve been him.

It should’ve been him—holding your hand, leading you through the night with confidence, and the other holding everything you wanted to buy while you smiled and giggled on his arm.

You’d love teasing him. You’d loved spending time with him, as little as it was.

And though he’d refused it for so long, you’d loved him too.

He’d spent weeks, months, trying to ignore that fact when the two of you were together, if you could even classify it as that—and here he was, stuck in the same fucking position; he was destined to just watch you from afar as you moved on from the cycle he’d pushed you into, while he lost himself in it instead.

Maybe he was just selfish.

Katsuki didn’t even know when he started following you both, distantly (maybe he couldn’t help it, maybe he just wanted to make sure you reached home safe)—Eijirou was an afterthought at that point—and when you’d finally reached your apartment.

The extra even offered to come up and drop the bags off so you wouldn’t have to carry them up the stairs yourself, but you declined: kissing him shortly before waving goodbye and watching him leave.

Watching you kiss him seemed to wake Katsuki up, his glazed over eyes finally seeming to register his surroundings: the streetlamps overhead, the light from the apartments lining the building, the little crack in the paint of the building where he’d once apprehended a villain to save you, you staring at him—

—you were staring at him? Katsuki didn’t shift from where he was standing as you walked up to him, leftovers and shopping and tulips forgotten on the sidewalk in front of your apartment.

“Katsuki?” Your lips barely moved, and your hands were pressed to your sides. You were trembling slightly—and he couldn’t tell if it was from the cold or him.

He didn’t answer; he couldn’t will his mouth to open in front of you.

“Wh–What are you doing here?”

Even worse, he couldn’t bear to tell you the truth.

“I uh… I was on patrol nearby.”

You stared off to that little crack in the painted wall as if you were reminiscing, avoiding his gaze—your fingers rubbing together red in the cold with wobbly knuckles.

You were freezing.

“Here,” he grunted, slowly pulling his scarf from under his neck to hand it to you. Your expression instantly changed, and though you tried to dissuade him, the visible puffs of air coming from your nose were enough to tell him that it was something you needed.

“I… Thank you…” you whispered, letting him wrap it around you. “You always said you hated the cold, so…”

“Doesn’t matter. You clearly need it more than I do.”

This was his final act, he’d decided. He couldn’t hold you back any longer—not when he couldn’t give you what you wanted and needed out of him; no, it was what you deserved. Maybe his final act of stupidity would mean enough to him in the future that he’d be able to move on; and maybe one day the stupid scarf would just be a memento you had, instead of a reminder of the hurt he knew he’d brought.

And it was all so fucking dumb and poetic—standing in the spot you’d both met, saying your final goodbyes with your happy ending just waiting in the distance: waiting for him to get out of your life so it could be whole and right again.

But when you turned around, and started walking back towards the tulips he never bought you, leftovers from the restaurants where he never took you, and the clothes he’d never offered to buy—your apartment where his sweatshirt was laying in the first, top drawer of your dresser—the words were choked out of his throat.

Because you were supposed to be just his.

And maybe the alcohol in his system had the influence, but he couldn’t let you go: not when you were the best thing that’d ever happened in his entire life.

The echoing sound of boots slapping loudly against the pavement and your name being called out by his heavy cries was enough to stop you in your tracks—and at first he thought it was because you didn’t want to see him again: but when he called your name once more and you turned around, he learned it was because you were already crying.

“I…I love you,” he whispered when he was close enough, fighting the urge to wipe your tears away like his own weren’t following quickly behind.

“Katsuki…” you smeared your cold fingers over your face, trying to wipe away the evidence that kept falling. “I-I…Y-You…Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for those words to come out of your lips?” you couldn’t really stop the tears from falling now—and he could only pathetically watch as they did. “Do you know how much I’ve fucking ached and cried over those three stupid fucking words? And now… Now that I finally feel okay, you’re standing here—pretending like you can make it alright again? How can you–”

“I love you,” he repeated, grounding his stance in the pavement. He couldn’t let you slip straight through his fingers. “I’ve loved you since I blasted that idiot against that wall to save you. I’ve loved you since you dressed my wounds in your apartment. I’ve loved you since we met at that coffee shop again down the street. I’ve loved you through every night spent together, and through every mission spent away…” He repeated your name once more, cradling your face in his rough, cold palms like he would an oath to his heart. “And—m’sorry… I-I know I was a fuckin’ idiot this whole time not realizin’ it, and you can hate me all you want but I… I just needed you to know, ‘kay?—I couldn’t let you walk out of my life without knowing.”

He couldn’t even face you anymore, not when he could feel the tear that’d begun leaking down his cheek at the thought of you rejecting his admission: a secret he’d kept close to his heart, burying it underneath years of repression and loathing.

And now it was out in the open, left for you to stomp on if you wanted to.

“You say that now, Katsuki,” you uttered, the tears now drying on your cheeks. “But we both know that whatever this is isn’t gonna last.” You scoffed bitterly, putting your hands over his—perhaps in an attempt to remove them from where they were plastered to your skin—but instead they just rested over his while your bottom lip wobbled dangerously.

He knew you were right. He knew that everything you said was true.

And yet—

—he kissed you anyway.

Because you knew: that you were just his and he was just yours.

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