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most nights, katsuki will sit under the covers with his debriefing file and a blank, uninterested stare—flipping through the documents as you prance around the room getting ready for bed.
he’s seen you do this an endless amount of times, and has even been dragged into the commotion on numerous occasions—ending the night with a green face mask and a faux frown.
still, he doesn’t really get it.
of course, brushing your teeth is a given, and he won’t fuss about you washing your face—but the line has to be drawn somewhere, right?
pillow mist—the latest villain.
“babe, seriously?” he coughs, sitting up a bit as he sticks his tongue out and holds a hand over his throat. maybe, you went a little trigger happy with the black chamomile, but he’s being dramatic. “it’s in my fuckin’ mouth!”
“there’s an easy fix for that, y’know,” you smile, running your thumb and index finger across your lips in a zipping motion.
his eyes grow wide—not out of anger, or shock, but amusement. your smug comments are never ending and supremely annoying, but he fucking loves them—they’re cute. you’re cute.
he watches, tonguing at his cheek as you plop down in front of the large floor length mirror like a heathen—skincare splayed out in front of you.
you would do this in the bathroom, but you’ve been told not to by your boyfriend—who’s just looking to maximize his precious time with you, even if it means choking back the polluted air.
though he’d still argue that you are the only one who should be choking on anything while in the bedroom—not him.
“katsuki, stop that,” you laugh, catching his gaze through the reflection as your fingers run along your cheeks, working in your moisturizer.
“huh?”
stop what? existing? he’s just sitting there, hasn’t moved a muscle or opened his mouth in almost two whole minutes, and you’re telling him to stop? what the hell do you want from—
“you’re staring.”
oh, well—you’re wearing his shirt, the black long sleeve that hangs off your shoulder just a tad and drowns your hands in excess fabric. he gave you this shirt after your first night together, and while it’s no more than a piece of cotton—it’s special.
it reminds him of that morning, when you padded into the kitchen and asked what he was doing. he was making breakfast, obviously, but you insisted he come back to bed.
you were annoying, selfish—he had no more than an hour before he had to be at the agency, and you were asking him to skip the most important meal of the day to cuddle with you. unbelievable.
nevertheless, it was then that katsuki knew he was in love—with you passed out on his chest, in his shirt, just ten minutes before he had to leave.
so yes, he’s staring.
“am not,” he scoffs, keeping his eyes glued to you as you dab yet another cream onto your fingers. what the hell are you concocting over there? “i’m makin’ sure you don’t kill us with all that shit.”
if anyone were going to kill us—it would be you. the sentence pops into your head, but dies before it ever has a shot at tumbling out of your mouth.
maybe, that would’ve been something you said to the katsuki you first met years ago—but never to the one sitting in your bed right now. if you told the public what you did on that morning, you’re almost certain that half the population would be wondering how you lived to tell the tale—because no way in hell would the dynamight let that slide, right? everyone and their mother knows that his job as a pro hero is incredibly important to him.
but, not once in your relationship have you ever felt an ounce of unease, anxiety, anything, that’d make you doubt your safety for a single second—because you are more important to katsuki.
“you still with me?” he interrupts your selfish train of thought, pushing himself off the headboard to get a better look at your face. you’re a little zoned out. “fuckin’ fumes are gettin’ to you, huh?”
“i’m fine kats,” you grin, stepping back into reality as you screw the lid back onto your eye cream. you turn, sharing your smile with him.
“c’mere,” he rasps, leaning back onto his freshly scented pillow and discarding his papers onto the nightstand.
“or what?” you challenge, looking to rile him up a little before you inevitably go over there.
“you wanna find out?” he smirks, mind flooding with a tidal wave of lewd thoughts that he’s most definitely going to share with you later.
the voice in your mind screams yes, and you rise to your feet—shuffling over there in your slippers a little too eagerly, you’re sure.
you climb atop the covers and sit beside him—milliseconds away from opening your mouth to say something that would’ve gotten you into even more trouble—but he pulls you down for a kiss.
maybe he knew what was coming and saved you, or maybe this is you finding out. reason aside—he’s kissing you. slowly, his mouth moves against yours, and subtly, he tugs on the collar of your shirt—pulling you impossibly close.
“katsuki,” you sigh, running a thumb over his cheek as you lean your forehead against his. he’s pretty—strong, sharp features contrasting the softness behind his eyes. you know this look, it’s the same one he gave you that morning. gosh, how did you get so damn—
“hey,” he barks, grinning wide as he wraps a hand around your wrist. “you starin’ at me?”