Work Text:
“Katsuki.”
Katsuki tears his gaze away from his phone, looking up and quirking a brow at Shoto, who stands awkwardly across from Katsuki at the other end of the coffee table he has his feet propped up on. He expects Shoto to continue now that he’s garnered his attention, however, he doesn’t, uncomfortably shifting his weight.
“What?” Katsuki snaps impatiently.
“I have a favor to ask,” Shoto answers, nervously fidgeting with the hem of his shirt.
Shoto’s skittish behavior strikes Katsuki as odd, and he quirks his other brow as well. It’s not unusual for Shoto to ask for favors. He does it all the time, in fact. Because somewhere in Halfie’s mind, he believes that because Katsuki accepts that they’re friends, he’s entitled to ask him for favors.
Why Katsuki ever started entertaining Shoto’s requests is so far beyond him. He doesn’t owe half-n-half anything, so he’s in no way obligated to say yes. If anyone is in debt here, it’s Shoto. The shit Katsuki has done for him astronomically exeeds what is expected of friends.
Every time Katsuki went down the trail of thought as to why he does what he does and tried to do some self reflection, like his therapist, Linda, tells him to, he’d find something so anxiety-inducing that Katsuki was forced to hastily close that open box and file it to the furthest corner of his mind, lest he feel like suffering a heart attack.
But, whatever—fuck the history lesson. Shoto’s demeanor stands out to Katsuki because of the way he’s beating around the bush. It’s uncharacteristic for someone as blunt and straightforward as Shoto, especially if you consider the way he never opens with “I have a favor to ask” and instead just jumps into asking. So, the fact that he feels the need to stall right now puts Katsuki on edge—makes him uneasy. And quite frankly, it pisses him off too.
“Well?” Katsuki urges. Shoto’s silence was starting to grate on his ears.
Shoto fiddles with the hem of his shirt for a beat longer. Then he lets it go and balls his hand into a fist by his side before rounding the coffee table and taking a seat next to Katsuki on the couch. He drops his feet and sits up from his slouch, turning to face Shoto, who still seems to be busy working up the nerve to ask for his favor.
Katsuki grits his teeth, biting out “I swear to God, you better not have some funky ass fucking kink you wanna try out,” before he can stop himself.
Shoto’s gaze snaps up from his lap in shock before he huffs out an amused chuckle once he properly registers Katsuki’s words.
“No, it’s not. Um—” Shoto breaks for a second to let out another chuckle. It takes everything within Katsuki not to jump the fucker. “It’s—will you pretend to be my boyfriend for dinner at my family’s house tonight?”
Katsuki freezes. That’s certainly not what he was expecting. Shoto’s question hangs heavily in the air, like an anchor weighing down a ship, and for a moment, time seems to still. Katsuki holds his breath, staring at Shoto for any kind of indication that he’s joking. He knows the idiot’s been working on his sense of humor. Not that he’s really made progress, but Katsuki digresses.
Shoto’s expression remains unchanged—a blank, awaiting stare directed at Katsuki. And he’s hit with the devastating realization that Shoto’s not joking. He’s serious.
“Hell fucking no!” Katsuki shouts, his heart leaping to his throat as a sudden heat filters into his stomach. Why, you may ask? Fuck if he knows. He doesn’t know why his body reacts the way it does.
“Katsuki please,” Shoto begs, reflexively throwing out an arm to stop Katsuki from jumping up from the couch. “You’re the only person I can think of.”
Katsuki scoffs, bringing his legs up onto the couch. “Why not ask fucking Izuku. I’m sure he’d be more than happy to help,” he argues, hands and heels sinking into the soft cushions as he crawls backwards.
“Izuku is busy working on his assignment,” Shoto fires back, getting on his hands and knees to follow after Katsuki, crawling after him like a predator hunting down its prey. “I don’t want to bother him.”
“Four eyes then. Pretty sure his assignment’s done by now.”
By this point, Katsuki has reached the end of the couch, his lower back pressing up against the armrest. Shoto continues to close in on him, leaving Katsuki no choice but to slide down against the armrest in a last ditch effort to try and get away. But three years of sparring sessions has taught Shoto what to anticipate and look out for in Katsuki’s moves, to a point where he could read him almost as well as Izuku does. (The nerd always wins, though. Childhood friends or whatever.) So, in a successful guess, Shoto cuts off Katsuki’s escape route by caging him in. Taking advantage of the way Katsuki is on his back on the couch, he places his hands on either side of Katsuki’s head, throwing a leg over his middle to hover above him on his hands and knees.
And with that, he’s trapped. Katsuki has nowhere left to run.
Instead of cowering like some submissive wimp, Katsuki narrows his gaze into a scowl, glaring up at Shoto with the same level of determination he’s being presented with. He will not give in.
“Tenya and Yaomomo are dating. He’d never accept.” Shoto doesn’t flinch under … above? Katsuki’s glare. He stands his ground, maintaining the firm stance he has over Katsuki’s form.
“I am not pretending to be your boyfriend,” Katsuki hisses, brows dipping deeper into their scowl.
His one hand flies up to grip Shoto’s left wrist, and he lets off a tiny round of warning explosions, wordlessly telling Shoto that his patience was wearing thin. Katsuki knows the explosions don’t hurt—there’s a reason he grabbed his left wrist specifically.
“Please,” Shoto continues to plead, undeterred by Katsuki’s explosions.
“You won’t win me over by begging!” Katsuki barks, setting off a round of stronger and louder explosions. He’s starting to get seriously pissed off—which has been tending to happen less and less around Shoto. So, the fact that he’s the source of Katsuki’s anger right now really says something.
Now, at this point you’re probably asking: ‘But Katsuki. If you said yes to fuck sessions with Shoto, why do you draw the line at fake boyfriend?’
His answer?
First of all, fuck you. Second of all, the answer lies buried in that hastily closed box in the back of his mind. The few times he did open it to peek inside, what he found was so daunting to face that it made him nauseous.
But sure. Let’s do some self reflection. (Fuck you, Linda.)
First: Katsuki thinks Shoto is pretty. But like, no shit. Anyone with a pair of eyes and half a functioning brain can tell that Shoto is all but the male version of Aphrodite. We’re talking about Katsuki here, though. Katsuki—can’t be bothered to pay attention to those around him—Bakugo. Him saying he finds Shoto pretty means a lot. Like…a lot.
Next: Katsuki enjoys Shoto’s company. When he finally got over his denial back in first year and actually accepted the fact that he and Shoto were friends, any time spent around him became some of Katsuki’s most valued memories. And apart from the fact that—yes, Shoto is very good in bed—Katsuki genuinely values their friendship. This friends with benefits line they’re treading is already so dangerous and pulled taut. Adding fake dating into the mix is a recipe for disaster—the rope could snap at any point, and Katsuki would rather not take the risk.
Next: Katsuki has a crush on Shoto.
Woah! Wait. Wait, wait, wait.
What?!
Linda! What the fuck is he supposed to do when self reflection hits him over the head with a fact he’s not ready to believe yet?!
“...”
Wow. Thanks Linda.
Katsuki is closing the box again. Fuck self reflection right up the ass with a fork and a ten foot pole. Katsuki is not ready to accept this—still not ready.
“Why the hell do you need a fake boyfriend anyway?” Katsuki asks in a desperate attempt to distract himself. Maybe also because he’s morbidly curious. Sue him.
Shoto shifts his gaze to the side, determination and pleading puppy dog eyes giving way for something more annoyed. “Fuyumi organized the whole thing. Everyone’s going to be there. Toya, Mom, Natsu…and my dad…”
The silence thereafter speaks for itself, and Katsuki puts the pieces together on his own. Three years of friendship came with a lot of deep, late night conversations.
“So you wanna bring your ‘boyfriend’ to piss off your homophobic piece of shit dad,” Katsuki finishes for him, earning a confirming nod from Shoto in reply.
“He’s always going on and on about how I have to find a suitable wife—like I haven’t spray painted the words ‘I’m gay’ on his bedroom wall before—” Katsuki snorts at that. “—but he just refuses to listen and it just makes me so—mad!”
While Shoto becomes distracted with his little rant, Katsuki uses the opportunity to sit back up against the armrest. He folds his arms across his chest, shifting until he’s comfortable. He knows there’s no point in trying to stop Shoto; when he gets started on a rant there’s no way of getting him to quiet down until he deems his point carried across. Not that Katsuki would want him to stop ranting anyway. He enjoys seeing Shoto get mad or passionate about something. It was a nice change of pace compared to his usual nonchalant ‘I don’t give a shit’ attitude.
A smirk finds its way onto Katsuki’s face as he watches Shoto continue to ramble.
“…and so I think if it’s you, it’ll just piss him off even more.”
Now this catches Katsuki’s attention.
“Mhm,” he hums, his smirk widening into a cocky grin. “And why’s that?”
Shoto’s gaze flits back to Katsuki, his expression a little dazed and confused due to being interrupted. And oh, shit. Katsuki does not like how pretty and puppy-like he looks right now.
“He doesn’t like you,” Shoto states, like it’s a historically known fact. “Remember? With the way he acted towards you during our work study?”
Katsuki nods his head and quietly chuckles to himself. He does remember just how irritated Endeavor was when they first interacted with one another. Katsuki nearly pissed himself laughing at the guy’s facial expression when Shoto introduced him as one of his friends. And even now—two years later—he still hates Katsuki’s guts.
“Okay, yeah. I remember him not liking me very much,” Katsuki notes.
“Exactly,” Shoto says, all but jumping forward with an expression that screams business.
And suddenly, he’s a little too close for Katsuki’s liking. He does not like how fast his heart is beating right now. His watch is probably going to start violently beeping in warning any moment now. He also does not like how sweaty is palms are. Or the pressure in his chest. Or how his face is flushed. Or how his stomach is fluttering and churning at the same time—
“So just imagine how pissed off he’ll be if he thinks you’re my boyfriend,” Shoto says, and there’s this excited twinkle in his stupidly alluring hetechromatic eyes—a spark that ignites an unavoidable exhilaration in Katsuki’s being.
Imagine he does, picturing Endeavor silently seething at the table, unable to lash out or do a thing because of how strict Fuyumi is about proper table manners with a set in stone ‘no fighting at the table’ rule. It would be funny to witness. Hilarious—hysterical, even. And it would feel so good to be the cause.
Fuck. Katsuki does not like how he’s considering this idiotic plan.
“It’s only for one night,” Shoto reasons, his eyes shifting back to their pleading puppy dog selves. “Please.”
And yep. That’ll do it. Shoto won.
“Just for tonight,” Katsuki says firmly, trying his best to look past the way Shoto’s eyes regain that excited spark and a soft smile grazes his lips.
“Thank you,” Shoto says, finally pulling back and giving Katsuki space to freely move and get up from the couch.
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t mention it,” Katsuki replies as he gets to his feet, turning to leave for the elevator so he can go up to his room and get ready. Before he gets there, though, he spins around to look Shoto dead in the eye, raising a finger in warning. “Seriously. Don’t mention it.”
Shoto tries to hide a smile, zipping his lips shut and throwing away the metaphorical key. “My lips are sealed.”
₊⊹⁀➴
“Ground rules,” Katsuki announces once they’re seated in the Uber and have hit the road. “We already call each other by our first names so that’s good.”
“You call me anything but my first name,” Shoto replies, instantly met with a loud “Huhh!?”
“It’s true. You call me Halfie, Half-n-half, Icyhot, Hot-n-cold bastard. I swear you even called me Candy cane once—”
“Okay! Enough!” Katsuki interrupts him with a shout, burning hot with embarrassment at the memory of the time the words ‘candy cane’ slipped from his lips. The Bakusquad swore to never let him live it down.
“What about I call you Sho?” he suggests, immediately stuffing down the fluttering feeling in his chest when he sees the way Shoto perks up excitedly at the prospect of a nickname—a cute one, at least.
He gives a few thrilled nods. “I’d like that.”
Fuck. Why is his heart racing right now? Why is he so warm?
Katsuki pointedly ignores the box staring at him from the back of his mind.
“Next thing. Physical touch. We need limits,” Katsuki says. “Because I’m not fucking kissing you. My rule still stands.”
Shoto nods understandingly before his brows dip into a sudden frown. “Do you really think they’ll believe we’re together if you shy away from a kiss.”
“If we have to kiss for them to believe we’re together, then we’re doing a terrible job of pretending,” Katsuki replies. He understands where Shoto is coming from, though, so he presents him with an alternative.
“You could—fuck, I don’t know. Kiss the back of my hand or something,” he says, gritting his teeth and pushing through.
The idea of Shoto’s lips on his crosses Katsuki mind for a split second, causing his heart to jolt and his stomach to flutter. He makes a point of mentally flipping it off and pushing the thought away—kicking it, really. Katsuki will be damned if he caves now—breaks the no kissing rule he set to protect their friendship. And to protect himself from the hurt if anything were to ever go wrong. Because he knows if he allowed himself even an inkling of a taste, he’d never be able to live without it.
Shoto hums thoughtfully, considering the idea for a moment. Then, in a swift, unexpected move, he grabs Katsuki’s hand and brings it up to his mouth, gently pressing his lips to the back of Katsuki’s hand. His face erupts in a blush—he knows it does—and he has the sudden urge to pull away and fling himself out of the car because how is he supposed to handle this shit??
Unfortunately, he can’t do that. Not now, and not at dinner when they’re surrounded by Shoto’s family. He can’t throw himself out the window or shrug off Shoto’s touch, because they have to pretend. They have to be convincing.
Fuck. Why did he agree to do this?
“Maybe only do that once,” Katsuki mumbles, taking his hand back and balling it into a fist into his lap. He ignores Shoto’s smug little smirk.
“Anything else?” he questions.
Shoto hums again, looking off to his upper left in thought. “Compliments?” he suggests.
Katsuki mulls it over for a second before he nods. “Yeah, hit me.” He’s used to people complimenting him all the time—he’s the best and he deserves them, duh—so he figures, it can’t be that bad, right? Surely Shoto complimenting him is going to be the exact same thing, right?
Right??
Wrong.
“You look really good in your outfit.”
Shit.
Heat rushes to Katsuki’s face, likely coloring him an embarrassing shade of red. The compliment coming from Shoto made a huge difference. He says it so effortlessly, with such a gentle smile and not a trace of deception. The compliment is so genuine, and it toys with Katsuki’s heart.
“It’s nothing special,” Katsuki says, looking anywhere but at Shoto. His outfit really is quite plain, though, if you hold him up to the fact that his parents are literal fashion designers.
Katsuki is wearing something more casual; black ripped skinny jeans, a camo green and black jacket combo, topped off with his favorite black and white high top sneakers.
It feels bleak compared to Shoto’s more put together look of non-ripped, grey skinny jeans and a button up and sweater combo. Sure, he’s wearing his go-to light blue sneakers, but the rest of his outfit puts Katsuki’s casual look to shame.
Would his mother kill him for not dressing up better for a dinner? Maybe…definitely. Katsuki shudders at the thought.
“It’s perfect. Don’t deflect,” Shoto chides, and Katsuki just grumbles in reply.
The rest of the drive is spent in silence, a silence in which Katsuki tries desperately to calm his raging nerves.
Now, you’re probably asking: ‘But Katsuki, you’ve met Shoto’s family before. You trade recipes with Fuyumi on the regular, you play video games with Natsuo, and you cook with Rei and Toya. What do you have to be nervous about?’
Well, maybe the fact that he absolutely fucking sucks at lying! Katsuki is honest to a fault. Ask him to lie for you, and he’ll likely end up blaring out the truth with confetti and explosions to match. So, if anyone’s going to mess up this idiotic plan of Shoto, it’ll probably be him.
Fuck. Why did he say yes?
He turns his head away from the box peeking at him from the edge of his vision.
But Katsuki’s nothing if not adaptable. He’s a hero, after all. So, he’ll make it through tonight and successfully pretend to be Shoto’s boyfriend without breaking his heart or yearning for something he’ll never be able to have. Somehow.
When Katsuki and Shoto finally arrive at the Todoroki estate, they’re welcomed at the door by a jumping-for-joy Fuyumi.
“Shoto!” she squeals, wrapping her arms around her brother for a hug. “I’m so glad you could make it. I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”
“It’s only been three weeks, Fuyumi,” Shoto replies as she pulls away.
She waves him off with a playful “Hush” before she directs a beaming smile in Katsuki’s direction, settling for taking his hand in her’s as she knows of his discomfort concerning hugs.
“I’m glad to see you too, Bakugo,” she says, giving his hand a light squeeze. “Shoto didn’t say he was bringing a friend, but you’re welcome nonetheless.”
Before Katsuki has a chance to respond, Fuyumi drops his hand and spins around to head back inside. “Dinner is basically ready, so you guys can wait at the table while I finish up,” she says before she disappears around a corner.
Stepping inside, Katsuki and Shoto stay behind to remove their shoes at the genkan. It’s here where Katsuki hisses out a question to Shoto, not sure if he should be mad or racked with anxiety.
“You didn’t tell her?!”
“It was a little short notice,” Shoto defends.
With no more than an irritated huff, the two head deeper inside. The traditional Japanese-style home feels familiar; Katsuki basically knows the house like the back of his hand with the amounts of times he’s visited. It calms his practically shot nerves to a manageable level. It’s when they reach the dining room, and Katsuki catches sight of Endeavor, that they flare up again.
“Shoto! It’s good to see you, son,” Endeavor greets, flashing him an almost unnoticable smile.
Shoto stands paused in the doorway before he acknowledges Endeavor with a simple “Dad.”
Katsuki follows behind Shoto and into the dining room, silently taking the open seat next to him at the table.
“Hey Bakugo. Hey Sho,” Natsuo greets them both. “How’ve you been?”
“Good,” Shoto answers for them both. “School is busy but we manage. How about you?”
As Shoto and Natsuo dive into a conversation and catch up on everything that’s happened since his last trip home, Katsuki’s eyes wander to the only other person at the table: Endeavor—or, well, Enji, since he’s not exactly a hero anymore.
The man is busy giving him a sideways glance, eyes boring a hole straight through him. Katsuki swallows, but stares right back. Were it not for his stupid motherfucking nerves, his glare would probably be as confident as it usually is. But right now…he knows it’s weak.
“Fuyumi didn’t tell us Shoto was bringing along a friend,” Enji says. His deep, loud voice sends a chill running down Katsuki’s spine, and his body breaks out in goosebumps.
Shit. What the fuck does he say to that? What’s the best way to respond?
“He’s not my friend,” Shoto interjects, putting his conversation with Natsuo on hold, and turning to face Enji instead.
Before Enji or Natsuo has a chance to question Shoto or get him to elaborate, Fuyumi announces her presence with a hearty “Dinner’s ready!” And in through the dining room door she comes, with Rei and Toya short on her heels.
Katsuki rises along with Shoto from the table, waiting by his side as he’s greeted by his mother and older brother, Rei giving him a tight hug before Toya grabs him in the stereotypical big brother chokehold and gives him a knuckle sandwich. While Shoto flails around and battles it out with him, Katsuki gets his turn with Rei. She greets him with a smile and takes his hand, much like Fuyumi did when they first got here.
“How are you, Bakugo dear?” she asks, her voice gentle and soothing compared to her husband’s. Katsuki feels his nerves start to calm again, and he’s able to muster a smile—one of the ones he reserves just for her.
“I’m good,” he answers smoothly.
Shoto finally escapes from Toya’s hold (or maybe he just lets him go), and he shakes his head with a sigh, rejoining Katsuki at his side. And in an unexpected move, Shoto grabs his hand and intertwines their fingers, giving his hand a squeeze as if to warn him not to let go.
And then it hits Katsuki—like a sack of bricks over the back of the head, really. They’re pretending. Now. Shit is starting to get real and he needs to focus or their cover will be blown.
Rei doesn’t seem to notice their intertwined hands, but Toya does. He eyes their hands for a second before his gaze connects with Katsuki’s, a single brow raised in a silent question. Katsuki responds with his own wordless gesture, giving Shoto’s hand a visible squeeze. Toya gives Katsuki a responding expression that's somewhere between surprised and congratulatory.
Once seated, Fuyumi tells them to enjoy while showing off the shabu-shabu she, her mother, and Toya prepared. Everyone puts their hands together for a quick “Thank you for the meal” before dishing food for themselves.
Dinner starts out fine. Tame. Everyone makes light conversation, enjoys their meal in between, and just all around behaves themselves. It’s nice—not much different from a usual dinner at the Todorokis' when Katsuki comes over to visit.
“Hey! You took the last slice of wagyu,” Shoto says about fifteen minutes into dinner, giving Katsuki a stupidly endearing pout that has his stomach doing acrobatics.
“Early bird gets the meat,” Katsuki fires back, picking up said slice of wagyu meat and adding it to his pot on the table so it can cook.
He goes through the same routine steps of adding his tofu, green onions, and cabbage leaves after so his soup can gather flavor, all while Shoto continues to stare at the last piece of wagyu meat cooking in Katsuki’s pot like a kicked puppy. It creates an itch at the nape of Katsuki's neck, and so, with an exasperated sigh, he takes the cooked meat out of his pot and keeps it hovering above his soup bowl, carrying it closer to Shoto’s mouth.
“Here,” he says, urging Shoto to take the bite.
Katsuki has to quite literally shove away the happiness flooding his chest when Shoto’s lips spread into a wide smile and he gives him the most grateful “Thank you, Katsuki” he’s ever heard. Because if he doesn’t, he might suffer a heart attack right here at the dinner table.
No one bats an eye, apart from Enji, who sends Katsuki a nasty side eye. He knows to ignore it by now, though. It’s not the first time Shoto wanted something from his plate and he (unwillingly, believe it or not) fed it to the guy after only one little pout or one second of pleading eyes.
Whatever, though. It’s fucking fine. Shoto gets what Shoto wants. That much has been established with the way Katsuki’s unable to say no to a single one of his favors.
More minutes pass, dinner remains peaceful, and eventually Enji stops sending daggers Katsuki's way. Natsuo and Toya make conversation about school and work respectively, Rei and Fuyumi chat about some of her students and their strange little habits, and Shoto…is talking to Katsuki. He should probably listen.
“Are we still up for training next weekend, d-darling?”
Silence falls over the table, conversations put on hold to direct curious gazes over in Shoto’s direction.
Oh god. Katsuki doesn’t know whether he should laugh or dig a hole for him and Shoto to crawl into because the second-hand embarrassment is enough to die from. Toya snorts, but successfully stops it from turning into a giggle fit when Fuyumi shoots him a dirty look. Rei tells off Enji for the way he once again sends a side eye Katsuki’s way, and Natsuo seems like Katsuki—stunned speechless.
He has to say something, though. He’s supposed to be Shoto’s loving boyfriend here. Nicknames aren’t supposed to catch him off guard like this. Clearing his throat, Katsuki breathes out a tiny laugh, lightly bumping Shoto’s shoulder with his own.
“We talked about you forcing yourself to use pet names,” he says in what he hopes is a reassuring, soothing tone—the same kind of tone Rei uses that makes Katsuki feel so at ease. “But yes, we’re still on for training."
With that out of the way, the put on hold conversations resume, and apart from the fact that Shoto just did…whatever the fuck that was, dinner was turning out nice, in Katsuki’s opinion. He thinks they may get through the night without having to drop the whole ‘boyfriend’ bomb—without having to do something else out of the ordinary.
That is—until Toya opens his big, fat fucking mouth. Katsuki enjoys his menacing behavior on a good day, but not today. Not right now.
“So, Shoto. Do you have something to share with us?” he asks, and instantly Katsuki’s nerves skyrocket. A wave of cold dread washes over him.
Shoto furrows his brows, tilting his head at Toya. “What do you mean?”
The menacing smirk on Toya’s face grows, and by now, he’s garnered the attention of everyone at the table, conversations pausing yet again. “You know? Have there been any…changes? Any new developments in your life?”
Katsuki drops his spoon and chokes on his bite of food. Shoto quickly reaches over to clap him on the back and ensure he doesn’t suffocate. When he’s safe and cleared, Shoto’s attention jumps back over to a grinning Toya. “Quit dragging it out, Toya. Get to the point.”
Toya chuckles, low and sly. Katsuki’s heart practically drops straight out of his ass. He honestly thinks the only reason his watch hasn’t warned him yet is because his heart is periodically stopping instead of constantly racing.
In a desperate attempt to salvage what little peace remained around the dinner table, Katsuki sends Toya a pleading look (but you’ll never catch him admitting that it’s pleading). Actually—scratch that. It’s pleading. Katsuki’s even desperate enough to mouth the words ‘please’ to Toya if that devilish smirk doesn’t wipe itself off his face very fucking quickly.
“If my intuition is right,” Toya starts, his smirk widening into a mad grin when he sees Katsuki start to beg. “Something’s different between you and hot topic over there.”
Katsuki has an urge to slam his head onto the table. Violently, and repeatedly. Unfortunately he can’t do that because he kind of needs all his brain cells if he wants to stay above Izuku during midterms.
When Shoto finally registers what Toya’s words imply, he turns his attention over to Katsuki, face carefully blank. The rest of the table is silent as well, waiting to see how events will unfold.
“Well—”
“Before you start denying things, you said before dinner started that Bakugo isn’t your friend,” Natsuo interrupts, renewing Katsuki’s urge to aggressively bang his head against the table. “So Toya’s definitely onto something here.”
Well fuck.
Guess there’s no going back now.
Katsuki is sick of his nerves, and there’s only one way he knows to effectively get rid of them. It’s the same way he gets rid of anything else that pisses him off.
He blows it up.
So, Katsuki slams a hand onto the table, directs his gaze at Natsuo and Toya across from him, and spreads his lips into the most manic, insane-looking grin he can manage. He pushes past his discomfort, giving himself two seconds of mental preperation before he says “Hell yeah I’m not his friend. I’m his motherfucking boyfriend.”
There’s approximately one minute of uninterrupted silence, and then chaos ensues.
“Exuse me!??”
“You’re excused, darling.”
“Aww, congrats you two!”
“I called it.”
“No you didn’t.”
Everyone was talking over each other, leaving Katsuki to shut up and sit back in his seat, watching alongside Shoto as the spectacle continued to unfold. Natsuo and Toya get sucked into an argument about whether or not Toya called that Katsuki and Shoto would inevitably end up together, Rei was trying her best to calm Enji and keep him from absolutely losing his shit, and Fuyumi was deviding her attention between the two situations to try and regain a level of normalcy at the table.
Eventually things do seem to calm down a certain amount, which is when Enji deems it his time to speak.
“Shoto. What is this outrageous claim?” he questions in a held back rage. It seems he doesn’t know wether to glare at Katsuki or Shoto.
“It’s not outrageous,” Shoto fires back as calm and monotone as ever. “It’s the truth. Katsuki’s my boyfriend.”
Shoto has absolutely no idea what those words do to Katsuki’s heart. He has no idea how it warms him from the inside out, making him want to act so out of character and giggle or kick his feet. Shoto has no idea how many times Katsuki has layed awake in bed at night, staring at his ceiling and contemplating cutting their pulled taut line—just saying ‘fuck it’ and kissing the absolute shit out of him when they’re fucking in the moonlight.
Fuck. Katsuki feels…he doesn’t know what he feels. He kicks the box at his feet. Not hard, just a little nudge. It’s the thing’s punishment for taunting him.
“How many times have I told you. You have to—ow!”
Katsuki slaps a hand over his mouth to hold back his laughter, Shoto disguising a snort with a cough next to him. This is why Rei is his favorite Todoroki (apart from Shoto, who obviously gets the top spot every time). She just smacked the absolute shit out of the back of Enji’s head, telling him to “Hush up” before she sends a beaming smile Katsuki and Shoto’s way.
“I’m very happy for you two, dear,” she says, and oh, if that doesn’t completely melt Katsuki’s heart. It makes him feel so suddenly guilty. Looking at the genuine joy Rei feels for her son and his not so empty anymore love life, it just makes him feel so bad for lying.
“Thanks mom,” Shoto says, throwing his dad a dirty look that almost sends Katsuki reeling.
Nevermind. With the rage boiling inside Enji and the expression painting his face, Katsuki feels absoltely zero remorse for lying.
“So, since Shoto got to bring his boyfriend to dinner, when can I bring mine?” Toya suddenly asks, and a fresh wave of incoherent screaming breaks out around the table.
“Whaaaaat?!!”
“Darling, don’t yell.”
“Oh my gosh, Toya! Since when!?”
“Is it Keigo? It better be Keigo.”
“I’m glad to know I’m not alone.”
Before Toya even has the chance to try and answer the questions being thrown his way, Enji does lose his shit. He lets out an enraged “Quiet!” slamming his balled fists down on the table, his metal arm making considerably more noise with the added weight. He hits the table so hard that some chopsticks go flying up into the air, the ceramic bowls clanking against the table when they come back down.
“Don’t tell me none of you like women!” Enji bellows, directing his mad gaze around the table.
After a few moments of eerie quiet, a meek voice comes and says “I do.”
“Fuyumi!” Enji shouts, clearly despondent at the news.
“Sorry not sorry,” she says with an unbothered shrug, picking her bowl back up to continue eating her food.
“This is the best family dinner ever,” Toya wheezes out from his place at the table, dissolving back into laughter after catching a glimpse of his father’s face.
“Shoto,” Enji says, ignoring Toya’s laughter and focusing his attention back on his youngest child. “I’ve told you before that you ought to grow out of this phase of yours,” he continues.
Rei goes to smack him again, but he catches her hand and gently lowers it back into her lap.
“It’s not a phase,” Shoto argues, sounding all but two seconds away from screaming. Katsuki catches a glimpse of his hand that’s balled into a fist on his lap. “I like men. I have a boyfriend—I’ve been telling you this for years!”
“And I’ve told you to grow up. I will not have a fag for a son!”
. . .
Shoto jumps up from the table, the silence in the room near deafening. Without even so much as a glance in his father’s direction he storms out of the room, not even bothering to close the door behind him.
Katsuki watches as he disappears around the corner—watches as he wipes at his face just before he’s out of view. And fuck, if that doesn’t absolutely break Katsuki.
Shoto’s told him about his dad and their fights about his sexuality many times before. Katsuki could practically recite the stories he’s been told word for word. It stokes an anger inside him towards Enji that can never be extinguished. So here he sits, at the Todoroki estate, at their dinner table, staring the man that’s causing his crus—friend—one of his best friends so much pain and refuses to be a man and accept him for who he is, and Katsuki’s boiling—brewing with a rage that probably surpasses Enji’s in intensity.
Katsuki has a choice to make right now. He can either stay and chew the fuck out of Enji. Jump him and tear him a fucking new one. Or he can leave—chase after Shoto and provide him comfort.
It’s a difficult choice to make. Katsuki’s heart is pounding against his ribs in anger, his watch beeping at him from under the table in warning. But he brushes off the noise, staring intently at Enji with flared nostrils. Until he decides what’s more important and jumps up, rushing out of the dining room to find Shoto.
He finds Shoto in the bathroom, standing by the running sink with his head hanging low. From what Katsuki can see, he’s not crying anymore, which is good. He enters the bathroom, closing the door behind him before approaching Shoto.
“Fuck him,” Katsuki says, catching Shoto’s attention and causing him to look up. When he spots Katsuki he turns around, leaning against the sink’s edge with his hands by his sides. His eyes are red and puffy from crying, and Katsuki can’t help but reach up to swipe a thumb across his cheeks, wiping away the tear trails.
“Fuck your piece of shit dad,” he says again, feeling as irritation licks at his skin.
“Sometimes I feel like he’s right, though,” Shoto mumbles. Taking Katsuki’s hand in his own, he removes it from his face and holds it between them, tracing soft patterns into his palm.
“Sometimes I do feel like it’s just some kind of act of rebellion against him,” he continues. His eyes are trained on Katsuki’s hand, nails lightly scratching along the length of his fingers. “Sometimes I feel like…I’m not right. Like there’s something wrong with me. Like I’ll never be enough no matter what I am—”
Shoto is cut off by Katsuki’s knees hitting the ground, his hands flying up to start to undo his belt.
“Katsuki what—”
“Shut up for a second,” Katsuki cuts him off, flicking open the button on Shoto’s jeans and swiftly pulling down the zipper. His jeans and boxers are next to go, pulled down to mid-thigh before his dick is in Katsuki’s right hand.
As he starts slowly stroking Shoto, his left hand starts running a path along the left side of Shoto’s body, starting at his thigh before Katsuki runs it upward and over his hipbone. He glances up at Shoto, who’s breathing heavily above him, pupils blown wide as he watches Katsuki’s movements. He drags his hand more to the left, sneaking it up Shoto’s shirt and sweater to rest on the natural dip of his waist. He gives it a light squeeze, and Shoto sucks in a soft breath.
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Katsuki says, leaning closer to nose along the side of Shoto’s hardening cock.
He releases a slow breath, letting it ghost over his shaft until he gets to his pelvis. Katsuki looks back up at Shoto from under his lashes, making sure he’s still got his full attention before he places a featherlight kiss on Shoto’s skin.
“You’re perfect,” Katsuki continues, pulling back and tilting his head up to make better eye contact with Shoto. It's not often that he gives reassurance; Katsuki isn't good with things like that, but thinking back to Shoto’s expression at the table when his father insulted him, and what Shoto said just moments ago … Katsuki had to try, right? Shoto has to know. “It’s not fucking rebellion. It’s who you are, Shoto. And you’re perfect.”
Shoto opens his mouth to form a response, but before he’s able to say anything, Katsuki takes him in his mouth and sinks down. The only thing that leaves Shoto’s lips is a low moan, and he throws his head back, hitting it against the mirror on the wall.
The weight of Shoto on his tongue feels familiar as do the actions of sinking down and pulling back, laving his tongue along the underside of Shoto’s dick, and swirling it around the tip before dipping it into his slit, earning him a shuddering moan in reply. Shoto has to slap a hand over his mouth to muffle the sounds, lest his family hears the filthy but oh so sexy noises he makes.
Katsuki can honestly listen to an audio of Shoto’s noises on replay—come untouched from it if you really want to know. The sounds he makes send this pleasant tingle up Katsuki’s spine, scratching the part of his brain that releases oxytocin, and making him feel so incredibly good.
Like Katsuki said, he’s perfect. From his two-toned hair, to his pretty hetechromatic eyes, to his sexy, husky voice, right down to his monochromatic personality that Katsuki fucking adores; he’s the epitome of perfection. And if he’s the male version of Aphrodite, Katsuki is a follower. He’s on his knees, worshipping him—everything about him.
“Fuckk. Katsuki.” His name spills past Shoto’s lips, muffled by his hand but audible nonetheless. It pulls a moan from Katsuki’s throat, sending a vibration up Shoto’s spine and causing his hips to jerk forward in shock. His dick hits the back of Katsuki’s throat, causing him to gag and pull back.
“Shit—sorry,” Shoto apologizes, his free hand coming down to lift Katsuki’s chin and get him to look up. “You okay?” he asks.
“‘M fine,” Katsuki rasps out, lips stretching into a smile. “As long as it’s your pretty dick I’m choking on, I don’t mind.”
He chuckles at Shoto’s stunned expression, removing his face from his hand and reclaiming him in his mouth. And again, Shoto releases the same low moan from before, his hand burying itself in Katsuki’s hair, using the grip he has to guide Katsuki up and down, allowing him to pick up a steady pace.
And though Shoto’s moans are muffled by his other hand, they’re crystal clear to Katsuki’s ears. He palms at his own erection through his jeans, humming around Shoto’s dick at the satisfaction the friction brings.
And he feels so good in Katsuki’s mouth. It’s never boring to blow Shoto off. It doesn’t get repetitive. He does this thing where he switches between hot and cold when he’s getting close to finishing, unable to properly regulate his temperature because of the stimulation. It’s earned Katsuki a burn or two in his mouth, but you’ll never hear his masochistic ass complaining.
Right now, he was leaning more towards cold. It kind of reminds Katsuki of eating ice-cream, except the ice-cream is Shoto’s dick, and it tastes a thousand times better. Knowing he was getting close, Katsuki picks up his speed, bobbing his head faster to tip Shoto over the edge.
“Fuck, shit, Katsuki, I’m gonna—” Shoto’s grip on his hair tightens, tugging at the blonde strands as he comes into the heat of Katsuki’s mouth, pulling back and allowing him to swallow it down.
The orgasm leaves Shoto all dopey, staring down at Katsuki in a daze with those puppy-like eyes. He takes a few moments to come down from his high while Katsuki starts to get up from his knees. Once standing, Shoto has snapped out of his daze and pulls up his pants and boxers.
“You need help with that?” Shoto questions, pointing to the still obvious bulge in Katsuki's jeans.
“Nah, you go ahead without me. I’ll be fine in a minute.”
Shoto hesitates for a second before he nods and leaves the bathroom.
When Katsuki leaves and searches around the house, he finds Shoto in the living room. He's on the couch with his mom, Enji staring at the two of them from the adjacent couch.
Rei notices him almost immediately, sending him a gentle smile before she gets up from the couch. Making her way over to him, she pulls Katsuki into a hug. Though uncomfortable, Katsuki lets it slide, chanting the words ‘she's my favorite’ on repeat in his head.
When she pulls away, holding him at shoulder's length, she says “Thank you for taking care of him.”
Katsuki hopes the blush doesn't show on his face as he nods. If only she knew the many ways Katsuki took care of Shoto.
Rei orders Enji out of the living room once she lets Katsuki go, leaving him to sit down next to Shoto and allowing them a moment alone. Almost instinctively, Katsuki leans his head on Shoto's shoulder, taking his hand and intertwining their fingers. The actions feel so natural, like he's done them a million times before.
Katsuki closes his eyes and breathes out a sigh. “You okay?” he asks quietly.
He feels Shoto hum before he leans his head on Katsuki’s, giving his hand a light squeeze. “Better now,” he mumbles.
“What did your mom say to your dad?”
“Not much. She tried to get him to apologise, but the stubborn geezer refused,” Shoto explains. Even if he can't see his face, Katsuki can only imagine Shoto must feel awful.
“Fuck him,” Katsuki says, nuzzling his head further into the crook of Shoto's neck.
Shoto breathes a laugh before he settles further into the couch. “Yeah. Fuck him.”
They eventually get up to go and look for Fuyumi, finding her in the kitchen in the middle of a conversation with Natsuo. Once she notices them, she puts it on hold.
“Hey you two,” she greets.
“Sorry about our dad,” she apologises, giving Katsuki a tiny bow.
Katsuki shakes his head, waving her away with a dismissive hand. “Don't worry. I know he's an ass, so I didn't expect much else from him.”
She gives him a guilty smile in return. “Still. Sorry.”
“We're about to head back to the dorms,” Shoto says, drawing Fuyumi’s attention to him. “We just wanted to come and say goodbye. Thank you for having us.”
Fuyumi’s face falls into a disappointed frown. “Already?” she asks, turning around to look at the clock. “Mom still wanted us all to watch a movie. And by the time we’re done, it’ll be past your curfew.”
“Why don’t you two stay the night instead?” she suggests. Katsuki doesn’t miss the hope shining in her eyes, and he hates how it makes him feel. He never really has trouble turning people down, but maybe there’s just something about the Todoroki family when it comes to requests, because Katsuki finds himself struggling to say no to the hopeful eyes staring at him.
“Natsuo’s staying,” Fuyumi adds to fuel her request. Natsuo barely ever stayed for after dinner activities, so it meant a lot that he did now.
“I don’t mind,” Shoto says, turning to look at Katsuki. “What do you say, Katsuki?”
With two pairs of hope-filled eyes now looking at him, how could he possibly say no?
Katsuki sighs lightly and nods his head. “Sure. We can stay.”
₊⊹⁀➴
They end up watching some shitty romance Katsuki can’t be bothered to remember the name of (it was Pride and Prejudice). It goes well, and Katsuki manages to stay awake way past his usual bedtime, still up and alert well past 11 pm. Perhaps it was due to the fact that Shoto decided to lay his head on Katsuki’s shoulder halfway through the movie, and curl himself into a ball, pressing himself into Katsuki’s side. Katsuki could feel his every movement, and it was distracting. He can’t remember anything about the last hour of the movie, but he can describe in detail Shoto’s breathing patterns.
All in good time, though, the movie finished up, and it was time for bed. Every sibling retired to their own rooms, Katsuki following behind Shoto to share his room. He’s not sure why he expected there to be an extra futon; he and Shoto were ‘dating,’ after all. There was the asumption that they would share.
And after a lot of back and forth, Katsuki and Shoto do end up deciding to just share the futon, neither wanting to sleep on the floor. Under normal circumstances it would've been fine; they've shared a bed back at the dorms on more than one occasion, but tonight doesn't fall under normal circumstances.
As they lie in silence, Shoto turned on his side and Katsuki on his back staring at the ceiling, Katsuki finds himself with little to do except roam the expanse of his mind. He stares at the box for a long time, scowling at it, mentally cursing it, feeling an irresistible urge to toss it five million miles away, but eventually he gives in and opens it for the second time that night.
He rummages through its contents. All the feelings and thoughts he's harboured about Shoto are stored inside. All the times they've slept together, all the times Katsuki has found himself staring at Shoto during lunch, all the times they've sparred together, and so many more. What sticks out the most is Katsuki's newest boxed up realisation; the fact that he has a big fat crush on Shoto.
He really shouldn’t be so surprised. What about Shoto isn't there to love?
He's drop-dead gorgeous, first of all, but that's common knowledge. He's talented too, academically and Quirk-wise respectively. (He's talented in bed as well, obviously, but Katsuki doesn't consider that a defining factor). A defining factor would be that Shoto isn’t afraid to back away from any challenge Katsuki throws at him. As monotonous as he can be at times, Shoto stands his ground and faces Katsuki head-on, and that’s just something he finds inexplicably irresistible.
And there’s more. So much more. With all the favors Katsuki’s done for Shoto, explicit and not—with all the time they’ve spent together, Katsuki gets why he’s fallen in love.
He’s still staring up at the ceiling, heart racing in his chest with the realization that fuck he’s in love with Shoto Todoroki. He hates when his heart does shit like this too; speeding up without notice and leaving him nearly breathless. It scares him; nothing will ever be able to help Katsuki regulate and understand his emotions. Nothing except time and self reflection—self acceptance.
And now that he’s gotten a semblance of a grip on his feelings for Shoto—better out than in, right? Patience has never been his forte.
He turns on his side, facing Shoto’s back. For a moment, Katsuki hesitates, but he forces himself to lift his hand and poke Shoto’s shoulder. Shoto stirs, shifting slowly in the dark until he’s rolled onto his opposite side, staring at Katsuki in the dark. He looks exhausted—drained by the emotional warfare with his father—but his gaze is soft. It’s a terrifyingly open look, far too gentle for Katsuki’s current state of being.
“Can’t sleep?” Shoto whispers. His voice is gravelly and deep, a low vibration that seems to settle right under Katsuki's skin.
“Shut up,” Katsuki mutters. There’s no bite in it, no heat—just a breathless deflection.
He can’t speak. Instead he finds himself staring, tracing the sharp lines of Shoto’s face, the way the faint light of the moon carves out the bridge of his nose and the curve of his jaw. He realizes with a jolt of pure, unadulterated panic that the ‘fake’ part of tonight was the only thing keeping him sane. As long as it was a performance for Enji, Katsuki could pretend the fluttering in his gut was just irritation. But now the audience is gone. The lie is over, and the truth is clawing at his throat, demanding to be acknowledged.
He doesn't just want to be near Shoto. He needs to feel the gravity of him. He needs to drown out the voice of Linda, who is currently screaming that he’s using physical intimacy to bypass an emotional breakdown.
Katsuki doesn’t wait for an invitation—he’s too impatient. He sits up abruptly, the futon rustling sharply beneath him. Before Shoto can even blink, Katsuki reaches out. He easily finds the dip of Shoto’s waist, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt as he hauls him upward with a single, desperate tug.
“Katsuki?” Shoto breathes out. It’s a soft huff of surprise that hitches in his throat as he’s pulled forward.
There’s a silent communication that happens between them in the dark—the kind that three years of ‘rivalry’ and months of favors have perfected into a fine art. Shoto doesn't pull away. Instead, he braces his hands on Katsuki’s shoulders, his mismatched eyes searching Katsuki’s face. He sees the storm there—the raw, unbridled need of a man who has finally looked inside a box he was never supposed to open.
Shoto sees that Katsuki is at a breaking point, and because he’s Shoto—because he’s always been the calm to Katsuki’s storm—he doesn't fight it. He never does.
With a slow, deliberate grace, Shoto crawls on top of him, straddling his lap as if he’s exactly where he belongs. His eyes are half-lidded now, shining with a sudden, answering lust that makes Katsuki’s vision swim.
Shoto settles nicely in Katsuki's lap, his legs on either side of Katsuki's hips. Katsuki watches him intently, heart pounding in his chest and desire building in his gut. He tries his best to be as patient as possible, not wanting to disturb the sensual atmosphere between them, but fuck if Shoto doesn't make it so incredibly difficult, grinding back on his painfully hard cock with a cheeky smirk playing at his lips. He's teasing Katsuki on purpose. Icyhot bastard.
Katsuki’s grip on Shoto’s hips tightens, his knuckles turning white as he stares up at that half-lidded gaze. Is this self-reflection, Linda? Katsuki mentally taunts. Because I’m reflecting the fuck out of how much I want him.
He reaches up and grabs onto Shoto's hips, guiding him to grind harder. Katsuki throws his head back ever so slightly, not wanting to take his eyes off Shoto.
And Katsuki’s taking in every late-night session, every shared recipe, and every ‘fake’ touch from dinner, shoving them into that open box until it overflows. He’s reflecting on the way Shoto’s heat is bleeding through his clothes and the way the bastard knows exactly how to move to make Katsuki lose his mind.
But reflecting isn't enough. The layers of cotton between them feel like a goddamn insult now—a wall keeping him from the only thing capable of silencing the frantic, analytical bullshit screaming in his brain and tethering him to the present, away from the box currently overflowing in his mind. Katsuki’s patience snaps like a pulled taut wire. He hitches Shoto up just enough to scramble at his own waistband, his movements erratic and fueled by a sudden, overwhelming desperation. Shoto seems to catch the shift in energy, his breath hitching as he helps, tugging his own shirt over his head and discarding it into the dark without a second thought.
There’s a frantic tangle of limbs and the sharp rasp of their ragged breathing in the quiet room as they strip away the last of their defenses. When Shoto finally settles back down, it’s skin-on-skin, and the contact is so electric it nearly makes Katsuki’s quirk spark at his palms. No more fabric, no more faking—just the raw, searing heat of Shoto’s body finally connecting with his own.
Shoto rides him in earnest, cycling between bouncing up and down and circling his hips around Katsuki's dick. All the while, Katsuki is watching, observing, admiring. Shoto always looks so damn irresistible when he's riding Katsuki, mouth dropped open and cheeks flushed, making the faintest of noises that send Katsuki's head spinning when he catches wind of them.
Katsuki slides his hands down Shoto's hips before settling them on the back of his thighs, giving them a firm squeeze.
“I can't—I need—” Shoto fumbles. His hands, resting on either of Katsuki's biceps tighten their grip, to the point where his nails are practically digging into Katsuki's skin.
Katsuki can feel the sting, but it’s nothing compared to the violent thrashing of his own pulse. He’s spent so long building a fortress around the way he looks at Shoto—brick by brick of denial and ‘favors’—only to realize that the person he was trying to keep out has been holding the keys the entire time. Every hitch in Shoto’s breath is a crack in the foundation, and Katsuki is starting to realize he doesn't want to be saved. He wants to drown in this.
“What do you need?”
“Need—need—” Shoto barely manages to suppress a whimper, one that has Katsuki quietly groaning, tightening his grip on the back of Shoto's thighs.
Shoto doesn't try to say more. Instead he leans forward, stopping when he's just above Katsuki's face. His movements have slowed to subtle forward and backwards thrusts, barely stimulating and keeping Katsuki wanting. Yearning.
Their breaths intermingle as Shoto hovers above him, eyes still half-lidded and flickering down to Katsuki's lips. Katsuki knows what he wants.
This was the line. The final, sacred boundary that Katsuki had drawn to keep the friendship from turning into something he couldn't control. Because a body was just a body—mechanical and easy to categorize. But a kiss? A kiss was an admission. It was the sound of the box lid being ripped off and thrown into a fire to burn.
But Katsuki is a weak man. So utterly weak when it comes to Shoto Todoroki.
“Please,” Shoto whispers, so quiet it almost goes unheard. It's desperate, pleading, embodying exactly what Katsuki feels—has been feeling ever since the start of their arrangement. Maybe even before that but let's focus on the present for now.
Katsuki's gaze falls on Shoto's lips as well, wet with spit and so tantalizing it hurts. No he screams in his head. It's too far. You'll end up hurt. Both of you.
“Katsuki, please.”
He's a weak man.
Katsuki closes the distance, reaching up those last few inches to slot his lips together with Shoto's. And forbidden fruit has never tasted better. It's everything Katsuki imagined and more.
Shoto's lips act the same as his dick, switching between hot and cold. It's leaning towards hot right now, warm and pleasant against Katsuki's lips. He suddenly feels stupid for denying himself this bliss, and he forgets about all the doubt and fear he's harboured towards kissing Shoto.
Katsuki just melts into him, sliding his hands up his thighs, over his ass, up his back until he reaches Shoto's neck, pulling him impossibly closer.
He feels like a goddamn idiot. All those months spent guarding his mouth like it was a state secret, and for what? To delay this? To pretend that his heart wasn't already synchronized to the rhythm of Shoto’s? The heat from Shoto’s lips is burning away the last of his analytical bullshit, leaving nothing behind but the searing, undeniable truth. If this is the hurt he was so afraid of, then he’ll take it. He’ll take every agonizing second of it.
Every small, wrecked breath Shoto hitches into the kiss sends a fresh tremor through Katsuki’s frame. Shoto’s hips find their rhythm again, more forceful and focused than before, and the sudden, heavy pressure of him is enough to choke a moan out of Katsuki’s lungs.
His one hand weaves into Shoto's hair and the other squeezes his thigh, serving as silent motivation for him to continue what he's doing. Shoto bites at his lower lip, sucking it every so often to ease the hurt. Once again, you won't hear Katsuki's masochistic ass complaining about a little pain, but the thought is nice.
It's so nice in fact, Katsuki can't help but want to return the favor. Katsuki’s hand leaves Shoto's hair to cup his jaw, his thumb swiping across a flushed cheekbone as he breaks the kiss just enough to trail his mouth down to the sensitive column of Shoto’s throat.
He finds that sweet spot—the one that has Shoto’s quirk faltering and rapidly switching between hot and cold—and bites down. Not enough to break the skin, but enough to leave a mark that will definitely be a problem at breakfast tomorrow.
Shoto’s response is a wrecked, gutteral moan that vibrates against Katsuki’s lips. His hips lose their rhythm, stuttering into a hard, messy press against Katsuki’s length. The monochromatic personality Katsuki usually deals with is nowhere to be found; right now, Shoto is all color, all heat, and all sound.
Katsuki’s mind is a total wreck. If the box was overflowing before, now it’s just gone, disintegrated by the friction and the sheer, terrifying weight of Shoto. He doesn’t care about anything anymore, doesn’t care that he might regret breaking his one and only rule, because the only thing that matters is the way Shoto is clinging to him like Katsuki is the only solid thing left in the world.
“Katsuki,” Shoto gasps, his head falling back as Katsuki’s tongue licks over the mark he just made. “Please—I’m—”
“I’ve got you,” Katsuki rasps, his voice sounding like he’s swallowed glass. He brings his hands back down to Shoto’s ass, lifting him slightly to meet every frantic downward thrust. “I’ve got you, Sho. Just go.”
He watches—worships—as Shoto’s face contorts with the onset of a climax that looks like it’s tearing him apart. His eyes snap open, searching for Katsuki’s in the dark, and for a second, there’s no fake dating, no homophobic father to piss off. There’s just the two of them, tethered together in a mess of sweat and shared breath.
When Shoto finally breaks, Katsuki’s name is the last thing to leave his lips, and Katsuki follows him over the edge a second later, the force of it leaving him lightheaded and completely, utterly conquered.
₊⊹⁀➴
The morning light is far less forgiving than the moon was. It bleeds into Shoto’s room, illuminating the tangled mess of limbs on the futon. Katsuki wakes up first, his brain immediately trying to reboot the analytical bullshit he successfully drowned out the night before.
But then he feels it—the steady, grounding weight of Shoto’s head on his chest.
He doesn’t move. He doesn't even want to blink. The box in his head has been unpacked, the contents are scattered everywhere, and the culprit is breathing against his collarbone.
Shoto stirs, a soft groan vibrating against Katsuki’s skin before he lifts his head. His hair is a disaster, and his eyes are bleary, but when he sees Katsuki, a small, genuine smile pulls at his lips. Katsuki’s heart falters.
“Morning,” Shoto rasps.
Katsuki clears his throat, his hand instinctively coming up to rest on the nape of Shoto's neck. “Morning.” He pauses, the silence stretching between them until it becomes impossible to ignore. “About last night…”
Shoto’s expression doesn't flicker. He doesn't look for an exit. He simply faces the situation head-on. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cross your boundaries. And I also apologize for this fake boyfriend favor. You don’t have to keep pretending if you don’t want to—”
“I wasn't pretending,” Katsuki snaps, the old bite returning to his voice, though it lacks any real venom. He sits up, bringing Shoto with him. “Shut up about boundaries. You didn't cross anything I wasn't already begging you to break. The fake dating was just a shitty excuse to finally get what I wanted without having to admit it. So, congratulations, Halfie—you win. I’m in love with you. Now stop apologizing before I blow your face off.”
For a long moment, Shoto doesn't say anything. He just searches Katsuki’s face, looking for any hint of a lie or a joke—but he finds only the terrifyingly honest determination that makes Katsuki who he is. Then, a slow, soft huff of a laugh escapes him, and the tension that has been holding his shoulders stiff since they arrived at the estate finally dissolves.
“You're so loud,” Shoto murmurs, though his expression is nothing short of fond. He doesn't pull away from the hands gripping his shoulders; instead, he leans into the space between them, closing the gap until their foreheads touch.
“If the favor is over, then I’m not asking anymore,” Shoto says, his voice dropping to that low, steady tone that always manages to ground Katsuki's temper. “I’m telling you. Stay. Be my boyfriend for real. Not for my dad, not for a dinner—but because I don’t want to do this with anyone else.”
Katsuki grunts, his heart doing that frantic, annoying thumping again, but he doesn't pull back. He just glares at Shoto’s lips until Shoto gets the hint and leans in to seal the deal.
Breakfast is a stark contrast to the quiet of the bedroom. The table is laden with food—steaming and meticulously prepared—but the atmosphere is thick enough to choke on. The lingering tension from the night before hasn't dissipated; it has just curdled into something heavier.
Katsuki sits next to Shoto, his posture a picture of defensive aggression. His eyes are sharp, scanning the room like a battlefield. He feels Shoto’s hand find his under the table, fingers sliding between his own. Katsuki squeezes back, hard, anchoring them both. It isn't a favor anymore. It's a promise.
Toya, ever the chaos-monger, doesn't even wait for the tea to be poured. He leans forward, his elbows on the table in a blatant disregard for Fuyumi’s rules, a devilish smirk cutting across his scarred face. His eyes zero in on the side of Shoto’s neck, where a dark, purplish mark sits proudly above the high collar of his shirt.
“Sho,” Toya starts, his voice a low, melodic drawl. “You got a little something.” He gestures to the side of his neck, a knowing smile on his lips.
Fuyumi lets out a strangled gasp, her face turning a violent shade of red. Across from them, Enji’s grip on his chopsticks tightens until the wood groans and eventually snaps with a sharp crack.
Katsuki doesn't even flinch. He doesn't blush, and he doesn't look away. Instead, he takes a slow, deliberate sip of his tea, sets the ceramic cup down, and meets Toya’s gaze with a cocky, razor-edged grin.
“Jealous?” Katsuki asks, his voice steady. “I figured a guy like you would recognize a job well done when he sees one. Maybe if you spent less time worrying about Shoto’s neck and more time on your own, you wouldn’t be sitting here sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”
Toya lets out a bark of laughter, genuine and delighted by the sheer audacity of the retort. Even Natsuo hides a smirk behind his rice bowl. But the brief moment of levity soures instantly as Enji slams his balled fists onto the table.
“Enough of this filth,” Enji growls. The air in the room seems to rise several degrees, the heat radiating off him in suffocating waves. He ignores Katsuki entirely, his burning gaze landing solely on Shoto. “You’ve made your point, Shoto. This rebellion has gone far enough. You will end this farce with Bakugo and start behaving like a proper heir—”
“We aren't in the 50s anymore; he isn't a goddamn heir,” Katsuki interrupts. His voice is a low, dangerous rumble that cuts right through Enji’s heat. “And it’s not a farce. He’s my boyfriend. Not because he wants to piss you off—though that’s a top-tier bonus—but because he’s ten times the man you’ll ever be, and I’m the only one smart enough to realize it.”
The silence that follows is absolute. Rei looks at Katsuki with a mixture of shock and quiet pride, while Fuyumi looks like she might burst into tears of relief.
Katsuki stands up, never breaking eye contact with the former Number One Hero. Eventually, though, he looks down at Shoto, his expression softening just a fraction as he offers an open palm.
“We’re leaving,” Katsuki announces, his voice firm. “I’ve had enough of this ‘heir’ bullshit for one lifetime. You coming, Sho?”
Shoto doesn't hesitate for a single second. The doubt that plagued him in the bathroom the night before is gone, incinerated by the way Katsuki stands in front of him like a shield. He takes Katsuki’s hand, standing with a newfound steadiness that seems to radiate from his core.
“Goodbye, Dad,” Shoto says, his tone calm and assured. “Thanks for the meal, Fuyumi. We'll see you around.”
The Uber is quiet, the sterile scent of an air freshener a welcome change from the heavy, suffocating atmosphere of the Todoroki estate. Outside, the familiar streets of Musutafu blur through the windows in a smear of morning light and gray concrete as they head back toward the safety of UA.
Katsuki leans back into the seat, his shoulders finally dropping from their defensive hunch. His adrenaline is beginning to ebb, leaving behind a strange, hollow exhaustion—the kind that only comes after a successful mission or a life-altering realization.
He doesn't have to wait long for the anchor. He feels Shoto’s hand slide into his, fingers intertwining with a practiced ease. It's the same gesture they used at the table, but the weight of it is entirely different. There is no audience to perform for, no spite to fuel the touch, and no ‘fake dating’ trope to hide behind. It's just the heat of Shoto’s palm against his, a solid, grounding reality.
Katsuki looks down at their joined hands, noting how the callouses on Shoto's fingers catch against his own. Then he looks up at Shoto. He is staring out the window, the passing shadows of trees and buildings dancing across his face. He looks… light. For the first time in the three years Katsuki has known him, the permanent crease between Shoto’s brows has smoothed out into a look of pure, unburdened peace.
“You okay?” Katsuki asks. His voice is quiet, barely rising above the hum of the tires on the asphalt.
Shoto turns his head, his eyes soft and clear. He doesn't pull his hand away; instead, his thumb begins a slow, rhythmic stroke across the back of Katsuki’s hand.
“Yeah,” Shoto murmurs, a ghost of a smile touching his lips. “Better than okay.”
Katsuki grunts, a small, triumphant smirk playing on his lips. He squeezes Shoto’s hand, a silent acknowledgment of the win against Enji.
“Good,” Katsuki says, his tone shifting back to its usual gravelly snark to keep the moment from getting too sappy. “Because if you ever make me go to another family dinner like that, I’m charging you extra. And don't think I won't bill you for the psychological damage of having to see Toya’s smug face at seven in the morning.”
Shoto chuckles—a real, chest-deep sound that makes the box in Katsuki's head finally lock itself shut for good. The contents still lie in disarray on the floor, but Katsuki will sort through everything with care. He won’t try to shove it away again.
Shoto leans his head over, resting it on Katsuki’s shoulder, his hair brushing against his neck. “I think I can handle that,” Shoto whispers, closing his eyes. “Whatever the price is, it’s worth it.”
Katsuki doesn't respond with words. He just leans his head back against Shoto’s and watches the road ahead, finally content to let the silence be enough.