whipping this out of nowhere i feel so INSANEEEE im literally gonna throw up thinking abt this goddamn old man
you hear him before you see him—
the slow, careful shift of sheets, the heavy exhale through his nose, a muttered curse as he sits up. it’s barely light, the sky outside tinted blue-grey, and you catch the silhouette of his back— broad, slouched, silver streaks catching soft morning light. he rubs his neck, an old injury bothering him, then scrubs a hand down his face and lets out a low, bone-deep groan.
you should be asleep. shouldn’t be watching katsuki fumble for his glasses on the nightstand, shoving them up his nose with a grumble. you definitely shouldn’t be watching the way his sweatpants hang low on his hips, the little flash of tummy where his shirt’s ridden up.
and god, you’re squirming, heat pooling low in your belly, cheeks burning.
he stretches, spine popping so loud you almost wince.
“y'good over there?” his voice is rough, sleep-thick, but there’s a glint in his eye when he turns, catching you staring like a lovesick idiot.
you try to hide your face in the pillow, but he’s already smirking, one brow arched, looking all annoyingly handsome with those damn glasses and that messy, silver-laced hair.
“what, y'get off on watchin’ me limp around?”
you just make a strangled sound, mortified, and he laughs, all low and warm.
“sick little freak,” he mutters, fond, sliding back onto the mattress and hauling you close, the aches forgotten now, his lips brushing your ear—
“c’mere. think s'funny? hips still work fine, y'want proof of purchase?”
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