Summary: Dating Eijiro Kirishima means accepting three unavoidable facts.
He sheds broken pieces of costume fabric all over your apartment. He says “manly” with complete sincerity at least fifteen times a day. The more insulting you are to him, the more affectionate he becomes.
You discovered the third one completely by accident. Now it’s become a problem.
Word Count: 1.7k
“You’re staring again,” you mutter from the kitchen.
Kirishima doesn’t even attempt denial from where he’s sitting at the counter.
“Can you blame me?”
“Yes,” you say immediately. “Very easily, actually.”
His laugh rumbles low and warm through the apartment. You risk a glance over your shoulder and instantly regret it.
He’s still half-dressed from patrol, black compression shirt clinging to his chest with sweat, red hair damp from a rushed shower. Fresh scars line his arms in pale silver streaks beneath the kitchen lights. He looks unfairly handsome in the casual, careless way only pro heroes seem capable of after fourteen-hour shifts.
Worse, he’s looking at you like you’re the best thing he’s seen all day. Disgusting behavior.
“You’re smiling,” Kirishima says.
“And you’re hallucinating.”
“You definitely are.”
You point your knife at him while chopping vegetables. “Keep talking and I’m poisoning your dinner.”
His expression softens immediately into something unbearably fond.
“There you are.”
You narrow your eyes. That tone always gets you. It’s like he’s been waiting for your attention all day and finally got it.
“You’re weird,” you tell him.
Kirishima props his chin in his hand, completely relaxed beneath your judgment. “Yeah, but you like me weird.”
“Debatable.”
“You moved into my apartment.”
“Rent in this city is criminal.”
He grins. “Sure, whatever you say sweetheart.”
You hate when he calls you sweetheart. Mostly because you like it.
—
Living with another pro hero means your schedules rarely align correctly.
Some nights you barely see each other outside exhausted greetings and shared showers before collapsing into bed. Other times you get entire evenings together, stretched soft and golden between patrols.
Tonight falls somewhere in the middle.
You’re tired down to the bone. Your shoulder aches from overuse. The villain you arrested earlier nearly dislocated your wrist, and the press conference afterward lasted long enough to qualify as psychological warfare.
By the time dinner is done, he’s watching you with that careful look again.
“What?” you ask.
“You’re hurt.”
“I’m fine.”
“I don’t believe you.”
You click your tongue and carry your plate toward the couch. Kirishima follows a second later, large and warm at your side. The cushions dip beneath his weight. For a few quiet minutes, the only sounds are the television and the scrape of forks against plates.
Then his fingers brush your wrist gently, “Lemme see.” You don’t pull away, which is probably answer enough.
Kirishima turns your hand carefully under the living room light. His thumb presses lightly along the swelling near your wrist joint, expression tightening with concern.
“You should’ve wrapped this.”
You sigh dramatically. “Eijiro, it’s almost like I had a difficult day.”
His mouth twitches upward.
“Sorry,” he says, sounding entirely too pleased with your tone.
You stare at him. There it is again. That stupid little spark in his eyes every time you snap at him. At this point, you’re almost certain he’d wag his tail if evolution allowed it.
He laughs softly as he stands to grab the first aid kit.
Watching him move around your shared apartment still feels strangely intimate sometimes. There’s something deeply domestic about Kirishima in sweatpants, rummaging through cabinets while humming under his breath.
You remember him at sixteen—loud, eager, desperately trying to become someone brave. Now he’s twenty-five and one of the top heroes in Japan, broad-shouldered and steady, confidence worn naturally instead of forced.
But some things never changed. He still loves openly. He still throws his whole heart into people. Especially you.
Kirishima kneels in front of the couch, first aid kit balanced beside him.
“Hand.”
You offer it reluctantly.
“So dramatic,” you mutter as he starts wrapping your wrist.
“You love me.”
“Unfortunately.”
His smile grows brighter.
You immediately regret speaking.
The thing about dating Kirishima is that affection transforms him into sunlight. Every tiny bit of love you hand him gets reflected back tenfold. Sometimes it’s overwhelming. Sometimes it makes your heart flutter in ways you don’t know how to explain.
“You know,” he says while adjusting the bandage, “Bakugo called me earlier.”
You groan instantly. “Why?”
“He asked if we were still together.”
You blink. “What? Why would he ask that?”
Kirishima’s shoulders shake with laughter. “Apparently you threatened somebody during a meeting today.”
“It wasn’t that serious. They mistook my tone.”
“Yeah, but this time you said—and I quote—‘I already have one loud idiot to deal with at home. I’m not adopting another.’”
You bury your face in your hands mumbling, “Oh my god.”
“He sounded genuinely concerned for me.”
“He should be.”
Kirishima laughs harder.
You peek through your fingers just in time to see him looking at you with unbearable adoration.
Again.
You glare at him while he finishes taping your wrist securely.
His hands are massive compared to yours now, palms rough with old scars and constant training. Despite his size, he touches you with startling care, aware of his own strength. When he’s done, he presses a quick kiss against your knuckles.
Despite this being a regular occurrence, your stomach still flips anyway.
“Done,” he says.
You inspect the wrapping critically. “Mediocre work at best.”
Kirishima’s eyes light up, “You think so?”
“Oh my god,” you mutter, leaning forward to give him a kiss. “There’s actually something wrong with you.”
He leans forward against the couch cushion, smiling lazily now. Comfortable beneath your scrutiny.
“You know what it is?” he says.
“What?”
“You’re only mean to people you trust. I figured it out a while ago,” he says quietly.
The words slip out, “Shut up.”
“You’re softer with me,” he says.
You scoff. “Objectively false.”
“Nah.” He rests his chin on the couch beside your leg, looking up at you. “You’re honest with me.”
He’s right. Unfortunately.
You don’t soften your words around him because you never feel like you have to earn his affection. Kirishima takes every sharp edged comment and holds it gently in his hands, never asking you to become easier to swallow. He’s the only person who’s ever made cruelty feel unnecessary.
“You’re being weirdly insightful,” you mutter.
“Occupational hazard.”
“You punch buildings for a living.”
“And yet.”
You stare at him for a long moment. Then, you sigh and reach down, threading your fingers through the hair at the back of his head. Kirishima melts instantly. His eyes close halfway as you scratch lightly against his scalp, expression going soft and sleepy in seconds.
“Oh,” you say flatly. “That’s just humiliating.”
He smiles without opening his eyes. “Don’t stop.”
“You’re like a giant stray dog.”
“A manly stray dog.”
“You’re lucky you’re pretty.” The words leave your mouth casually. The effect is catastrophic.
Kirishima’s eyes snap open. Slowly, very slowly, red spreads across his cheeks.
“You can’t just say stuff like that outta nowhere.”
You blink at him. “You literally call me beautiful every day.”
“Yeah, but it means more when you say it.” Kirishima watches you carefully, still flushed. Then he smiles again, small this time. Softer.
“You know,” he says quietly, “I really like when you’re mean to me.”
You groan immediately. “We are not having this conversation again.”
“I’m serious!”
“I know. That’s the problem.”
He laughs beneath your hand.
“It’s not the meanness,” he admits after a second. “Not really.”
“Then what is it?”
Kirishima shrugs one shoulder. “I like knowing you’re comfortable with me, that you love me.”
He says things so simply sometimes. No games. No hidden meanings. Just direct emotional truth delivered with complete sincerity. You don’t know how he survives in hero society without getting eaten alive. Then again, maybe that openness is exactly what makes people love him.
“You’re such a sap,” you murmur.
“There it is,” he says fondly.
You roll your eyes, but your fingers never leave his hair.
Outside your apartment window, the city glows restless and loud. Sirens echo faintly in the distance. Somewhere out there, tomorrow’s problems are already waiting for both of you. But here, in the warm spill of apartment light, Kirishima looks peaceful.
All because you insulted him a little and touched his hair. Absolutely unbelievable.
“You know,” you say after a while, “if anybody else enjoyed being verbally abused this much, I’d recommend therapy.”
Kirishima grins. “But not me?”
“Nah.” You tug his hair lightly just to hear him laugh. “You’re too far gone, beyond professional help.”
His smile turns helplessly affectionate. Then he pushes himself up from the floor, large hands settling on either side of you against the couch cushions.
“You done being mean to me?” he asks softly.
You tilt your head. “Depends.”
“On what?”
“How badly do you want a kiss?”
Kirishima stares at you for exactly one second before kissing you immediately. You snort against his mouth. His hands slide carefully to your waist, touch familiar and secure. He kisses like he does everything else—with his whole heart involved. No hesitation. No restraint in the affection behind it. When he pulls back, he’s smiling again.
“You’re happy,” you accuse.
“Very.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“And you love me anyway.”
You sigh dramatically, looping your arms around his neck.
“Yeah,” you mutter against his mouth. “Tragic, honestly.”
Kirishima laughs softly before kissing you again, warm and bright enough to make the entire apartment feel full of his sunlight.
The Neighbor Downstairs - Part One - Katsuki Bakugou x Reader
Summary: After a brutal overnight shift leaves you barely able to keep your eyes open, all you want is a hot bath and a few hours of sleep. Instead, you accidentally fall asleep in the tub and flood the apartment beneath yours. You wake up to furious pounding on your door from none other than pro hero Katsuki Bakugo. But when the smoke clears and the shouting dies down, you discover the explosive hero living downstairs isn’t nearly as cruel as his reputation suggests. With his bed ruined, his apartment soaked, and nowhere else to sleep, one exhausted mistake leads to him sleeping in your bed.
Word Count: 2.5k
By the time you finally clocked out, the world had already started to blur around the edges.
The fluorescent lights above your workstation had long since burned themselves into the backs of your eyes, and every muscle in your body felt hollowed out. Shift work had a way of stripping a person down to survival instincts. Eat when you remember. Sleep when you can. Repeat until your body stops feeling like your own.
Tonight had been worse than usual. Someone called out halfway through the shift. Then another emergency came in right before closing. Then paperwork. Always paperwork.
The kind of exhaustion settling into your bones wasn’t ordinary tiredness anymore. It felt heavier than that. Like your body was operating several seconds behind your brain.
Driving home felt dangerous. Maybe you should have called an uber. The city outside your windshield glowed in soft smears of neon and rain slick pavement while your head leaned against the seat for just a second too long between intersections.
Your fingers drumming weakly against the steering wheel. There was an ache in your shoulders. The desperate thought repeating itself over and over. Hot bath. Glass of wine. Bed.
That was all you wanted. Nothing else mattered. By the time you dragged yourself into your apartment building, your legs barely felt attached to you anymore.
The elevator ride was silent except for the low mechanical hum and your own exhausted breathing. Your reflection in the mirrored wall looked half-dead. Hair a mess. Eyes dull. Uniform wrinkled from too many hours trapped inside it.
The hallway outside your apartment was quiet. Most people were asleep by now. Probably including the pro hero living downstairs. He seems to quiet down around 9 PM.
You’d spoken to Katsuki Bakugo exactly four times since moving into the building. The first time had been accidental eye contact in the lobby. The second was when he held the elevator open with an irritated click of his tongue after watching you nearly miss it. The third was a brief “Morning,” exchanged while checking mail. The fourth involved him glaring at someone for smoking too close to the building entrance while you awkwardly thanked him afterward.
That was the extent of your relationship. Which honestly suited you fine. Bakugou was intimidating even off duty. He wasn't exactly loud, at least not the way the media painted him. He was intense though. Everything about him felt sharp. Sharp eyes. Sharp posture. Sharp voice.
The apartment greeted you with darkness and silence. There was no TV, no music, no one waiting for you.
You dropped your bag near the door without bothering to put it away properly. Your shoes followed somewhere behind you in the hallway. Your jacket landed on the kitchen counter instead of the hook three feet away.
You couldn’t bring yourself to care. The exhaustion swallowing you whole was almost delirious now.
Your bedroom light flickered on briefly before clothes started hitting the floor one piece at a time in a careless trail toward the bathroom. Normally you’d fold them. Usually you’d at least attempt to maintain some level of organization.
Tonight felt beyond “usual.”
You turned the bathtub faucet as hot as it would go, steam immediately curling upward into the cold air. The sound of rushing water filled the room.
The wine could wait.
The bath couldn’t.
You stepped into the tub before it had even finished filling, sinking down into the heat with a groan that felt pulled from somewhere deep inside your chest. Your muscles screamed in relief. The water climbed slowly around you while your head tipped back against the porcelain edge.
You were finally warm. You closed your eyes for what felt like only a second.
Then—
BANG. BANG. BANG.
Your entire body jerked violently awake. For one disoriented moment, you had absolutely no idea where you were. Another pounding rattled through your apartment door.
“HEY!”
A man’s voice. It was angry, very angry.
You lurched upright too fast, water sloshing violently over the edge of the tub.
Oh no. Oh no. No you did not. The faucet was still running, the water spilling over the edge.
Horror crashed through your exhausted brain all at once as you scrambled out of the tub, nearly slipping on the soaked tile floor.
The bathroom was a disaster. Water spilled across the floor in shimmering waves while the tub overflowed steadily onto the tiles.
“Shit—shit—”
You twisted the faucet off hastily before grabbing the nearest towel and wrapping it around yourself with trembling hands.
The pounding on the door came again.
“OPEN THE DAMN DOOR!”
Your stomach dropped.
Bakugou. Of course it was Bakugou. He lived right below you, the water must have made its way through the floor and into his apartment.
You rushed to the door, feet splashing lightly across the wet hardwood floor. By the time you yanked the door open, your heart was hammering with equal parts panic and exhaustion.
Bakugou looked furious. Actually furious. His ash blond hair messy from sleep, black t-shirt wrinkled, jaw tight enough to crack stone. His eyes burned sharp red beneath the dim hallway lights.
Water dripped steadily from the sleeve of his shirt.
“You flooded my fucking apartment,” he snapped.
“I am so sorry—”
“There was water dripping on my face!”
“I hear you- I just fell asleep!”
“You fell asleep?!” The words exploded out of him immediately, rough with frustration and interrupted sleep.
Then he stopped. His expression shifted. He still looked pissed. But something in his face changed the longer he looked at you standing there wrapped in a towel, hair damp, eyes unfocused with exhaustion.
You must have looked terrible, absolutely hideous.
“You look like hell,” he muttered.
“Right.”
“You drunk?”
“No. I’m tired. I just got home from work.”
His gaze lingered on your face for another second too long. Then past you, towards the water still creeping slowly out of the bathroom doorway.
Bakugou exhaled sharply through his nose.
“Jesus Christ.”
“I’ll clean everything,” you said quickly. “I’ll pay for damages or whatever happened, I swear, I just please don’t be mad.”
Your words tangled together halfway through the sentence. You were so tired. Embarrassment crawled hot beneath your skin.
Bakugou rubbed one hand down his face, visibly trying to decide whether he wanted to yell more or go back to bed.
Eventually he sighed, “Get dressed first before your dumbass catches a cold.”
You blinked at him. You almost forgot you were standing in just a towel. You nodded quickly and disappeared back into the apartment.
—
Ten minutes later, you followed Bakugou downstairs carrying towels, cleaning supplies, and enough shame to sustain you for the rest of your life.
Bakugou unlocked his apartment door with sharp, clipped movements, visibly still irritated despite the exhaustion weighing down his posture. The hallway light spilled briefly across the side of his face, catching against the hard line of his jaw before he pushed the door open and stepped aside for you to enter first.
The apartment was quiet. It wasn’t the comfortable kind of quiet either. It was the sort built from long absences.
You noticed immediately how clean everything was. Not a single dish in the sink. No clutter on the counters. Shoes lined neatly near the entrance. The air smelled faintly like smoke residue and detergent.
Sparse. That was the first word your exhausted brain latched onto. Sparse, but lived in just enough to prove someone occupied it regularly.
A dark couch sat against one wall facing a large television. A few framed hero awards hung beside the kitchen entryway, their polished surfaces reflecting the dim apartment lights. There were weights stacked neatly in one corner. A folded hoodie thrown over the armrest.
The apartment looked exactly like Bakugou did—sharp, practical, efficient. You barely had time to absorb any of it before Bakugou stalked past you toward the hallway.
“It’s worse back here,” he muttered.
The bed was ruined.
“Oh,” you breathed.
Water had soaked completely through the mattress, dark patches spreading across nearly the entire thing. The blankets were drenched. One pillow dripped steadily onto the hardwood floor below.
You physically recoiled.
“Oh my god. It’s so bad.”
Bakugou clicked his tongue sharply from beside you, “Yeah. No shit.”
“I am so, so sorry.”
You moved automatically, exhaustion momentarily overridden by guilt as you hurried toward the bed. Your hands pressed uselessly against the soaked comforter before immediately pulling back.
The mattress squelched faintly beneath the pressure. This was mortifying, actually mortifying.
“I’ll replace it,” you said immediately. “I swear to god, I’ll buy you a new mattress tomorrow.”
Bakugou leaned against the doorframe with crossed arms, red eyes heavy with interrupted sleep.
“You don’t gotta panic.”
“I flooded your bedroom.”
“Accidents happen.”
“You literally got rained on indoors.”
That earned the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. It wasn’t a smile but it was close enough to startle you anyway. For the next several minutes, the two of you worked in relative silence.
You stripped soaked sheets from the mattress while Bakugou grabbed extra towels from somewhere deeper in the apartment. The entire room smelled damp now, humid air sticking unpleasantly to your skin.
Saving the mattress was hopeless.
You both knew it. Still, you tried. Maybe because standing there squeezing water from his blankets into the bathtub felt easier than confronting how badly you’d messed up.
Your body ached with exhaustion the entire time. Every movement felt sluggish, delayed by fatigue and embarrassment.
“You’re gonna pass out standing up,” he said eventually.
“I’m fine.”
“You almost drowned your downstairs neighbor because you fell asleep in the tub. How does that even happen?”
You winced. “Okay. Fair. I got in the tub and I closed my eyes for what I thought was a moment then I woke up an hour later.”
Bakugou sighed through his nose before glancing at the couch in his living room. Even from the bedroom doorway, you could see how short the couch actually was. Bakugou was broad-shouldered and tall enough that his feet would probably hang over the edge.
“Okay, hear me out. Stay in my apartment for tonight. You can take my bed, I’ll sleep on the couch. This is my fault and I don’t want you out on the streets exhausted because your upstairs neighbor flooded your bed.” You ramble, the words slipping out before you could reconsider.
Bakugou hesitates before speaking, “The hell I am.”
“You don’t fit on the couch.”
“And you do?”
“My couch is bigger. I can survive one night.”
“No.”
The answer came instantly. Firm. Reflexive.
You stared at him tiredly.
“Bakugou.”
“I’m not kicking you outta your own bed.”
“You’re not kicking me out. I’m offering.”
“You worked some nightmare shift and can barely keep your eyes open.”
“And I flooded your apartment.”
Silence. Bakugou looked irritated by the logic.
You pressed the advantage, “C’mon it would be cruel to leave a pro hero without a bed after ruining his mattress,” you said. “People would write articles about me.”
“Hah.”
“You can stay until the replacement comes.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“Please. I need to make this up to you. You are welcome to never talk to me once your new mattress arrives.”
The exhaustion in your voice must have done something because Bakugou finally stopped arguing.
“…Fine,” he muttered at last. “One night.”
Relief flooded through you, “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me, dumbass. You’re the one giving up your bed.”
You ignored that. Mostly because your brain was beginning to shut down again in real time. Together, you carried what remained salvageable upstairs.
The hallway felt quieter now. It was late. The building itself had settled into deep nighttime silence while both of you dragged exhaustion behind you like heavy chains.
Inside your apartment, the earlier chaos still lingered faintly. The smell of lavender soap hanging in the air.
Bakugou stood awkwardly near the entrance while you gathered fresh blankets from your bedroom.
“Seriously,” you said while shoving clean sheets into his arms, “I’ll buy a new mattress tomorrow. I mean it.”
“I heard you the first five times.” He grumbles.
“You can stay here until it comes.”
Bakugou looked like he wanted to argue again. Then he took you in for the first time since coming upstairs. You were no longer wracked with adrenaline.
Your hair was damp, your posture was sluggish, you even blinking slowly like staying conscious was physically difficult. His expression tightened slightly.
“…You always work yourself half to death?”
You laughed weakly. “Unfortunately.”
The apartment fell quiet afterward.
You suddenly became hyperaware of everything. Bakugou was standing in your apartment holding your spare blanket. The fact that one of Japan’s top heroes was about to sleep in your bed because you accidentally flooded his apartment.
None of this felt real.
“I’m gonna clean up first,” you muttered eventually. “Bathroom’s yours after.”
Bakugou grunted something that sounded vaguely agreeable.
By the time you stepped into the bathroom, your body felt almost disconnected from your brain. You washed quickly. The warm water helped slightly, though exhaustion still sat impossibly heavy beneath your skin. You scrubbed your face, changed into soft sleep clothes, and brushed your teeth mechanically.
Through the thin apartment walls, you could hear faint movement outside. Cabinet doors were opening. Was he rooting through your stuff? Whatever. You couldn't bring yourself to care.
You emerged from the bathroom nearly twenty minutes later to find most of the lights dimmed. Bakugou stood near your bedroom doorway, one large hand rubbing tiredly at the back of his neck. Your bed looked strange with someone else sitting on the edge of it.
Stranger still when that someone was Katsuki Bakugou.
He glanced up immediately when you entered the hallway.
“Are you sure about this?” he asked. His voice sounded rougher now. Less sharp around the edges.
You nodded. “I’ll survive the couch.”
You pointed vaguely toward the bathroom. “Feel free to get cleaned up.”
Bakugou rolled his eyes but obeyed without argument.
You stared blankly at the couch in your living room. It suddenly looked much more uncomfortable than usual.
Fantastic.
You grabbed one of the spare blankets and collapsed onto it anyway, too exhausted to care about comfort anymore. Your body sank heavily into the cushions.
The apartment lights were low enough now that everything blurred soft around the edges. Somewhere down the hallway, water still ran steadily through the bathroom pipes.
Then silence. There were a few quiet footsteps. There was something oddly careful about the way he walked. Deliberate. Quiet despite his size.
The bathroom light clicked off. You kept your eyes closed as Bakugou moved through the apartment. You felt the pause when he reached the living room.
“Hey,” he said softly.
You hummed weakly without opening your eyes. “Do you need another blanket?”
“No,” he murmured.
“…Thanks for letting me stay.”
You almost thought you imagined it. By the time you forced your eyes open slightly, Bakugou had already disappeared into your bedroom. The door remained cracked open.
After some quiet shuffling of sheets, your apartment returned to silence. For the second time tonight, sleep hit you instantly.
Note: This fic is currently in progress! I am up to part seven as of 5/23. All parts are linked on my masterlist or you can click on the link to the next part at the bottom of each post <3
If you'd like to be added to the tag list, comment below!
The Neighbor Downstairs - Part Six - Katsuki Bakugou x Reader
Part One <3 | Part Two <3 | Part Three <3 | Part Four <3 | Part Five <3
Summary: After a brutal overnight shift leaves you barely able to keep your eyes open, you accidentally fall asleep in the tub and flood the apartment beneath yours. You wake up to furious pounding on your door from none other than pro hero Katsuki Bakugo. He's forced to stay overnight, in your bed. Due to a delay in mattress delivery, he stays a few more nights. Now you're sharing a bed and you apparently cuddle in your sleep. He'll be returning to his apartment soon.
Word Count: 3,285
A sharp knock at your apartment door dragged you halfway out of sleep, confusion still heavy in your brain. Beside you, Bakugou groaned quietly into his pillow before immediately sitting upright the second the knocking came again.
Years of early patrols had apparently conditioned him into instant awareness. Meanwhile, you remained face down on the mattress trying to remember your own name.
The bed shifted beneath his weight as he stood, separate blankets tangling loosely around both sides of the mattress. The room felt cool without his warmth nearby.
Bakugou dragged one hand through his messy hair before stalking toward the bedroom door with visible irritation.
“What idiot’s here this early…” he muttered.
You heard the front door open distantly while exhaustion kept you buried beneath the blankets for another few minutes. The apartment stayed quiet aside from muffled voices in the hallway and the scrape of something heavy being dragged across the floor.
A few seconds later, Bakugou reappeared in the doorway carrying a box so large it nearly brushed both sides of the hallway walls.
Your eyes widened slowly. The mattress. Right.
You pushed yourself upright sleepily while Bakugou maneuvered the massive box farther into the apartment. The cardboard groaned softly every time it scraped against the hardwood floor, his footsteps heavy but controlled despite the awkward size.
The sight of it made something uncomfortable twist quietly in your chest.
This was it. The replacement mattress. The final step before everything went back to normal.
Bakugou leaned the box carefully against the hallway wall before crouching beside it to inspect the labels. You watched him silently from the bed.
The loose black shirt he slept in hung low across his shoulders, wrinkled from sleep while pale sunlight caught against the sharp lines of his arms. His expression remained tired and slightly irritated in that familiar way he always looked before coffee.
Somehow, over the past week, that expression had become comforting. It was familiar. Dangerously familiar.
Bakugou ripped open the instruction packet attached to the plastic wrapping with visible impatience.
“What?” you asked sleepily.
He held up the paper without looking at you. “Says it needs at least twenty four hours to fully expand.”
You blinked. “…Seriously?”
“Memory foam crap.” He sounded personally offended by the concept.
You sat there quietly for a second, processing the words. One more night. One more night of shared dinners and sleepy mornings and hearing him moving around your apartment before dawn. One more night of him being there.
Bakugou glanced toward you finally. “What.”
You shook your head immediately. “Nothing.”
His eyes lingered on you a second longer before looking away again.
The rest of the morning passed slower than usual. Neither of you mentioned tomorrow directly. Still, the awareness sat quietly beneath everything.
It lingered while Bakugou made coffee in your kitchen like he’d been living there for months instead of days. It followed you while brushing your teeth beside each other in the cramped bathroom space. It stayed there while he unfolded the mattress downstairs later that morning, both of you watching silently as it slowly expanded across the frame.
The apartment downstairs looked almost normal again now. The walls were dry. The floor was clean. It smelled faintly of fresh paint from when the repairs were done. Only the giant new mattress still wrapped in plastic made the room feel unfinished.
Temporary.
You stood near the doorway with your arms folded loosely over your chest while Bakugou cut through another layer of packaging. The mattress slowly rose beneath the plastic with a soft hissing sound.
“There,” he muttered. “Fixed.”
The words should’ve felt relieving. Instead, your chest tightened strangely. Being fixed meant it was over. You looked away before that thought could settle too deeply.
By early afternoon, the apartment upstairs had fallen quiet again.
Bakugou left briefly for patrol paperwork while you got ready to meet friends for dinner later that evening. You had made the plans assuming he’d already be gone by tonight.
Now, while standing in front of your closet trying to decide what to wear, the idea of leaving the apartment suddenly felt oddly disappointing.
You frowned faintly at yourself in the mirror. This was ridiculous. It wasn’t like Bakugou was disappearing forever. He literally lived downstairs.
Your gaze drifted unconsciously toward the living room where one of his hoodies remained tossed over the couch arm from yesterday. The apartment already looked less temporary than either of you probably intended.
By the time evening finally arrived, rain had returned again outside. It was drizzling. There was enough rain to blur the city lights beyond the apartment windows.
Bakugou was already home when you emerged from your room dressed to go out.
The television flickered quietly across the dim apartment while he sat stretched across one end of the couch reviewing something on his phone. His boots rested beside the coffee table, hair still slightly damp from a shower.
He looked up immediately when he heard you. “You’re leaving?”
“Yeah.” You grabbed your jacket from near the door. “I made plans earlier this week before I flooded everything.”
No argument. No visible reaction at all, really. The apartment suddenly felt strangely quiet anyway. You pulled your shoes on slowly near the doorway while Bakugou’s attention drifted back toward the television.
“Try not to miss me too much,” you teased lightly.
“Tch.” He scoffed. His eyes stayed on the screen. “Apartment’ll finally be peaceful again.”
“You’re gonna be devastated without me around.” You teased.
“I survived before.”
“Barely.”
That finally earned a quiet snort from him. You hesitated near the doorway afterward longer than necessary.
“I shouldn’t be out super late.”
Bakugou only waved one hand dismissively without looking away from the television. “Whatever.”
The evening with friends passed comfortably enough. You ate too much food. You shared drinks between stories and complaints about work schedules, relationships, and everyday life.
You laughed more than you had in weeks.
The alcohol settled pleasantly through your system by the end of the night, leaving your body warm and relaxed while the edges of exhaustion softened comfortably around your thoughts.
You weren’t drunk. Just tipsy enough that the city lights seemed gentler while the taxi carried you home through wet streets.
The apartment building lobby felt warmer than outside, soft music humming faintly somewhere near the front desk while you stepped toward the elevator slightly unbalanced.
By the time you reached your apartment floor, your coordination had deteriorated enough to make unlocking the front door unexpectedly difficult.
You missed the keyhole twice. Then the door suddenly opened from the inside. Bakugou stood there already looking irritated. His eyes narrowed immediately the second he saw you leaning against the doorway.
“…You’re drunk.”
“I’m not drunk. I’m just a little tipsy,” you corrected.
The second you stepped forward, your foot caught awkwardly against the floor. Bakugou caught your arm before you could stumble fully.
“You’re terrible at this.”
“You moved the floor.”
“I absolutely did not.”
Warm hands steadied you carefully while he pulled you fully inside the apartment. The smell of detergent lingered faintly in the warm air while rain tapped softly against the windows beyond the living room.
The lights were still on. Bakugou was awake despite the fact it was well past when he normally slept.
You blinked toward him slowly while shrugging your jacket off clumsily. “…Did you wait up?”
“Tch. No.” He answered immediately. Too fast.
You smiled tiredly. “You’re a bad liar.”
Bakugou ignored that entirely while shutting and locking the apartment door behind you.
“How’d you get home? You didn’t drive did you?” He almost sounded concerned.
“Taxi.”
Some visible tension left his shoulders at the answer and he nodded.
The apartment felt safe and warm. Your body relaxed further the deeper you moved into the familiar space.
Bakugou disappeared briefly into the kitchen before returning with a glass of water already waiting in one hand.
“Drink.”
You tilted your head at him in protest. He gave you a glare that could kill. Begrudgingly, you accepted it while collapsing onto the couch cushions with a quiet sigh.
“You’re bossy.”
“You can barely stand.”
“I’m sitting now.”
“That’s probably safer.”
You laughed softly beneath your breath while taking several obedient sips of water.
Bakugou settled onto the opposite end of the couch afterward, one arm stretched across the back cushions while the television flickered dimly across the apartment.
The room glowed soft gold beneath low lighting. Outside, rain continued steadily against the windows while distant headlights reflected across wet streets below.
For a while, neither of you talked much. You simply sat there together in comfortable silence while exhaustion and alcohol slowly settled heavier into your limbs.
Then your gaze drifted toward him again. Towards the familiar sharp angles of his profile illuminated by television light.
Tomorrow, he’d go back downstairs.
“You’re gonna miss me,” you murmured quietly.
Bakugou looked over immediately.
“What.”
“You heard me.”
“I’m not.” He protested.
You smiled into your water glass.
“All this,” you gestured vaguely around the apartment, “gone tomorrow.”
“Dramatic.”
“You’ll miss me bothering you.”
“Nope.”
“Movie nights?”
“No.”
“Dinner?”
“I cook better alone.”
“Wowwww. You don’t care for me at all.”
Bakugou looked faintly smug about that answer. You laughed softly again before sinking deeper into the couch cushions.
“I think I’ll miss you a little.” The words slipped out of your mouth, easier than expected. Maybe because of the alcohol. Maybe because tomorrow suddenly felt too close.
Bakugou went quiet beside you.
The television continued flickering softly while rain tapped against glass and somewhere downstairs pipes rattled faintly through the building walls.
You looked toward him slowly. Bakugou’s eyes were already on you. Something unreadable settled behind them. Something quieter than usual.
Your heartbeat stumbled strangely. The atmosphere in the apartment shifted subtly around the conversation.
You looked away first.
“Tipsy people overshare,” you muttered.
Eventually, Bakugou leaned forward enough to grab the empty water glass from your hands once you finished.
“Do you need food?”
“Nah. I’m not hungry.”
“You’re going to wake up feeling like death.”
“That’s future me’s issue.”
“You’re annoying.” He says, crossing his arms.
“You care deeply.”
“I absolutely don’t.”
“You waited up.”
Bakugou shot you an immediate glare. “You have terrible survival instincts.”
“That’s basically concern.”
“It’s basic human decency.”
“You barely have that.”
The corner of his mouth twitched faintly before flattening again. Conversation drifted slower after that.
You talked half aimlessly while exhaustion settled heavier across both of you, words occasionally slurring together slightly whenever sleepiness pulled harder at your brain.
Bakugou listened more than he spoke. He still stayed even when he could’ve gone to bed an hour ago. Even when your stories stopped making complete sense.
At one point, you called him Bakugou again absentmindedly.
His expression tightened. “Quit calling me that.”
You looked slowly towards him. “Hm? Calling you what?”
Bakugou looked away briefly. Then back. The tension across his shoulders suddenly looked almost uncomfortable.
“…Just call me Katsuki.” The words themselves were simple. Gruff. Almost reluctant. Somehow, that made them feel more vulnerable.
Your heartbeat thudded unevenly against your ribs. Bakugou guarded himself carefully. Everything important about him stayed buried beneath sharp words and irritation and controlled distance. Yet here he was. Offering you something personal anyway.
Your throat suddenly felt tight.
“Katsuki,” you repeated quietly. The name settled warmly between you.
His jaw tightened faintly while the tips of his ears colored slightly pink beneath the apartment lighting.
Neither of you spoke for several long seconds afterward. The silence no longer felt accidental. You were both aware of it.
Then Bakugou stood abruptly from the couch.
“Alright,” he muttered roughly. “Bed. Before you pass out down here again and I have to carry you.”
You smiled slowly. “Yes, but I insist you carry me to bed. Seeing as I can barely stand.”
Bakugou paused briefly in the hallway.
“Please Katsuki?”
His shoulders tensed slightly at hearing it again. Katsuki.
The name settled warmly through the apartment in a way that still felt new. Personal. For a second, he stayed standing there in the hallway with his back toward you, broad shoulders stiff beneath the dark fabric of his shirt.
Then he clicked his tongue sharply beneath his breath. “You’re impossible.”
You grinned lazily from your spot on the couch, exhaustion and alcohol making everything feel pleasantly soft around the edges. “That’s not a no.”
Katsuki glanced over his shoulder finally, red eyes narrowed with the same familiar irritation he always wore whenever he was pretending not to care too much about something. Unfortunately for him, you’d started getting better at reading him lately.
His irritation wasn’t real. He was embarrassed, maybe. There was reluctant affection hidden beneath layers of grumbling and attitude. But not real annoyance.
Katsuki stared at you another second longer before sighing heavily through his nose. “Tch. Fine.”
Victory! You immediately held both arms out toward him dramatically from the couch cushions.
“Excellent choice.”
“You’re acting like you’re dying.”
“I’m delicate.”
“You walked into your own front door twenty minutes ago.”
“I’m just going with what you said. As you said earlier, I can barely stand. I require assistance to get to bed.”
Katsuki muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like idiot while stalking back toward the couch.
Even half asleep and tipsy, you could still appreciate how unfairly solid he looked standing over you. Freshly showered earlier that evening, hair softer than usual, broad shoulders blocking out part of the television glow behind him.
Get yourself together. Tomorrow he’d be downstairs. Tomorrow this would stop being normal.
“C’mere.” Warm hands settled against your arms before you could process much else. Then suddenly you were moving.
A startled laugh escaped you as Katuski hauled you upward with insulting ease, one arm hooking beneath your knees while the other steadied your back automatically.
“Wow,” you muttered. “You really can carry me.”
“Tch. You weigh nothing to me.”
The apartment tilted slightly from the sudden movement, enough that instinctively your hand grabbed loosely at the front of his shirt for balance.
You sobered up quickly. This was close- closer than usual. Close enough to feel warmth radiating through the fabric stretched across his chest. Close enough to smell faint traces of smoke and detergent clinging to his clothes.
Katsuki adjusted his hold slightly when you shifted. Carrying you was far more natural than it should’ve been.
“You know,” you mumbled sleepily while he carried you down the hallway, “you’re very nice for someone who yells all the time.”
“I’m not nice.”
“You practically tucked me in the other night.”
“You pass out everywhere.”
“Still counts.”
The hallway lighting cast soft shadows across the apartment walls while he carried you toward the bedroom with slow, steady footsteps. Katsuki carefully nudged the bedroom door open wider with his shoulder before stepping inside.
The room glowed dimly beneath the bedside lamp you’d forgotten to turn off earlier. Your shared bed looked mostly undisturbed aside from the separate blankets still dividing the mattress down the middle.
The sight made warmth curl faintly through you again. Ridiculous. You were getting emotional over blankets now.
Katsuki crossed the room before lowering you carefully onto the edge of the mattress. The second your feet touched the floor again, the room swayed slightly.
You frowned.
Bakugou crossed his arms immediately. “You’re definitely drunk.”
“I’m not, really. I didn’t drink that much.”
“You can’t focus your eyes.”
“Yes I can. I’m looking right at your stupid face.”
Despite the constant insults, he stayed close while you awkwardly attempted to remove your shoes without falling sideways off the bed.
Unfortunately, balance was not on your side. The mattress shifted suddenly beneath you when your balance tipped too far to one side. Before you could fully fall, Katsuki’s hand caught your shoulder firmly.
Your breath caught embarrassingly for half a second.
“There you go,” he muttered dryly. “Real graceful.”
“You caught me.” You smile.
“Barely.”
His grip lingered another second longer before letting go. You became strangely aware of every small thing after that. The warmth of the room. The soft rustle of fabric while Bakugou moved around grabbing things for you before you could manage yourself. A glass of water placed carefully on the nightstand. Your charger plugged in. One of the blankets pulled back while he silently prepared the bed.
The domesticity of it all hit unexpectedly hard. His care was hidden beneath irritation and grumbling.
Meanwhile, Katsuki focused on literally anything except your face while helping you function through your tipsiness.
“Can you at least change before passing out?” he asked finally.
You blinked toward him slowly from where you sat on the edge of the bed. “…Maybe.”
His eyes narrowed. “That’s not confidence.”
“I’m sleepy.”
“No shit.”
Still muttering under his breath, Bakugou eventually shoved one of your sleep shirts toward you from the dresser. “Move.”
You laughed quietly while accepting it. The room spun less now, exhaustion overtaking most of the alcohol haze while your limbs grew heavier by the minute.
Katsuki disappeared briefly into the bathroom to give you privacy while you changed slowly into sleep clothes with all the coordination of someone functioning on approximately one brain cell. By the time he returned, you’d somehow managed to get tangled halfway into your blanket already.
His expression flattened immediately. “How’d you even manage that?”
“I’m talented.”
“You’re a hazard to yourself.”
He stepped forward to untangle the blanket from around your legs before you accidentally launched yourself off the side of the mattress.
Your laughter softened into something quieter afterward. He kept doing small things like this. As if it was natural to take care of you now. When did you become so needy?
Katsuki finally tugged the blankets properly over you once you settled beneath them, movements rougher than necessary only because he clearly hated being watched while doing so.
The mattress dipped slightly beside you while he adjusted one of the pillows behind your head. Then he reached toward the bedside lamp. Before turning it off, he paused. You looked up at him sleepily.
The warm lighting softened the sharp edges of his features in ways daylight rarely did. Without his hero gear and constant scowl, he looked younger tonight.
This ended tomorrow. You would no longer sleep in the same bed. The thought hurt more than it should have.
Maybe the alcohol loosened your thoughts too much. Maybe exhaustion stripped away too many defenses. Because before you could stop yourself, the words slipped free quietly.
“…I’m really going to miss this. You.”
Katsuki went still.
The rain outside filled the silence softly while distant traffic hummed below the apartment building. For a moment, neither of you moved. Then finally, Katsuki exhaled quietly through his nose.
His eyes flicked away briefly before settling back on you again.
“…Yeah,” he muttered roughly.
Just one word. He meant it. You could hear it in his voice.
The atmosphere between you shifted again briefly. Katsuki cleared his throat abruptly before reaching over to switch off the bedside lamp. Darkness settled softly across the room afterward, broken only by faint city light filtering through the curtains.
You heard him moving quietly around the other side of the bed while exhaustion finally dragged heavier at your body. The mattress dipped moments later as he climbed in beside you beneath his separate blanket. The familiar warmth of another person nearby settled naturally through the darkness now.
There was no awkwardness or tension.
You stared sleepily toward the ceiling while rain continued tapping softly against the windows.
Then, quietly, “Goodnight, Katsuki.”
Silence lingered briefly beside you. Then the soft rustle of blankets and finally, “…Night.”
Note: Comment saying you'd like to be tagged if you want to be added to the tag list for this series! Longer update today because I had extra time at work. Likes, reblogs, and comments are much appreciated <3
The Neighbor Downstairs - Part Seven - Katsuki Bakugou x Reader
Part One <3 | Part Two <3 | Part Three <3 | Part Four <3 | Part Five <3 | Part Six <3
Summary: After a brutal overnight shift leaves you barely able to keep your eyes open, you accidentally fall asleep in the tub and flood the apartment beneath yours. You wake up to furious pounding on your door from none other than pro hero Katsuki Bakugo. He's forced to stay overnight, in your bed. Now that his mattress has been delivered, he's staying in his apartment.
Word Count: 2,298
You woke slowly to the sound of cabinets closing somewhere down the hallway. You had stopped setting an alarm with Katsuki here. His movement around the apartment always woke you up.
For a few sleepy seconds, you stayed half buried beneath warm blankets while pale morning light filtered softly through the curtains. Rain from the night before had finally stopped sometime before dawn, leaving the apartment quiet, aside from Katsuki.
The other side of the bed was empty. The blankets there were still rumpled and warm enough to tell you he hadn’t been gone long.
Your eyes lingered there longer than necessary.
Memories from the night before came flooding back in slow, dangerous pieces. His voice saying your name low and rough in the dim bedroom. The warmth of his arms carrying you down the hallway. The way his shoulders had tensed when you called him Katsuki for the first time. The soft quietness in his voice when he answered goodnight.
You groaned quietly into your pillow before dragging one arm over your face dramatically. This was getting bad. Because somewhere over the last week, Katsuki had stopped feeling like your loud downstairs neighbor and started feeling like something else entirely. Something your body had apparently already grown attached to.
The apartment felt different when he was in it. It felt lived in. You hated how quickly you’d gotten used to that.
Eventually, the smell of coffee dragged you out of bed. You shuffled slowly into the hallway still dressed in sleep clothes, exhaustion clinging stubbornly to your limbs while sunlight spilled softly through the apartment windows.
As always, Katsuki was already awake.
He stood in the kitchen wearing a black shirt and gray sweatpants, one hand wrapped loosely around a coffee mug while the other scrolled through something on his phone. Morning light caught against the sharp edges of his profile, softening him just slightly beneath the golden glow filling the apartment.
The coffee pot already sat half empty. Domesticity looked unfairly natural on him.
Katsuki glanced up the second he heard your footsteps.
“You look terrible.”
Your tired voice came out rough from sleep.
“You say that every morning.”
“Because it keeps being true.”
Despite the insult, he reached for another mug automatically before pouring coffee for you too. Like it was routine now. The realization settled quietly between the two of you. You accepted the mug from him with sleepy hands.
“Thanks.”
He nods. The apartment stayed in a soft quiet afterward. The kind of silence built from too many shared mornings lately.
You leaned against the kitchen counter sipping coffee slowly while your brain struggled to fully wake up. Katsuki remained nearby, occasionally checking his phone between long drinks from his own mug.
Every now and then your eyes drifted toward him accidentally. Toward the slight mess of his hair from sleep. Toward the faint marks of exhaustion left beneath his eyes after long patrol shifts all week. Toward the broad shape of him standing comfortably inside your kitchen like he belonged there.
Today he was moving back downstairs. You tried not to think too hard about how much you already hated that.
Reality arrived anyway.
Katsuki started collecting the last of his things from around the apartment while you forced yourself awake enough to help.
Still in pajamas and carrying coffee, you followed him around gathering small pieces of the past week one item at a time. His charger disappeared from beside the bed. His hoodie came off the couch arm. Extra blankets got thrown into the laundry. Every object removed made the apartment feel a little emptier. A little quieter.
Katsuki balanced a box against one shoulder while you carried another downstairs behind him.
The hallway between your apartments suddenly felt far too short.
His apartment door stood open already by the time you reached the bottom floor. Warm light spilled out into the hallway while the faint smell of fresh paint still lingered from maintenance repairs earlier in the week.
Inside, everything looked mostly normal again.
The new mattress had fully expanded overnight and now sat neatly made in the center of the bedroom. The room no longer smelled damp or flooded. Fresh paint covered the repaired section of wall beside the window.
It was like none of it had happened at all. Except it had.
You quietly helped Katsuki finish putting things back where they belonged. Neither of you talked much while working.
There was something strangely intimate about moving through his apartment together in comfortable silence. You’d spent enough time around each other lately that moving naturally around the same space no longer felt awkward. That realization probably should’ve concerned you more than it did.
Katsuki disappeared briefly into the bedroom carrying another box while you lingered awkwardly near the kitchen.
Your eyes drifted slowly across the apartment. Everything looked good again, much better than the night you flooded it.
You swallowed quietly. “Katsuki?”
“Yes?” He stepped back into the hallway doorway a second later.
Your fingers tightened slightly around the blanket still resting in your arms. “Sorry again.”
His brows furrowed faintly. “What for?”
You glanced around the apartment helplessly. “The flood.”
The words felt ridiculous now after everything that had happened over the last week. Either way, guilt settled heavily.
“And the apartment’s fixed.” His voice stayed firm. Certain. As if he genuinely didn’t want you blaming yourself anymore.
You looked down quietly at the folded blanket in your hands. “It still sucked.”
A beat of silence passed. Then he spoke, “You making me sleep upstairs wasn’t exactly torture.”
Warmth spread embarrassingly fast through you.
You looked up just in time to catch the faintest hint of embarrassment flicker across his face before he clicked his tongue sharply and looked away. Your lips twitched upward despite yourself.
The atmosphere became lighter after that. There wasn’t much left to organize anymore. The apartment looked put together again.
Katsuki leaned against the kitchen counter while you stood awkwardly near the doorway, neither of you seeming particularly eager to acknowledge that there wasn’t really a reason to stay anymore.
Finally, you rubbed one hand awkwardly against your arm.
“Well… I should probably head back upstairs.”
Katsuki nodded once.
Neither of you moved immediately.
“Lock your door.” He said with a gruff voice.
There it was again. That rough concern hidden beneath practicality.
“You too.” You smiled faintly before finally stepping back into the hallway.
The apartment upstairs felt too quiet afterward. You noticed it as soon as you stepped in. There was no movement in the kitchen. No television running in the background. No Katsuki moving around before dawn while coffee brewed. Just silence.
The emptiness followed you throughout the entire day.
You caught yourself listening for footsteps that never came. At one point while making lunch, your body automatically reached for a second plate before your brain caught up.
By evening, the loneliness had settled into something dull and persistent. It wasn’t dramatic, just uncomfortable.
The television flickered softly across your dark living room while you sat curled beneath a blanket trying unsuccessfully to focus on some random show.
Your phone buzzed suddenly against the couch cushion beside you. You grabbed it lazily. A text from Katsuki.
Your heartbeat immediately betrayed you.
Katsuki: Made extra food. Come get it before I throw it out.
Katsuki: I know you can’t cook for shit anyway so you’re probably starving.
You stared at the message for a second before rolling your eyes hard enough to hurt yourself. The insult at the end felt so aggressively unnecessary. Because if Katsuki Bakugou wanted to bring you dinner, apparently he had to disguise it as an attack.
You smiled faintly while standing from the couch. The hallway downstairs felt familiar by now.
Katsuki opened the apartment door before you even knocked properly. He’d been expecting you. Warm light spilled into the hallway around him while the smell of food drifted faintly through the apartment behind him.
“You took forever.”
“It’s been like two minutes. I had to put my shoes on.”
“You’re calling slippers shoes now?”
He stepped aside enough for you to enter halfway while grabbing a container from the kitchen counter.
Katsuki handed you the tupperware container. “There.”
“Oh thanks.”
For a second, neither of you moved.
You stood awkwardly near the doorway holding warm food against your chest while Katsuki looked at you expectantly from deeper inside the apartment. Like he assumed you’d leave now.
The realization settled awkwardly between the two of you almost immediately.
You stood just inside the apartment doorway holding the warm tupperware container against your chest while Katsuki remained a few feet away near the kitchen counter with his own plate in one hand.
Neither of you moved.
The television hummed quietly somewhere behind him, muted evening light flickering softly across the apartment walls of the living room.
Katsuki glanced toward you briefly before looking away again, expression settling into that carefully neutral look he wore whenever he clearly had something to say but refused to actually say it aloud.
You shifted awkwardly near the doorway.
“Well,” you started slowly.
The silence stretched. Both of you were waiting for the other person to decide something first.
Your fingers tightened slightly around the food container. Part of you wanted him to say something. Stay. Sit down. Eat with me. Anything.
But Katsuki was still Katsuki. He wasn’t the kind of person who invited people to stay outright. Not because he didn’t want to but because somewhere underneath all the sharp edges and roughness, vulnerability still seemed difficult for him.
And you weren’t about to invite yourself into his apartment either. Not after he’d only just gotten his space back.
So instead, you stood there for another quiet second while the warmth from the tupperware seeped slowly into your hands.
Then finally, “Thanks for the food.”
“Tch. Don’t make it weird.”
Despite the familiar response, his eyes flicked toward you again briefly. Lingering.
You forced yourself to take a small step backward toward the hallway.
Katsuki stayed where he was. One hand resting loosely against the kitchen counter. His apartment looked warm behind him beneath the soft lighting. The sight made leaving unexpectedly difficult.
You swallowed quietly. “Goodnight, Katsuki.”
Something softened faintly in his expression hearing his first name again. Quickly, almost impossible to catch.
“…Night.”
You stepped back into the hallway after that.
The apartment door remained open for another second longer than necessary before finally closing quietly behind you.
The walk upstairs seemed strangely long tonight.
You moved slowly down the hallway toward your own apartment while the warm food container rested against your palms.
Your chest ached in that dull quiet way it had all day. Somewhere over the last week, you’d gotten used to sharing space with him. Now, every moment apart felt noticeable.
The apartment upstairs greeted you with silence again.
You kicked your shoes off near the doorway before wandering into the kitchen to grab a fork. The rooms still felt too still around you, the television left off, the couch empty, no movement anywhere besides your own.
Maybe you should get a cat or something to fill the silence. No, no rash decisions. That was a ridiculous thought.
Your eyes drifted automatically toward the hallway before you could stop yourself. A part of your brain still expects Katsuki to emerge from your bedroom or kitchen.
You settled onto the couch eventually with the tupperware container balanced in your lap while soft city light filtered through the apartment windows.
The food was still warm. Katsuki probably timed it intentionally. The thought made warmth spread faintly despite yourself.
The smell was rich and savory. Comforting in the way homemade food always was after a long day.
Your first bite nearly made you groan out loud. It was annoying how good his food tasted.
The television played quietly while you ate alone on the couch, though your attention kept drifting elsewhere. Toward the thought of Katsuki probably sitting on his own couch eating dinner too.
Maybe he was watching television. Maybe he was sitting in the same kind of silence.
You cleaned the container slowly afterward before finally grabbing your phone from the couch cushion beside you. Your thumb hovered over the screen for a second.
You: Thanks for dinner. It was really good.
You: I’ll have to repay the favor another day.
The message sat marked as delivered.
Then eventually, with the apartment growing later and quieter around you, you pushed yourself up from the couch and started getting ready for bed.
The routine felt empty tonight.
You brushed your teeth beneath harsh bathroom lighting while exhaustion settled heavily into your limbs.
There were no sarcastic comments tossed through the hallway while brushing your teeth beside each other half asleep.
The absence of those things felt embarrassingly noticeable now.
You changed slowly into sleep clothes afterward, dragging tired hands through your hair while moving through the darkened apartment with sluggish exhaustion pulling at your body.
The bedroom greeted you quietly when you finally stepped inside. The bed looked too large again. You frowned faintly at that thought before crawling beneath the blankets anyway.
Cool sheets wrapped around you. His scent still lingered faintly across the pillows and blankets.
It was a nice, comforting smell.
You rolled onto your side slowly, face half buried against the pillow while city lights glowed dimly through the curtains nearby.
You’d probably have to wash the sheets soon. The thought drifted lazily through your tired brain.
You didn’t move to change them tonight. Instead, you pulled the blankets a little closer around yourself and let the lingering warmth of him follow you quietly into sleep.
Note: Comment saying you'd like to be tagged if you want to be added to the tag list for this series! Likes, reblogs, and comments are much appreciated <3
The Neighbor Downstairs - Part Five - Katsuki Bakugou x Reader
Part One <3 | Part Two <3 | Part Three <3 | Part Four <3
Summary: After a brutal overnight shift leaves you barely able to keep your eyes open, all you want is a hot bath and a few hours of sleep. Instead, you accidentally fall asleep in the tub and flood the apartment beneath yours. You wake up to furious pounding on your door from none other than pro hero Katsuki Bakugo. He's forced to stay overnight, in your bed. Due to a delay in mattress delivery, he stays a few more nights. Now you're sharing a bed and you apparently cuddle in your sleep.
Word Count: 1,909
The first thing Bakugou became aware of that morning was warmth. The second was weight. It wasn’t heavy, just present. Pressed carefully against his side beneath the blankets.
For several long seconds, he stayed half asleep, brain slow and unfocused. The apartment remained quiet aside from the soft breathing beside him and the distant hum of traffic several stories below.
Then his phone started vibrating against the nightstand. Bakugou’s eyes snapped open immediately.
Years of patrol schedules and emergency calls had trained his body into instant awareness no matter how exhausted he was. His hand shot toward the phone automatically before the noise could continue long enough to wake the person beside him.
The person beside him?
His brows furrowed faintly. Only then did he fully process the warmth curled against his side. You had shifted closer sometime during the night.
At some point, likely unconsciously, you’d moved across the mattress searching for warmth after he’d stolen most of the blanket. One arm rested loosely against his waist beneath the covers while your head had ended up dangerously close to his neck.
You were asleep, still completely unaware.
Bakugou stared down at you silently while his phone continued vibrating angrily in his hand.
There was just enough space between the curtains for weak morning light to spill across the bed in pale streaks, illuminating the exhausted softness still lingering across your face.
Your breathing remained slow, steady, and trusting. For some reason, that made something in his chest stir. He muttered under his breath. The sound barely disturbed you. If anything, you shifted slightly closer against his side.
Bakugou went rigid instantly. His brain stopped functioning for approximately half a second. It wasn’t because of the contact itself. He wasn’t some awkward teenager incapable of handling physical closeness.
This was different somehow.
It was soft, sleepy, unintentional. You were curled against him like it was natural. Your unconscious form trusted him.
His phone buzzed again. Right, Kirishima.
Bakugou dragged one hand down his face tiredly before carefully trying to untangle himself without waking you. It turned out to be significantly harder than expected. The second he shifted too far away, you frowned faintly in your sleep and instinctively followed the warmth he’d been stealing from you all night.
His heartbeat kicked unpleasantly against his ribs.
“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he muttered quietly.
Eventually, after far more effort than should’ve been necessary, Bakugou managed to slide out from beneath your grip. The mattress shifted softly under his weight as he stood, immediately grabbing the blanket he’d apparently stolen during the night.
You curled tighter the second cool air hit. Bakugou clicked his tongue quietly before throwing the blanket properly back over you. Your expression relaxed almost instantly.
Annoying. Deeply annoying.
His phone buzzed for a third time. Bakugou finally turned and stalked toward the living room before answering.
“What.”
Kirishima’s voice burst loudly through the speaker, “Finally! Dude, I thought you died or something.”
“Unfortunately not.”
“You sound half asleep.”
“It’s six in the damn morning.”
“Yeah, because we’ve got patrol paperwork later?”
Bakugou rubbed at his eyes tiredly while leaning against the kitchen counter. Behind him, your apartment remained quiet and dim, soft morning light slowly spreading across the living room.
Kirishima kept talking, mostly about work schedules and agency nonsense Bakugou barely cared about this early in the morning. Unfortunately, one specific thought kept dragging his attention away from the conversation entirely.
The way you were breathing against his shoulder. The way you’d instinctively moved closer in your sleep.
Bakugou scowled harder at absolutely nothing.
“…You listening?” Kirishima asked finally.
“Obviously.”
“…You sound weird.”
“No I don’t.”
“Tired?”
“Yes.”
“You sleep okay?”
Bakugou stared flatly toward the hallway leading back to your bedroom. “…Shut up.”
Kirishima laughed immediately. Bakugou hung up on him.
The apartment settled back into silence afterward. He stayed standing there for another minute longer than necessary, arms crossed loosely over his chest. Then, he sighed heavily and started making coffee.
By the time you finally woke up properly, the apartment smelled warm and familiar already. It smelled of coffee, toast, and something faintly sweet.
You stretched slowly beneath the blankets, blinking against the soft sunlight. You rubbed at your eyes tiredly before eventually dragging yourself toward the kitchen.
Bakugou stood at the stove already fully awake as always. He looked annoyingly functional for this early in the morning. His back faced you while he flipped something in a pan with practiced precision.
The domestic sight barely even surprised you anymore.
“You’re up early like always,” you mumbled.
Bakugou snorted quietly. “You’re up late.”
“Some of us enjoy sleeping.”
“Some of us have jobs.”
“I also have a job.”
“Debatable.”
“What does that even mean? You’ve seen me go to work and come back!” You retort.
He ignores you.
You yawned while reaching for one of the coffee mugs he’d already set out automatically.
Looking over the apartment again, it was almost like Bakugou lived there. His things were scattered naturally throughout the space and no longer looked out of place. Even the kitchen itself felt subtly different now that he’d apparently taken over cooking duties whenever possible. Maybe you should scold him for leaving his things all over the place.
“Maintenance called yesterday,” Bakugou mentioned while plating breakfast. “My apartment's almost dry. They just need to finish the final touches on my ceiling.”
You blinked toward him over your coffee mug, “Really?”
“Hn. They’re finishing most of it today.”
Relief mixed strangely with disappointment somewhere in your chest. You decide to ignore the second feeling for now.
“That’s good.”
Bakugou glanced toward you briefly.
“I’m gonna check it after patrol,” he muttered.
You nodded before speaking, “I’ll come with you.”
Bakugou looked mildly surprised by the answer before covering it with his usual expression.
“...Okay. You can do that.”
The rest of the morning passed quietly after that.
By afternoon, the two of you stood inside Bakugou’s apartment downstairs while industrial fans hummed loudly in the background. The room smelled faintly like fresh drywall and cleaning supplies now instead of soaked carpet.
Most of the damage had finally been repaired. The flooring looked dry again. The walls had been patched. His bedroom no longer resembled a disaster zone.
There was still plenty left to clean.
You spent nearly an hour helping Bakugou reorganize his limited furniture and sort through things that had been moved during repairs. The apartment remained warm from the giant drying fans running nearby, forcing both of you into lighter clothes while cleaning.
Bakugou worked with the same intense focus he seemed to apply to literally everything. He was fast, efficient, and slightly aggressive towards the dust. At one point you caught him glaring at a water stain like it had personally insulted his bloodline.
“You know staring at it won’t make it disappear faster.” You say, gesturing to the mess.
“It’s ugly.”
“It’s drywall.”
“It’s ugly drywall.”
You laughed softly while wiping down one of the shelves nearby. The sound echoed lightly through the apartment. For a second, Bakugou’s eyes flicked toward you in that brief distracted way they’d started doing more often lately. Like he was catching himself paying too much attention.
A quiet knock sounded suddenly at the apartment door. It had been left unlocked. Moments later, Kirishima entered and soon after froze in the doorway. His eyes moved between Bakugou, you, and the cleaning supplies. It looked surprisingly domestic.
“Oops,” he said immediately.
Bakugou’s face already looked murderous.
Kirishima rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Sorry— uh I didn’t realize you were busy.”
“We’re cleaning,” Bakugou deadpanned.
“Right. Totally.” Kirishima nodded. He did not sound convinced.
Kirishima’s eyes drifted briefly toward you again before widening slightly with visible realization.
“Oh my god.”
Bakugou narrowed his eyes dangerously. “Don’t start.”
“Have you been staying with them?”
“No.”
“Yes you are,” you answered automatically before your brain caught up.
“Oh my god,” Kirishima repeated louder this time. “You guys are together.”
“No we’re not,” both of you answered instantly.
The synchronized response only made Kirishima look more convinced.
“Wow,” he muttered. “That’s actually worse somehow.”
Bakugou looked moments away from detonating the entire apartment building out of irritation.
“We’re not dating,” you tried explaining while heat crept embarrassingly into your face. “His apartment flooded… I flooded his apartment.”
“Because someone fell asleep in a bathtub,” Bakugou added.
Kirishima stared. “…That somehow raises more questions.”
The conversation spiraled from there. Mostly because Kirishima clearly thought the situation was the funniest thing he’d experienced all month. By the time he finally left, Bakugou looked exhausted in an entirely different way than usual.
“You have terrible friends,” you informed him.
“You flooded my apartment.”
“That is so not related!”
“It’s related to everything.”
Even so, there was no real irritation left behind the comment anymore. By the time evening settled fully outside, the two of you had drifted naturally back upstairs again.
Back into routine. Dinner, television, shared space.
The apartment lights dimmed low, the city beginning to sleep, the atmosphere settling warm and quiet around both of you.
It felt way too natural now. Dangerously natural. Which was probably why the comment from Kirishima lingered awkwardly in the back of your mind all evening despite neither of you acknowledging it again.
Eventually, the two of you started getting ready for bed.
You were halfway through fixing the blankets on the bed when Bakugou suddenly spoke from behind you.
“Separate blankets tonight.”
“Huh?” You questioned.
Bakugou looked aggressively focused on adjusting his pillow instead of making eye contact. “We’re using separate blankets.”
“…Why?”
He doesn't reply.
You crossed your arms. “Bakugou. Answer me.”
He looked deeply offended by the fact you were making him explain himself.
“You cuddle in your sleep,” he muttered.
“I absolutely do not. I’ve never done that before.”
“You were practically on top of me this morning.”
Heat flooded into your face.
“…What. No I wasn’t.”
Bakugou looked equally irritated and uncomfortable now that he’d actually admitted it out loud.
“You kept moving closer because I had the blanket,” he grumbled. “So we’re using separate ones.”
You stared at him. Mortified.
Bakugou clicked his tongue sharply when you didn’t respond immediately. “Quit making that face.”
“What face?”
“That one.”
“I was asleep! It’s not my fault that I was cold, you blanket thief.”
“Yeah. I noticed.”
Your embarrassment somehow got worse.
Without another word, you immediately turned and walked toward the closet before this conversation could continue another second longer.
Behind you, Bakugou snorted quietly beneath his breath. Which honestly felt rude considering he was the one stealing blankets.
You grabbed an extra comforter from the closet and tossed it toward him with as much dignity as possible. Bakugou caught it easily.
The two of you settled into bed afterward with significantly more awareness than the night before. Separate blankets now divided the mattress neatly down the middle.
A physical barrier against apparently unconscious cuddle attempts. Lovely.
Beside you, Bakugou shifted slightly beneath his blanket.
“You move too much,” he muttered.
“I’m trying to get comfortable.”
“Hn.”
Despite everything, the tension in the room felt softer tonight.
The mattress dipped subtly every time one of you adjusted positions beneath separate blankets, quiet awareness lingering between both sides of the bed.
That night, you both fell asleep quickly. You might just miss this when he leaves.
Note: It may be a couple days before the next update. I must return to work </3 If you'd like to be tagged when I update, comment below!
The Neighbor Downstairs - Part Two - Katsuki Bakugou x Reader
Part One <3
Summary: After a brutal overnight shift leaves you barely able to keep your eyes open, all you want is a hot bath and a few hours of sleep. Instead, you accidentally fall asleep in the tub and flood the apartment beneath yours. You wake up to furious pounding on your door from none other than pro hero Katsuki Bakugo. He's forced to stay overnight, in your bed. The next morning, he wakes you up walking around the apartment.
Word Count: 1,953
The next morning came quietly.
There was still the faint hum of traffic outside the apartment windows and the occasional groan of pipes somewhere in the building. For a few long seconds, you stayed half asleep beneath the blanket on the couch, eyes still closed while your brain slowly caught up with the unfamiliar sounds moving around the apartment.
You heard cabinet doors opening, muted footsteps and the rustle of fabric.
Your apartment smelled faintly like detergent and the lingering steam from last night’s bath disaster, though most of it had faded overnight. Pale morning light slipped through the blinds in golden lines across the floor.
You frowned sleepily into the couch cushion. Someone was in your apartment.
Then memory hit all at once.
Flooded ceiling. Bakugou yelling upstairs. Cleaning water out of his apartment at nearly midnight. Giving up your bed because his mattress had been completely soaked through.
Your eyes cracked open slowly.
Bakugou stood near the front door with one of his bags slung over his shoulder, moving around the apartment with the same blunt efficiency he seemed to apply to everything in life. His hair was still messy from sleep, sticking out more wildly than usual in the soft morning light, though he already looked far more awake than you felt.
He was collecting the last of his things from beside the couch.
You blinked at him sluggishly. Your voice came out rough with sleep, words slurring together halfway through the sentence, “…Where’re you going?”
Bakugou looked over immediately. His expression flattened slightly, the way it always did when he was caught off guard by something unexpectedly soft. “What?”
You pushed yourself upright slowly, blanket slipping down into your lap while exhaustion still clung heavily to your limbs. The digital clock on the microwave read 6:12 AM.
It was far too early, especially for your day off.
“You’re leaving?” you mumbled.
Bakugou stared at you for a second before snorting quietly through his nose.
“You flooded my apartment, remember?”
Right. You rubbed a hand over your face tiredly. It was a stupid question. He’d only stayed because you’d accidentally turned his bedroom into a swamp. Still, seeing him already halfway out the door left an odd hollow feeling in your chest that sleep fog wasn’t helping.
“Oh. Right.”
Bakugou adjusted the strap on his bag. “Maintenance’ll probably show up early if I report it now.”
You nodded slowly, though your brain still felt several steps behind the conversation.
The apartment stayed quiet except for the distant buzz of the refrigerator and the occasional car outside.
Then, before you could fully think it through, “I can make coffee.”
Bakugou blinked. “You just woke up.”
“Mhm.”
“You look half dead.”
“You look angry at the sun.”
“I am angry at the sun.”
Despite the gruffness of his voice, there wasn’t much real bite behind it. Just exhaustion. Morning irritation. Bakugou had always struck you as someone who woke up fully alert and immediately annoyed about existing.
You pushed the blanket aside and stood carefully, wincing slightly at the stiffness in your neck from sleeping on the couch. Bakugou noticed immediately.
“That couch sucks,” he muttered.
“You’re huge. Of course you think the couch sucks.”
“It barely fits you.”
Fair enough. You shrugged in response to his comment. You shuffled toward the kitchen before he could decide to leave anyway. The floor felt cold beneath your feet while you filled the coffee maker with water, movements slow and clumsy from exhaustion.
Behind you, you could feel Bakugou lingering uncertainly near the doorway. Like he hadn’t fully decided if staying another twenty minutes was worth it.
The machine sputtered to life a moment later.
Morning light filled more of the apartment now, soft gold warming the edges of the kitchen counters and catching on the messy blanket still tossed across the couch.
Bakugou eventually dropped his bag back beside the door with a quiet sigh.
“You always wake up this early on days off?” he asked.
You shook your head immediately. “Absolutely not.”
“What time do you usually get up?”
“Whenever my body stops hating me.”
“Hn.”
You smiled faintly at the sound.
The two of you settled into an oddly comfortable silence while the coffee brewed. Bakugou leaned against the counter nearby, arms crossed loosely over his chest while you searched your cabinets for mugs.
He looked strangely domestic standing there. He was barefoot, half awake, and still dressed in the black shirt he’d slept in. This was probably the most time you’d ever spent around him without one of you actively leaving for work.
You handed him a mug carefully.
Bakugou took it with a muttered “thanks” before immediately taking a sip strong enough that it probably qualified as battery acid.
“The way you drink coffee is criminal,” you informed him.
“It’s coffee. Not candy.”
“It should not taste like burnt regret.”
“It wakes you up.”
“So would being punched.”
“That’s free too.”
A tired laugh escaped you before you could stop it.
Bakugou’s eyes flicked toward your face briefly, expression unreadable for half a second before he looked away again.
“…About your mattress,” you started carefully.
Bakugou sighed immediately like he knew exactly where this was going.
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine.”
“It’s a mattress.”
“It’s an expensive mattress- at least it looked expensive."
A pause.
Then reluctantly, “…Yeah.”
You reached for your phone off the counter. “What kind was it?”
Bakugou narrowed his eyes slightly. “Why?”
“So I can replace it.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I flooded your apartment.”
“You fell asleep.”
“I flooded your apartment while asleep.”
He looked like he wanted to argue more before ultimately deciding it wasn’t worth the energy this early in the morning. With obvious reluctance, he finally pulled out his own phone and searched through old order confirmations until he found the mattress.
The number on the screen made your eyebrows rise slightly.
“Wow.”
Bakugou looked unimpressed. “It’s good quality.”
“I can tell.”
Still, it wasn’t impossible. Expensive, yes, but manageable.
You sat beside him at the counter while searching online for the same model. Unfortunately, the situation only got worse from there. Something about special order only, shipping delays, no nearby stores carrying it.
At minimum, it would be several days before a replacement could arrive.
“…Seriously?” you muttered.
Bakugou clicked his tongue irritably. “Tch. Figures.”
You glanced toward him. “What’re you supposed to sleep on until then?”
“The couch downstairs.”
“The tiny couch?”
“I’ve slept in worse places.”
A couple hours later, after contacting apartment management and explaining the situation in embarrassing detail, maintenance finally arrived downstairs to assess the damage.
The two of you stood in Bakugou’s apartment while workers moved in and out of the soaked bedroom. The room smelled faintly damp despite the fans they’d already brought in. Bakugou’s mattress leaned awkwardly against the wall, clearly ruined beyond saving. Parts of the ceiling still looked water stained near one corner.
One of the maintenance workers wiped sweat from his forehead before speaking.
“It’ll take a couple days at least,” he explained. “Drywall damage, flooring inspection… maybe longer depending on moisture levels.”
Bakugou looked deeply unimpressed by this information. You, meanwhile, felt progressively worse.
“Couldn’t he stay in another unit temporarily?” you asked.
The worker shook his head apologetically. “Nothing available right now.”
You glanced toward Bakugou. He looked irritated but not surprised. Of course he didn’t seem particularly bothered. He was probably the type to sleep on hardwood flooring out of spite if necessary.
“You can stay upstairs,” you said immediately.
Bakugou looked over. “You don’t have to—”
“You’re not sleeping on that couch.”
“I’ll survive.”
“That thing barely survives.”
“Or if you won’t stay with me, I can rent you somewhere nearby for a few days.”
“That’s stupid.”
“It’s my fault.”
“Tch.”
Bakugou dragged a hand down his face tiredly, clearly realizing he was losing this argument.
Finally, after several long seconds:
“I’ll stay upstairs,” he muttered. “Easier anyway.”
You blinked. “Easier?”
“My stuff’s still here.” He jerked a thumb vaguely toward his apartment. “I’m gonna be working most of the next few days. Less annoying than dragging everything somewhere else.”
You nodded quickly, trying not to look too visibly relieved by the answer.
The rest of the afternoon passed strangely fast.
Bakugou spent most of it moving essentials upstairs—clothes, work gear, toiletries—while maintenance continued tearing apart sections of his bedroom downstairs. The sound of drills and industrial fans echoed through the building for hours.
By evening, your apartment looked subtly different. Bakugou’s duffel sat near the wall beside the couch. His combat boots rested by the front door. One of his hoodies had already ended up draped over the armchair without explanation.
The realization hit you suddenly, Bakugou was staying here. For multiple days…
The thought felt oddly domestic in a way you tried not to think about too hard.
Dinner ended up being simple.
You cooked mostly because it felt wrong not to after destroying the man’s apartment. Bakugou hovered nearby while you worked in the kitchen, occasionally handing you ingredients without being asked or criticizing your knife skills under his breath.
“You cut vegetables too slow.”
“I cut vegetables safely.”
“You cut vegetables like you’re scared they’ll bite back.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
“It does in my head.”
“Horrifying.”
A quiet scoff escaped him.
The apartment settled into a calmer rhythm as the night went on.
Rain started again outside around eight, tapping softly against the windows while the two of you ate dinner at the small kitchen table. Bakugou talked a little about work after you asked. Nothing was confidential, mostly complaints about patrol schedules and idiot sidekicks. Hearing him talk casually felt odd.
The other times you had talked to him had always been quick greetings and nothing more. Now there was nowhere either of you needed to rush off to immediately.
By ten, Bakugou was visibly fading.
You noticed it in the way his posture slouched slightly deeper into the couch cushions and how his responses got shorter between stretches of silence.
“You sleep insanely early,” you commented while rinsing dishes.
Bakugou looked offended. “It’s called having a schedule.”
“It’s called being eighty years old.”
“I wake up at five.”
“That’s evil.” You smiled to yourself while drying your hands.
Eventually the two of you split off to get ready for bed separately. Bakugou disappeared into the bathroom first while you changed into comfortable clothes in your bedroom afterward.
By the time you emerged again, the apartment lights had dimmed low. Bakugou stood near the couch adjusting one of the blankets awkwardly.
“I already told you, you’re taking the bed,” you said immediately.
“No.”
“You literally can’t fit on that thing.”
“You slept here fine yesterday.”
“Yes but I’m not your size.”
Bakugou crossed his arms. “I’m not kicking you outta your own bed.”
“You’re not kicking me out. I’m offering.” You insisted.
The argument went nowhere.
Eventually, after several increasingly tired minutes of back and forth, the arrangement ended exactly the same as the night before.
Bakugou in your bed.
You on the couch.
Only this time, it felt a little less awkward.
As you settled beneath the blanket again, listening to the soft sounds of Bakugou moving around your bedroom down the hall, the apartment no longer felt unfamiliar with another person inside it. Instead, it felt strangely full.
And sometime later, while rain tapped softly against the windows and Bakugou’s footsteps finally quieted completely, you fell asleep wondering why your neighbor downstairs had started feeling so natural upstairs.
It was only a few more days. After that, he would be back in his apartment, and everything would be back to normal.
Note: I plan on continuing this series! I don't have a set schedule for when I will post the next part but I expect it to be at least weekly. Thank you for reading! <3
Summary: Your boyfriend, Katsuki Bakugou comes home from patrol injured. He insists he can take care of himself. You know better and force him to accept your help.
Word Count: 2.8k
The night was near silent by the time Katsuki Bakugou finally came home. The sounds of the neighborhood were muffled and almost calming. Then, the front door slammed open hard enough to shake the walls.
You sat up from your position on the couch.
“Katsuki?” You ask, not able to see him yet.
“I’m fine,” he snapped before you could ask anything else.
Of course he was.
The words came out rough and irritated, but the strain underneath them was impossible to miss. Katsuki stood in the doorway still dressed in pieces of his hero costume, shoulders rigid with tension. His right arm was wrapped heavily in white bandages from shoulder to wrist and secured tightly against his chest in a black sling. There were bruises blooming along the visible skin near his collarbone, dark and ugly under the apartment lighting.
He looked exhausted.
Not just physically tired, either. He looked frustrated, angry, and humiliated.
You stood carefully, setting your book aside on the couch eyeing him up and down. “Did Recovery Girl cleared you to come home?”
“She patched me up.”
“That’s not what I asked Katsuki.”
His sharp crimson eyes flicked toward you, irritation flashing instantly.
“Tch. Yeah. Whatever.”
“You can’t just ignore me!”
You walked over slowly, keeping your movements calm and unhurried. Katsuki always got sharper when he felt cornered, especially when he was injured. Pushing him too hard would only make him dig his heels in further.
Even now, exhausted and hurting, he still carried himself like he was preparing for a fight.
“You should sit down,” you said gently.
“I can stand.”
“I know you can.”
“Then stop lookin’ at me like I’m dying.”
Your chest tightened a little at the bite in his voice. Not because it scared you—you were long past being intimidated by Katsuki’s temper—but because you knew where it was coming from.
He hated needing help. He hated being weak. Most of all, he hated being seen as vulnerable even by you.
You reached carefully for the strap of his duffel bag. “Let me at least take this from you.”
“I got it.”
The words came instantly.
Automatic.
Then he tried to yank the bag off his shoulder one-handed.
The movement pulled sharply at his injured arm.
A hiss escaped through his teeth before he could stop it.
Your expression softened immediately.
“Katsuki…”
“Don’t.”
Ignoring him, you slid the strap gently from his shoulder and set it near the door before guiding him toward the couch with a light touch against his back. He grumbled under his breath the entire way but didn’t fight you.
Once he sat down, the tension in his face became even more obvious. His jaw was clenched tight enough to ache, and there was a faint sheen of sweat along his forehead.
“You’re in pain.”
“No shit.”
“Did they give you medication?”
“Yeah.”
“Have you taken it?”
No response.
You stared at him incredulously.
Katsuki looked away first with an annoyed click of his tongue.
“…Not yet.”
You sighed softly.
Without another word, you disappeared into the kitchen to grab water. When you returned, Katsuki was trying to awkwardly tug his combat gauntlet off with one hand and failing miserably.
“Hold still. I’ll do it for you,” you murmured.
“I can do it.”
“Mhm. You’re clearly handling things.”
You knelt in front of him anyway.
The metal clasp was stuck partially beneath one of the support straps around his shoulder. You worked carefully, fingers brushing lightly against his costume while Katsuki sat rigidly still above you.
Normally he’d complain more.
Normally he’d bark about not needing help.
But now he just looked tired.
When the gauntlet finally came loose, he exhaled sharply through his nose.
“There.”
You set it aside before holding out the pills and water.
He frowned immediately.
“What are you my nurse now?”
“Something like that.”
You watched him swallow it before sitting beside him on the couch.
For a while, neither of you spoke. Katsuki leaned his head back against the couch cushions, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion.
Your gaze drifted toward the thick bandages around his arm.
“What happened?”
His expression darkened immediately.
“Villain had some kinda impact quirk,” he muttered. “Compressed blasts.”
You listened quietly, running your hand along his uninjured arm.
“He caught civilians under debris. I went in before the sidekicks cleared the area.” Katsuki’s jaw tightened harder. “I Didn’t see the second blast coming.”
The words sounded clipped and frustrated. Not because he regretted saving people but because he’d gotten hurt doing it.
You reached for his uninjured hand carefully, threading your fingers lightly through his palm.
“You still saved them though.”
“Tch. Obviously.”
“What did Recovery Girl say about your arm? You don’t look too hot,” you mumble the last sentence.
Katsuki scowled immediately.
“That old gremlin benched me. Two weeks of quirk rest.”
You blinked.
“Katsuki, that’s serious.”
“I know that.”
The irritation returned full force now, defensive and sharp.
“She said if I strain the muscles again before they heal properly, I could screw up the arm permanently.”
You glanced down at the thick wrappings again.
No wonder he looked miserable.
Katsuki’s quirk relied heavily on his arms. Fighting was woven into his entire identity. Being forced to rest—being unable to fully use one side of his body—probably felt unbearable to him. Judging by the furious tension in his posture, he was already trying to figure out ways around Recovery Girl’s orders. That was not happening. Not if you could do anything about it.
You squeezed his hand speaking quietly, “Then you need to rest.”
“I’m not helpless.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“You’re thinkin’ it.”
Your brows pulled together softly. “No. I’m thinking you need time to recover. You’re going to let me help.”
Katsuki groaned and looked away again, glaring toward the windows.
Then, his stomach growled. He looked personally offended by the sound. Despite yourself, a smile tugged at your mouth.
“Hungry?”
“No.”
His stomach betrayed him again immediately.
You laughed softly.
“Mmm I’m not sure I believe you.”
“Shut up.”
The grumble lacked its usual heat.
You stood from the couch. “I made food earlier. I can heat some up.”
“I can do it myself.”
“You can barely take your gauntlets off yourself. Now sit still. I’m going to heat the food for you,” you say sweetly.
He looked ready to argue again. Then another flicker of pain crossed his expression when he shifted his shoulder wrong. Defeat flashed briefly behind his eyes.
“…Fine.”
You smiled softly and headed toward the kitchen.
Over the next hour, the apartment settled into something quieter.
You reheated dinner while Katsuki sat at the counter watching you with tired eyes. He still grumbled every time you helped him with something small—opening a bottle, adjusting his sling, carrying dishes—but he accepted the help more often than not albeit reluctantly.
By the time evening settled fully outside, the medication had clearly started making him drowsy. His movements slowed. His posture slumped more heavily into the couch cushions.
Still, his pride remained painfully intact. Which became a problem when he finally decided he needed a shower.
“I’m taking a bath,” he announced suddenly, pushing himself off the couch.
You looked up from your phone. “Do you need help?”
“No.”
The answer came so quickly it almost overlapped your question.
You hid a sigh.
“Katsuki—”
“I can wash myself.”
“You can barely raise your arm. How do you plan on keeping your bandages dry?”
“I’ll figure it out.”
Before you could argue further, he disappeared toward the bathroom. A few minutes later, you heard a loud curse echo down the hallway. Then something clattered heavily against the floor.
“Katsuki?” You yelled down the hall.
“I’m fine!”
Another crash.
You hurried toward the bathroom before he could protest again.
The door was partially open already.
Inside, Katsuki stood hunched over the sink breathing hard with frustration. His sling had been discarded on the counter, and he was unsuccessfully trying to pull his shirt over his head using only one arm.
The fabric had gotten stuck halfway.
His injured shoulder trembled violently from the strain. The sight made your gut turn.
“Katsuki.”
“I said—I got it—”
The movement pulled wrong again. Pain flashed across his face instantly. He swore viciously under his breath.
You stepped closer immediately. “Stop. You’re hurting yourself.”
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.”
His breathing came sharp and irritated through his nose. Then slowly, carefully, you reached for the hem of his shirt.
“Let me help.”
His entire body tensed. The vulnerability in his expression appeared so briefly most people probably would’ve missed it. But you saw it.
Katsuki hated every moment of this interaction. Deep down, he knew you weren’t judging him but he hated feeling helpless.
His eyes dropped toward the floor.
“…I can’t even get a damn shirt off.”
The quiet frustration in his voice hurt far more than any yelling would have and your expression softened immediately.
“There’s nothing wrong with needing help. You’d help me if I were hurt.”
“That’s different.”
“Because it’s you?”
You gently tugged the shirt the rest of the way off him.
Bruises covered much of his upper body now that the fabric was gone. Angry purple marks spread across his shoulder and ribs. Recovery Girl had healed the worst damage, but she couldn’t erase all of it instantly.
Your fingers brushed carefully against his side.
Katsuki flinched.
“I’m sorry. I’m trying to be gentle”
“It’s fine.”
You looked up at him quietly.
“Let me help you bathe.”
“No. I’m not a damn child.”
“I know that.”
“Then stop treating me like one.”
You stepped closer until your hands rested lightly against his uninjured arm.
“I’m not trying to make you feel helpless,” you said softly. “I just don’t want you hurting yourself more because you’re too stubborn to let me help.”
His jaw clenched hard.
“You seeing me like this sucks.”
You reached up carefully and brushed damp blond hair away from his forehead.
“I always want to see you no matter what you look like.”
His eyes narrowed slightly.
“You’re bein’ cheesy.”
“You love it,” you kept your voice gentle, “I’m going to take care of you tonight and for the next two weeks if needed.”
The bathroom fell quiet except for the sound of running water beginning to fill the tub.
Katsuki stared at the floor for several long seconds before speaking. “You can help me tonight. We’ll see about tomorrow.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t make it weird.”
“I’m not making it weird!”
Helping him into the bath took patience.
Katsuki tried insisting he could lower himself alone, only to nearly lose his balance halfway through. You steadied him carefully with both hands against his waist while he muttered curses under his breath.
The warm water seemed to relax him almost instantly once he settled into it. Some of the tension left his shoulders. You knelt beside the tub and carefully unwrapped the bandages around his arm. The skin underneath still looked painful. There was dark bruising, healing cuts, and swollen muscles around his shoulder.
Katsuki watched your expression carefully like he expected disgust or pity.
Instead, you only looked concerned.
“That looks painful,” you said tracing along a particularly nasty bruise.
“It’s whatever,” His gaze flicked away, “…Hurts a little.”
A little. You almost smiled at the understatement.
“Lean back,” you murmured. “I’m going to wash your hair first.”
His ears immediately turned red.
“I can do that part.”
“With one arm?”
You took his lack of reply as surrender.
Warm water dripped through Katsuki’s blond hair as you gently worked shampoo through the strands. Your fingers massaged slowly against his scalp, careful not to jostle his shoulder too much. The hard lines in his face softened bit by bit beneath your touch.
“I’m not hurting you right?” you asked quietly.
“No, it’s nice.”
His voice sounded rougher now. He was starting to fall asleep. You smiled faintly and continued rinsing the shampoo out carefully with a cup of warm water.
Katsuki stayed completely still the entire time. It felt strangely intimate in a way that had nothing to do with romance and everything to do with vulnerability.
You reached for the washcloth next.
“Can I wash your shoulder?”
His eyes opened halfway.
“You ask permission a lot.”
“Because it’s your body and it’s injured.”
Something unreadable flickered across his face at that.
Then he nodded once.
You cleaned him slowly and carefully, making sure not to put pressure near the injured muscles. Every now and then Katsuki hissed quietly when you brushed too close to bruised skin, but he never told you to stop.
“Kinda pathetic,” Katsuki muttered suddenly.
You blinked. “What is?”
“This.”
You frowned immediately.
“You being injured?”
“Me needing help.”
You set the washcloth aside and rested your hand gently against his uninjured shoulder.
“Katsuki,” you said softly stroking his hair, “there is nothing pathetic about letting someone care about you.”
He stared at the water quietly.
“You are strong,” you whispered. “Strong people still need rest.”
His eyes lifted toward yours slowly. There was no anger in them, only exhaustion.
You brushed your fingers gently through his damp hair again.
“You don’t have to fight all the time.”
The silence that followed felt fragile.
Then Katsuki looked away quickly, muttering, “…You’re too nice to me.”
A small smile tugged at your mouth.
“Someone has to be.”
The corner of his mouth twitched faintly upward.
After helping him rinse off, you carefully guided him out of the tub. Water dripped down his skin while steam curled through the warm bathroom air. Katsuki swayed slightly from exhaustion the moment he stood fully upright. His left hand instinctively grabbed your waist for balance.
“Don’t say anything,” he grumbled quietly.
“I wasn’t going to.”
You wrapped a towel gently around his shoulders and began drying his hair while he sat on the closed toilet lid looking thoroughly annoyed by the entire situation. Still, he leaned subtly into your touch whenever your fingers brushed through his hair.
Once he was dry, you helped him into loose sleep clothes before guiding him toward the bedroom. The fight had completely left him by then, exhaustion dragged at every movement.
You sat him carefully on the edge of the bed and retrieved fresh bandages from the bathroom.
Katsuki immediately frowned.
“Don’t start. I will be wrapping your hand and you will sit there quietly without complaining.”
You sat beside him and carefully began rewrapping his arm. Your fingers moved slowly, securing each layer snugly but gently. Katsuki watched you in silence this time, too tired to argue anymore.
The room felt soft and quiet around you.
“You know, my bandaging skills have improved significantly since I started dating you.”
“Mmmm I’m sure they have,” he mumbles
You smiled faintly and secured the sling again.
“There. All done.”
He flexed his fingers experimentally before relaxing.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Now let’s get you to bed.”
You ushered him fully into bed and covered him up. After changing your own clothes, you climbed into bed beside him, turning the lights low.
You break the silence, “Get closer to me Katsuki.”
Katsuki was stiff at first, staring toward the ceiling. Then slowly, almost hesitantly, he shifted closer to lay on top of you. When you pulled him tighter against you, you felt one careful arm wrapped around your waist.
Your fingers slid softly through his hair.
“You okay?” you whispered.
“Tired.”
“Mhm.”
You simply held him, stroking his hair while his breathing gradually slowed beneath your touch.
Then, very quietly, Katsuki muttered against your shoulder:
“Feels shitty not being able to do anything.”
You pressed a soft kiss against his forehead.
“I know.”
He was silent again for a moment before speaking more quietly.
“…I just want to be able to do more.”
You brushed your thumb gently along his temple.
“Katsuki,” you whispered, “it’s okay to take a break.”
His grip tightened slightly around your waist and his breathing slowed further. For the first time since he’d come home, the tension finally began leaving his body completely.
“You’ll still be here when I wake up?” he muttered sleepily.
“Always.”
A faint sound escaped him. It was half hum, half exhausted sigh.
Then he tucked himself closer against you, finally allowing himself to relax completely in your arms. You continued to run your hand through his hair and down to his shoulders and back.
It didn’t take long for him to fall asleep in your arms.
Note: If you made it this far, I hope you enjoyed reading this! I'm currently working on rewriting and uploading old fics I never posted. If you have any ideas that you'd like to see please feel free to message me!!
The Neighbor Downstairs - Part Four- Katsuki Bakugou x Reader
Part One <3 | Part Two <3 | Part Three <3
Summary: After a brutal overnight shift leaves you barely able to keep your eyes open, all you want is a hot bath and a few hours of sleep. Instead, you accidentally fall asleep in the tub and flood the apartment beneath yours. You wake up to furious pounding on your door from none other than pro hero Katsuki Bakugo. He's forced to stay overnight, in your bed. Due to a delay in mattress delivery, he stays a few more nights. Now you're sharing a bed.
Word Count: 2,057
You woke slowly this time. Not because of noise. Not because of Bakugou moving around the apartment before dawn.
It was warm. The blankets on top of you were soft. There was a mattress beneath you instead of stiff couch cushions digging into your back.
For several sleepy seconds, your brain refused to process it properly. You stayed half buried beneath the blankets, eyes barely open while pale morning light spilled weakly through the curtains.
Then realization caught up all at once. Your bed. You were in your bed. You frowned sleepily into the pillow.
The last thing you remembered was the couch. The television. Rain tapping softly against the windows while exhaustion dragged you under beside Bakugou.
A quiet groan left you as you rubbed a hand over your face. He had carried you to sleep last night. The thought settled strangely warm in your chest despite the irritation immediately despite the irritation that followed behind it.
You pushed yourself upright slowly, still tangled in blankets while the apartment remained quiet beyond your bedroom doorway. The clock beside your bed glowed 6:01 AM in soft blue numbers.
At this point, Bakugou’s schedule was actively ruining your life. You dragged yourself out of bed anyway, shuffling toward the kitchen while still half asleep.
The apartment smelled like coffee already. It also smelt faintly of eggs and toast.
Your brows lifted slightly as you rounded the corner into the kitchen. Bakugou stood near the stove with a mug in one hand while the other rested against the counter beside him. He’d already changed out of the clothes he’d slept in, dressed instead in a black shirt and loose sweats while early morning sunlight filtered across the apartment behind him. His hair looked messier than usual, still soft with sleep despite clearly having been awake for a while.
More importantly, he looked stiff. There was a slight tension in his shoulders. He shifted his weight like his back hurt.
Your eyes narrowed instantly.
“You carried me to bed last night.”
Bakugou barely looked up from his coffee. “Observant.”
“You’re supposed to sleep in the bed.”
“You were unconscious.”
“You took advantage of my unconscious state.”
“I took care of you. You haven’t been sleeping well.”
You crossed your arms tiredly while leaning against the kitchen doorway. “Yeah, that couch is awful.”
“Tch. It’s not that bad.”
“You looked real stiff just now.”
Bakugou clicked his tongue quietly against the roof of his mouth before taking another sip of coffee. The sight would’ve been intimidating if he didn’t currently look like a grumpy man being personally victimized by lumbar pain.
The conversation settled into the same argument you’d apparently been having in circles for days now. Bakugou insisted you needed the bed more. You insisted he was too large for the couch to count as humane sleeping conditions. Neither of you were willing to give in.
Morning light slowly filled the apartment while the argument dragged on lazily beneath layers of exhaustion neither of you had fully shaken off yet.
Eventually, Bakugou shoved a mug toward you across the counter.
“Drink your coffee.”
You accepted it, fingers curling around the warmth while the smell alone helped wake you slightly.
Outside, the city was just beginning to wake up. Cars passed below the building occasionally while pale sunlight reflected against rainwater still lingering on the streets from last night’s storm.
Bakugou leaned against the counter across from you, dark circles faint beneath his eyes from another early patrol schedule.
His gaze drifted briefly toward the living room, towards the couch, then towards you again. A realization settled suddenly and plainly in his mind.
This was stupid. The bed was large. You didn’t seem like the worst company. And frankly, if either of you continued sleeping on that couch much longer, you were going to develop permanent spinal damage out of sheer stubbornness.
He sighed into his coffee, “Just share the bed with me.”
You blinked once. Just enough to show the suggestion had caught you slightly off guard. “What?”
“It’s a queen bed,” he said. “We both fit. Problem solved.”
You stared at him over the rim of your mug in disbelief.
“We’re adults,” he continued before you could immediately refuse. “You don’t have to give yourself to the world’s worst couch.”
“It’s temporary.”
“You looked physically offended by standing up yesterday.”
You were argumentative beyond reason but you were also practical when cornered with enough logic. Eventually, your shoulders shifted slightly in reluctant concession.
“Whatever. Fine I guess.”
You smiled faintly into your mug.
Bakugou immediately narrowed his eyes, “Don’t make it weird.”
“I wasn’t planning on it.”
“You’re smiling like a dumbass.”
“You’re the one bringing up sleepovers.”
“It’s literally your apartment. Your bed.”
“Still counts.” There was no real heat behind his voice. Just tired acceptance.
The rest of the morning passed quietly after that.
The two of you moved around each other easily now in ways that would’ve felt awkward only days ago. Bakugou packed up gear for patrol while you slowly woke up enough to function properly, both of you existing within the same small kitchen space without bumping into each other much anymore.
Somehow, you’d already started learning each other’s rhythms.
He paused near the front door while tugging on his gloves, “You work later?”
You nodded. “In the afternoon, yes.”
A pause lingered briefly between you.
“Lock the door behind me.”
You rolled your eyes lightly. “Yes, mom.”
Bakugou looked deeply unimpressed. Then he left.
The apartment felt strangely empty afterward. You noticed it immediately. It was silent. There was a lack of movement. Even knowing he’d only been staying there a few days, his absence still changed the atmosphere somehow.
Which was probably concerning. You decided to ignore it. Instead, you spent the next few hours getting ready slowly before eventually leaving for your own shift later that afternoon.
Work blurred by in the usual exhausting haze. Noise, bright lights, and hours spent on your feet.
By the end of the shift, your body ached with the familiar exhaustion that had become routine long before Bakugou accidentally started invading your apartment.
Evening had already settled over the city by the time you finally returned home. The hallway smelled faintly cleaner now, evidence of the continued repairs downstairs.
You unlocked your apartment door with tired movements.
The smell hit first. It was warm, savory, and rich enough that your stomach reacted instantly despite how tired you were. Your eyes widened slightly as you stepped fully inside.
Bakugou was in the kitchen cooking.
Steam drifted upward from the stove while soft light from above the counters cast warm shadows across the apartment. One pan still sizzled quietly while Bakugou stood nearby in dark clothes with the sleeves shoved halfway up his forearms.
The domesticity of the scene hit you embarrassingly hard.
“You’re cooking.”
Bakugou glanced over his shoulder briefly.
“Tch. Obviously.”
“You’re cooking for me.”
“I cooked food, yes.”
“There are two plates. One must be for me unless you have a secret lover I don’t know about”
“Uh huh.”
You dropped your bag beside the couch while the delicious smell continued filling the apartment around you.
“You’re my favorite person right now.”
“That’s pathetic.”
“You made dinner after patrol.”
“You look awful.”
Honestly? It was probably true. While you weren’t fall asleep in your bathtub while it was still running tired, you were still tired.
Bakugou plated the food with practiced efficiency while you hovered nearby trying not to stare too much at the fact that this had somehow become your life now.
Coming home to Katsuki Bakugou cooking dinner in your kitchen. It was absolutely insane.
The food itself was incredible. Of course it was. Bakugou seemed to be good at almost everything.
You ended up curled on opposite ends of the couch afterward with plates balanced on your laps while another random show played quietly across the television.
He’s the first to speak. “Why don’t you have a real dining table?”
You’re almost offended. “I know you’re not talking. I’ve seen your apartment. Plus I normally eat alone and the couch is somewhat comfortable when you’re not spending the night.”
Bakugou stretched one arm lazily across the back of the couch while watching the television with narrowed focus that suggested he was taking the plot entirely too seriously.
“You’re emotionally invested in this now,” you observed.
“It’s poorly written.”
“You’ve watched four episodes.”
“Because I need to know if they stay stupid.”
You laughed softly into your drink. The sound earned a brief glance from him before his attention drifted back toward the television again.
There was something oddly easy about nights like this now. The silence between you no longer felt awkward.
You’d started learning when Bakugou wanted conversation and when he preferred quiet. He’d apparently learned your habits too, judging by how he automatically handed you the remote when commercials started because he knew you hated loud advertisements.
These were tiny things. They were the kind that settled unnoticed until suddenly they were everywhere.
Later that night, the two of you drifted naturally into getting ready for bed.
Bakugou brushed his teeth while you washed your face afterward, the cramped bathroom forcing occasional awkward shoulder bumps every time one of you reached for something at the same time.
Neither of you commented on it anymore.
You were standing near the sink checking your phone when the notification appeared. Your brows lifted slightly.
“What?” Bakugou’s voice came muffled from behind you while he dried his hair with a towel.
“The mattress update.”
Immediately, his attention shifted.
You opened the email fully.
“It’s arriving in two days.” The words left your mouth easily enough. But something uncomfortable twisted quietly beneath your ribs afterward.
Two days. Meaning his apartment would be fixed soon. Meaning this arrangement would end. The realization settled heavily. You stared at the email for a second longer than necessary before locking your phone again.
Bakugou watched you carefully from the doorway.
“…That’s good,” you said finally.
“Yeah.” His response came quieter than expected.
The apartment suddenly felt strangely small around the conversation.
You moved past it quickly before your brain could linger too much on the uncomfortable feeling building within you. Neither of you acknowledged it further while finishing your nighttime routines.
The thought still lingered.
By the time the lights were finally turned off, nervous energy had replaced some of your exhaustion entirely.
Sharing the bed had sounded practical this morning. Now, standing awkwardly on opposite sides of the mattress in the darkened room, it suddenly felt very real.
Bakugou cleared his throat once. “You take that side.”
You nodded immediately. “Mmm shame on you. Telling me which side to sleep on in my bed.”
“I prefer this side. You flooded my bed so I get to choose.”
The mattress dipped beneath your weight as you climbed in carefully, trying not to move too much. A second later, the opposite side shifted when Bakugou finally laid down too.
Almost immediately, you became hyper aware of everything. You felt his warmth beside you, heard the faint sound of his breathing, and saw the slight shift in the covers as he readjusted.
The bed was large enough. There was more than enough space between you. Even still, awareness crackled sharply through the quiet room anyway.
You stared firmly at the ceiling. Beside you, Bakugou seemed equally committed to pretending this wasn’t awkward at all. Which somehow made it more awkward.
Even as time passed, every small movement felt noticeable. At one point your hand shifted slightly across the blanket and immediately brushed against warm fabric.
Both of you went still.
“…Sorry,” you muttered automatically into the darkness.
“Go to sleep.”
Easy for him to say.
You rolled carefully onto your side facing away from him, trying to ignore the strange nervous energy still buzzing faintly beneath your skin.
Beside you, Bakugou shifted too. The mattress moved softly underneath the weight.
Gradually, the tension faded. Not completely, but enough to sleep. Exhaustion eventually won over awareness.
Your breathing slowed. The room softened around the edges. And somewhere beside you, Bakugou’s breathing settled into a slower rhythm too.
By the time sleep finally dragged you under completely, the space between the two of you had become just slightly smaller than before.
Note: I fear I may be writing too much now that I'm on summer vacation. If you'd like to be added to the tag list for this series, comment below!
