MHA smut

Good For Me

Written by: lalazee

Summary:

"Up," Katsuki says, patting his thighs. "On my lap."

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If Katsuki doesn't act soon, Deku is soon going to crawl out of his skin.

Deku carries himself in such a way which Katsuki has become accustomed to over adolescence and teens and twenties to now. Deku's like a punching bag that always pops back up; sturdy and energetic and unrelenting. Standing tall despite his stature and soaking up the attention of a room despite not needing it.

Katsuki's husband is the kind of man who revels and freedom and walks in the line of danger with a smile.

That being said, it's been snowing for three fucking days, the entire city is silent and buried with not even the criminals out to play, and Katsuki has been privy to the slow motion horror movie of Midoriya Izuku losing his fucking mind.

From his desk by the window, Katsuki slips off his glasses and briefly presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, soothing the ache from paperwork he loathes beyond measure. Outside, the midday sky is as dark as nearly night, a bruised purple expanse patterned with endless whirling, swirling snowfall. The view is magnificent and, for their area, absolutely unheard of. The city has not been prepared and everything but the most basic amenities has been shut down.

Inside their cozy, amber glow home, Deku sits on the couch, cocooned in blankets and ratty sweats, doom-scrolling the internet for crime like an actual addict.

Katsuki releases a steadying breath and studies Deku from the safety of afar. They're at the point of being snowed-in that if Katsuki even makes eye contact with Deku, his husband instantly assaults him with bitching and whining and ineffectual attempts to convince him to go out into the storm to patrol.

As much as Katsuki loves to be the hero, he's not a fucking idiot, and he's not interested in catching hypothermia because his big damn hero can't function in daily life without constant purpose and movement.

Hell, these past three days have been more of a vacation than they'd had in five years.

When Deku starts chewing the skin around his blunt, ragged thumbnail and Katsuki spots the beginning of blood from bitten, abused flesh, he sets aside his glasses, pushes back from his desk, places his hands on the wide set of his knees, and makes a decision.

"Deku," Katsuki says, "Come here."

Deku hums in distracted response but remains curled in on himself, one knee folded up against his body, chin upon his knee as he scrolls and pauses his phone, scrolls and pauses.

"Deku," Katsuki repeats. Louder, firmer, darker. A command, not a request. "Come. Here. Now."

"Huh?" Deku looks up, blinking as if emerging from a dream. His pretty mouth in a pout as he cocks his head and considers Katsuki for a moment before a spark of surprise flickers across his expression. Confusion, followed by slow recognition as he tosses his phone to the couch and stands. Pads over with bare feet, still keeping the blankets around his shoulders as he approaches. "What's up?"

Katsuki flicks a brow at the casual response. Keeps his hands to himself as he leans back slightly in his chair, broadening his sitting stance, his knees further parting as he keeps steady eye contact with that muddled, lost expression. Deku is so tense that he barely seems to recognize what's even happening right now.

"Deku." Katsuki keeps his voice low and calm; a gentle sheath around a sharp sword. In their early relationship, it had been easier to go punishing and mean with this thing they do. More comfortable for Katsuki because he hadn't been comfortable with any other way to be. Over time, he has found a balance.