They meet through Shouto.
It’s a weird union, genuinely odd, and, honestly, quite frankly, Katsuki hadn’t thought anything would come from it. His friendship with Shouto was tentative at best from his end, and, really, he felt like the odd man out during the world’s most awkward dinner where he learned way too fucking much about people he barely cared about in the most intrusive manner possible. And he sure as hell hadn’t planned on quite literally hauling a man three years his senior out of the way of a deranged lunatic hellbent on hurting Todoroki Enji for whatever reason after said aforementioned dinner and ending up in a family hug that felt equally as intrusive as the dinner had.
God, he hates rich people.
And his parents aren’t exactly suffering financially, but there’s being designers and then there’s being a Todoroki, and, seriously—fuck the Todoroki family.
So, really, for all intents and purposes, they never should’ve met. They’re in different departments at different universities in different stages of life. Natsuo’s about to graduate as Katsuki enters, and, really, it’s just a poor match up. A match up that shouldn’t have happened. And yet—
His fingers twist in the sheets above his head, elbows just barely managing to support some of his weight. His chest’s dropped so low he can feel the way the bedsheets scrape against his sensitive nipples, and the sensation has him keening as his hips are forced back and his spine arches with a cry.
“God, Katsuki—shit—you’re sucking me in so good, baby.”
“So well,” he corrects around a whine, hips rocking back, and Natsuo huffs a laugh, driving in harder, hands punishing in their strength around his hips. He swears there’ll be bruises later.
“I must not be doing a good job,” he pants, bucking in hard enough that Katsuki’s arms shake and his breath is punched out of him, “if you can still correct me.” He grinds in, so, so deep that his stomach spasms, and he keens, mouth parting on a gasp, hips rocking back helplessly.
He can smell himself, his own slick thick in the air, burnt sugar and caramel sweet, and it mingles so well with the minty frostiness of Natsuo’s scent that it makes his eyes roll back and his walls spasm around the hard cock spearing him open, drool escaping from the corners of his mouth as his throat struggles to swallow it back. And Natsuo, sexy, unrestrained bastard that he is, leans forward, chest pressing cool to his back to lick up the trail from his chin to his mouth, tongue dipping into the hot cavern, and Katsuki’s eyes flutter and he comes with a sharp gasp, orgasm entirely sneaking up on him.
His walls clamp down so hard that Natsuo jolts forward, and he can feel the knot teasing at his entrance, and he ruts back, slick gushing out around it, and Natsuo plants his knees firmly into the bed, wrapping his arm around his chest and pulling him down while his hips thrust up—Katsuki’s scream is silent, eyes staring sightlessly up at the ceiling as the knot forces its way in and his sensitive walls spasm around the intrusion, tears leaking as the weight grinds into him, and he can feel the warm gush of liquid filling him up, making his head fuzzy even as his swollen walls flex and clench, milking the knot for all it’s worth.
“Fuck,” he groans, weak and hoarse, and Natsuo huffs a quiet laugh into his shoulder as he turns them onto their sides, reaching over for the remote to turn the fan on even though the air conditioning unit is already going so hard that Katsuki can feel himself start to shiver as the sweat coating his body cools down. “You agreed not to come inside,” Katsuki grumbles, watching in some sort of detached wonder as his stomach swells as Natsuo’s cock continues to flex inside of him, orgasm ongoing. Natsuo’s hand is cool against his overheated skin, cradling the underside of the swell in his hand, thumb stroking at the sensitive, stretched skin.
“It’s not your heat yet.”
“Its not about that, you idiot. I told you we didn’t have time for that. And in case you didn’t notice, the condom definitely broke.”
He nuzzles the back of his neck, and Katsuki pouts, pretending not to be appeased by it even though he most definitely is. Liking someone sucks. “Just take a quick shower when my knot goes down, put a plug in for what you can’t get out.”
“We have dinner at your family’s immediately afterwards, you fucking moron.”
“They won’t know.”
“You want me to go to dinner with your family with a fucking plug—they’ll smell you!”
“We’re dating. It’s not like they don’t know.”
“They don’t need to know that much—fuck—stop fucking moving, you little shit—ah,” Katsuki chokes, muscles twitching as Natsuo’s hand grabs at the underside of his knee and drags it up, giving himself more room to grind his knot into his swollen walls, listening Katsuki’s keening cries with a soft smile. His fingers are hot when they reach back to tangle in his hair and tug, and Natsuo leans forward to suck at his neck, nibbling gently.
He doesn’t let up the rocking of his hips until Katsuki comes a second time with a mewl, eyes dewy with fresh tears, and Natsuo reaches for the hand tangled in his hair to bring it down, peppering kisses onto the soft, damp skin of his palm. His cock twitches inside of the omega, and he relishes in the soft groan Katsuki lets out, hips twitching as Natsuo’s hips rock to meet his for a moment before he whines from oversensitivity.
“So,” Natsuo whispers, and Katsuki’s going to punch him as soon as he gets his limbs working again, “plug?”
Yeah, he’s definitely going to punch him.
He doesn’t punch him, but it’s really such a near thing and he really debates it while in the shower, pressing down harshly on his stomach to get out as much as he can. It won’t be enough, he knows. Usually he has Natsuo help—but Natsuo is also usually good and doesn’t come inside when he tells him not to.
He sighs, and they swap places so that Natsuo can also hurriedly wash off, obviously less inconvenienced than Katsuki.
He very nearly marches back into the bathroom to throttle his boyfriend of four months when he sees the plug already laying on the bed. Cheeky little shit—he can’t believe he ever agreed to be in a relationship with such a headache.
He puts the plug in, anyway.
Later, a few hours and whole lot of embarrassment later, Katsuki officially decides that Natsuo does not deserve to live now. And that—that is for the very reason of the absolute nightmare of a dinner he just had to sit through and the events that followed.
Deku’s there which is a bit of a surprise. The broccoli haired idiot didn’t mention he was going to be there, although going by the surprised look on the boy’s face, he had also not been privy to Katsuki’s own scheduled presence. It’s fine, though. The first Todoroki family dinner they were forced into—well, Katsuki was forced, Deku was willing for some godforsaken reason—was together, so this isn’t really anything new.
“Wow, Kacchan, um,” Izuku sniffs, and Katsuki’s head hurts, “I didn’t expect to see you here.” His smile is warbling, and his nose twitches, and Katsuki firmly grinds his heel into Natsuo’s foot when the male snorts on a laugh at the sight.
“You, too, nerd,” he grumbles, storming past, leaving Natsuo to smile awkwardly at Izuku while nursing his injured foot.
“So, Shouto invited you?” Natsuo attempts, leaning against the wall.
Izuku sniffs and laughs awkwardly.
It was going to be a long a night.
Fuyumi’s in the kitchen, and she looks up, absolutely delighted when her eyes land on Katsuki. Her hold is cool yet warm when her arms wrap around him, and he chokes down the awkwardness to stiffly pat her back.
“You and Natsuo have sure been spending a lot more time together,” she laughs softly, and he tries not to think too strongly about the warmth in his cheeks.
“Hah?” Eloquent, Katsuki, real fucking eloquent.
“You just smell a lot like him right now, is all,” she smiles, and Katsuki is going to do more than just punch Natsuo. He’s going to need a hospital when he’s through.
“Ah.” God, he really has a way with words, doesn’t he. “Need any help?”
Fuyumi beams, hands fluttering as she surveys her own work before directing Katsuki happily. And, honestly, Katsuki’s grateful for anything that’ll keep him in the kitchen longer and far away from everyone else.
“Touya’s coming today,” Fuyumi confides excitedly, and Katsuki hums in mind interest, knowing how excited Natsuo probably is. He and Touya talk often enough over messages nowadays, but seeing him in person is a rare occurrence, and this’ll be the first time he’s going to be in the same room as Todoroki Enji in a long time. “He’s bringing his mate along, apparently.”
“Exciting,” he mumbles, not sure what else to say. He doesn’t want to stomp on her enthusiasm, but he also finds himself struggling to care too much. The Todoroki family drama is what he hates the most about being in the same room as more than one Todoroki—or even just the same room as a Todoroki and someone willing to listen. It was just an open door into their whole novel of issues and, honestly, Katsuki was not about that. He wasn’t a licensed therapist. The fuck was he supposed to do with that information? Offer meaningless platitudes on conflicts he wasn’t even there for?
“It is! Father’ll be here soon, he got held up at work. I’m hoping we can get Touya here first. It might makes things easier.”
Katsuki hums as Fuyumi delves further into family dynamics he knows nothing about, maneuvering the knife around in his hand, and debates stabbing himself. The plug presses uncomfortably against his sensitive walls. He shudders.
It’s going to be a long night.
And it is. It’s a painfully long night.
Touya does beat Enji to the house, behind him his mate, a beta. Shigaraki Tomura is nothing short of skittish with a bit of a childish demeanor even though he’s got a temper to match Katsuki’s. Natsuo’s lucky that Katsuki likes him or he would’ve dropkicked both Touya and Shigaraki out of the house.
“Okay,” Natsuo whispers, watching Touya—Dabi as he says to call him now—laugh and goad him on as Shigaraki rants at him endlessly about one of the statues along the entrance way. “I’ll admit, they are a little frustrating.”
“Frustrating is one way to fucking put it.”
Shouto frowns from a distance next to Midoriya. Katsuki thinks it’s hilarious that the one thing Shouto and Enji have unequivocally always agreed on was traditional Japanese decor. It was a weird ass thing to bond over.
“But, look,” Natsuo nudges him, and he reluctantly turns his eyes onto the duo, heart aching a little as he watches Dabi gently massaging the palm of Shigaraki’s hand while the male continues to rant. “They’re kind of cute.”
“They’re not fish,” is all he can respond with, turning away and marching over to the kitchen, Natsuo trailing behind him.
“On what plane of existence are fish considered cute?”
“This fucking one, you moron!”
“They’re not at all cute!”
“Say that again and I’ll be turning your ass into sashimi.”
Natsuo laughs, grabbing a cup from the cupboard as Katsuki works on finishing up cooking the meal, Fuyumi setting the table and trying to talk to Touya and his mate while they have some time. “Sorry, but the only ass we eat in this house is yours,” Natsuo whispers lovingly in his ear, nipping at the lobe and tugging on it gently, hand a cool brand on Katsuki’s waist.
He hits him with the ladle.
When Enji arrives, the environment doesn’t even get a chance to become somber because behind him struts Takami Keigo, Enji’s self-proclaimed best friend—more, in Katsuki’s opinion, but he still refuses to touch the Todoroki family drama even with a ten-foot pole—and his shit-eating grin is enough to have the room in high spirits. Katsuki can’t say he’s a fan, but anything’s better than being subjected to another dinner of sullen silence and stilted, awkward conversation while Todoroki Enji tries to find the nearest exit while Fuyumi furiously moves said exit around and Natsuo and Shouto watch from opposite sides of the court of ‘to try or not to try’. He can’t say he’s a fan of Takami, but—
The alternative is so much worse.
Natsuo’s stiff next to him, and Katsuki kicks him in the shin just to get him focused on something else as Enji ducks into the kitchen to greet them rather stiltedly and wash his hands. And, honestly—Katsuki doesn’t hate Enji. It’s a weird thing to know about himself considering he’s dating the one member of the family that’s the hardest to sway on the topic of Todoroki Enji, but he can’t hate the man.
Not touching the Todoroki family drama also made for some questionable judgment calls, but Katsuki’s sticking pretty firmly to this one. He’s not going to begrudge the man trying. He’s an asshole himself, and Deku’s a testament to the magical power of forgiveness or whatever the fuck. It feels hypocritical to hate the dude on the basis of that—especially when his own friends didn’t seem to really care from the bits they knew.
Kaminari’s fierce support still startles him sometimes.
Enji’s nose wrinkles a bit when he steps closer, Natsuo easily moving to Katsuki’s other side, and Katsuki is not ashamed to admit that he turns his face to the meal just so that he can avoid the inquisitive look towering above him. Seriously, whoever decided to make Todoroki Enji that tall and that buff had it out for the rest of humanity because it should be illegal.
“What’s blondie doing here?” Katsuki tries when the silence stretches on for too long and Natsuo seems to be getting agitated.
“Invited himself along,” Enji mutters, scrubbing his hands efficiently and neatly. Katsuki doesn’t really think twice about reaching over and undoing the man’s cuffs and slipping off his watch so that he can get at his wrists.
“Make sure he washes his fucking hands, then. Between you and me, Dabi’s mate looks like he can be taken out by the common cold.”
Enji looks over his shoulder and doesn’t quite snort, but there’s a small huff of air that escapes him that seems close enough even though his expression doesn’t shift from its focused intensity even as he turns back to his hands. “Noted.”
Silence reigns again, but it’s a little easier, and Katsuki can’t stop his cheeks from warming as he smells Natsuo next to him, letting off content and pleased waves of scent that have his shoulders relaxing and his jaw loosening. He made his alpha feel better. He did well, it tells him, so well.
Of course he did, he scoffs at himself internally even as his inner omega all but mewls, happy and sated. He’s Bakugou Katsuki. There’s nothing he doesn’t succeed at.
Enji’s nose crinkles once more as he dries his hands, and he surveys them silently. “Natsuo,” he greets again, and the male stiffens, but his scent doesn’t change, and his gaze doesn’t hold as much animosity as it usually does when he meets Enji’s. He nods his head back in greeting, and Enji accepts it graciously before turning and exiting the kitchen—ideally to wrangle Takami into washing his fucking hands.
He swears he’s not going to be able to walk out of this dinner without a headache.
Natsuo sidles up behind him, arms wrapping tightly around his waist as Katsuki moves to start plating food up. His thigh is a steady pressure between his legs, and Katsuki can’t say he minds having the male pressed against his back as he moves. It’s kind of—
The plug shifts, and his thighs shake, and he remembers he’s supposed to be pissed at this moron right now. “Go make sure a fight doesn’t break out.”
“It’s a family dinner, what do you expect—”
“To fucking eat dinner, now go.”
Natsuo sighs but peels himself off his back anyway, nuzzling at the side of his neck for a brief moment before finally parting. “Don’t leave me alone with them for long,” are his parting words, lips a soft brush against his skin, and Katsuki turns his head to watch him leave before returning to plating up the meal.
“You guys seem to be doing well,” Izuku hazards as he and Shouto amble into the kitchen, eyeing the food with hungry gazes.
“The fuck? Why wouldn’t we be?”
“No, no, I just meant—it’s nice, Kacchan. Really nice.”
“Yeah, uh-huh,” he grabs two of the plates and shoves them at the two buffoons he reluctantly considers his friends, “and you two are nauseating. Now go take these to the table.”
Shouto hums. “And how many scent-blockers do you have on right now, Bakugou?”
“I will murder you in your sleep, icy-hot, fucking watch me,” Katsuki yells at his retreating back, sighing when they’re out of the kitchen, shoulders slumping and ears burning.
It’s not like there was anything wrong with smelling like your partner. They were dating. It was bound to happen. Shouto and Izuku were in a perpetual state of smelling like one another. But it was embarrassing how strong it was right now, so much so that even the extra blockers he had put on hadn’t done as much as he would have liked to stifle it. And Natsuo definitely wasn’t doing a great job in hiding the thickening of his scent every time his eyes landed on Katsuki. Hell, strong mixed scents like that usually only happened in couples who spend every second of every day together and live together—of which they do neither—or married couples—which they were emphatically not.
He wants to bang his head against the wall and just die—just pass out and not have to deal with any of this. This isn’t his forte; embarrassment was not his jam. It just—it smelled like they were mated and they weren’t—his blemish free neck was a testament to that. It was just—
He grabbed three plates and hurried to the dining room, setting them down on the table with steady practiced limbs.
He just wasn’t going to think about it.
Well, that had been the plan.
But Katsuki’s plans had a habit of not working out too well for him. And wherever smart mouthed assholes were, the faster Katsuki’s plans unraveled.
“Wow, her highness sure smells strongly,” Dabi drawls, and Katsuki would have launched himself across the table to strangle the asshole if it wasn’t for the fact that this wasn’t his house and he was a guest, not family.
Takami has no such qualms, and Katsuki thinks he likes him a little more when he watches Dabi jerk in his seat as Takami viciously kicks his leg under the table. Enji looks somewhat done with the dinner already. Katsuki can relate.
“We were studying before we headed over,” Natsuo smoothly deflects, shrugging his shoulders.
Shouto hums, and Katsuki is seriously going to rethink that friendship title when the male looks at him and echoes, “Studying,” with that same stupidly blank stare that has always made Katsuki want to tear him a new one. Izuku flutters anxiously in his seat, laughing sheepishly as Katsuki glares absolute murder at the bicolor haired male.
“Shigaraki,” Fuyumi interrupts beautifully like the saint she is, “how long have you been seeing Tou—Dabi?”
With the focus off of him for the moment, Katsuki feels like he can breathe. Except he can’t because Takami seems determined to climb back up on his shit list with his leering, eyebrows wiggling suggestively. Katsuki’s going to punch him, good deed or not, he’s going to punch him.
Enji shifts in his seat, and it’s eye catching due to his sheer size, and Katsuki almost snorts at how Takami’s gaze snaps to him immediately. But he has some level of decorum, so he refrains, and he knocks his knee against Natsuo’s to make sure he does the same.
“Oh! You go to our university?” Deku pipes up, hands clasping together in excitement. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around.”
“I’ve definitely seen you two.”
And the conversation is now on Izuku and Shouto, and Katsuki—well, Katsuki’s not an angel. He’s never said he is. So when the conversation shifts to those two, well—
“Oh—oh, well, we’re around campus a lot. Our departments intersect sometimes, but Shouto helps me with my research quite a bit, and Kacchan—”
“I wouldn’t call what you guys do between the bookshelves research, but maybe the next time you aren’t occupying that section, I’ll be able to grab one of the dictionaries and check the definition of the word,” Shigaraki drawls, and Izuku’s crimson, and Katsuki suddenly understands why Dabi and Shigaraki are together—and why Izuku and Shouto are always gone for so long whenever they study in the library, and—wow. His friends suck.
And, well, it’s a family dinner, and revenge is a dish—
He pops a piece of tofu in his mouth, looks across the table with the biggest shit-eating grin he can muster as Izuku flounders on what to say or do, Shouto himself looking a bit caught off guard, lips parted and cheeks a fetching pink. Heterochromatic eyes meet his and he gives him a slow once-over, smile made of knives—
“And how many scent-blockers do you have on right now, Shouto?”
Izuku is absolutely scarlet and his head makes a satisfying thud as it smacks against the table, shaking the plates. “I told you that you shouldn’t have said that, Shouto, oh my god—”
“So, when can I expect grandchildren?”
The table freezes, and Katsuki slowly feels the mirth building up in him as everyone slowly turns their wide eyed gazes to the head of the table where Enji sits, and Takami is silently suffocating himself with two hands clasped over his mouth to stifle his laughter.
“Oh my god,” Izuku breathes, absolutely stunned. “Oh my god, oh my god—no, no—no, no, no, no, no—no. That is—we’re not—we haven’t even—we haven’t graduated, we’ve just barely started university, and we haven’t even discussed our future together, and we haven’t even talked about longevity, and we’re not even mated. I don’t even know if Shouto would want to, and, and we’re definitely too young to talk about it now, and this really isn’t something we should even be discussing with an audience let alone with one of the parents present, and I just, I mean—”
Natsuo’s grip on his thigh is almost painfully tight, but Katsuki’s gripping his forearm equally as tight, so he thinks he can forgive him as they try to fight down their laughter.
“I wasn’t talking about you.”
They all freeze, and now the mood is a little frostier as Dabi narrows his eyes and Shigaraki’s shoulders hunch, and the omega’s scent is threatening as he reaches for the beta’s hand. “Are you fucking serious? This is the first family dinner I come to—I brought my mate thinking that you would be fucking chill, but you’re seriously—”
“Father,” Fuyumi whispers softly.
“Bakugou,” Takami gasps, and he meets laughing golden orbs, and he doesn’t get it, doesn’t understand, and the conversation is slowly devolving into a screaming match, and it clicks. It finally fucking clicks, and—
Enji lets out a long suffering sigh, turns his head away from Dabi, which does little more than incense him more, and meets his shuddering gaze, and—
Takami’s fucking weeping now, doing nothing to stifle his ringing laughter.
“So, when can I expect grandchildren?”
That’s it. Natsuo definitely doesn’t deserve to live anymore, romantic feelings be damned.