Bodyguard Or Bestfriend! Katsuki Who Practically Lives In Your Personal Space, He's Only "looking Out

bodyguard or bestfriend! katsuki who practically lives in your personal space, he's only "looking out for you" and "making sure you're okay" he definitely isn't dependent on feeling your warmth against him, he definitely doesn't get antsy when you're not near him, not at all

Second time writing this, tumblr ate it the first time 🥴 but no because I bet he leaves his shit there and then forgets.i have so many thoughts on this

Katsuki has practically raided every square inch of his apartment. He’s checked every basket, drawer, nook and cranny of the place— and he’s found four pair of boxers. Total.

There’s no way.

A frustrated groan leaves his lips when he notices missing sweatpants. His face twists into a scowl while he shoves the last of his dirty laundry into the washing machine. He snatches the detergent and tosses it in, pressing the button and turning on his heel.

He storms out of his apartment and shoves his keys into the door, locking it. And you know something’s off the moment he arrives. He huffs and puffs like he’s going to blow your house down. All the while, you sit perched on the couch with a basket of laundry and a no-brain-needed show on.

“I’m goin’ fucking insane.” Katsuki grits, carmine eyes peering into your ceiling.

You hum and toss a pair of panties into a nearby basket. A sigh leaves him as his chest sinks beneath the black tank top.

“You always are— but why now?” You raise a brow at his glare, resisting a snicker.

Your fingers lay purchase on a pair of his sweats. Effortlessly, you begin to fold and separate the rest of the laundry. Another pair of his sweats are in your hands as you pause to look at him.

“Searched the damn place top to bottom,” a sigh “- can’t find my shit. Got four pair of boxers. I’m losing it.” He grunts with an exasperated groan.

Katsuki peels his gaze from the ceiling to meet your own. You begin to chortle and snort.

The pair of sweatpants in your hands meet his face with a dull thud. Without thinking, katsuki yanks the offending fabric away and growls.

“Oí, asswipe-“ The second pair meets his face before he can finish and it takes all of three seconds for it to register.

“.. why d’you got my shit?” He takes a deep breath, just like his therapist told him to, trying not to jump to conclusions.

“You always leave your shit here— I’ve got an entire drawer. You’ve even got a toothbrush and face razor in my bathroom.” You challenge, holding up a pair of boxers you’ve just found in the basket.

Katsuki blinks. He has been over a lot. But it’s only because you can’t take care of yourself— you’d die! The blonde runs through memories of cup ramen and expired snacks in your fridge and pantry. His eyes roll.

“Well, I need my shit, brat.” He chooses to say instead.

You glance at the TV to see two of the girls arguing over what food to have at a party. Typical, there’s always that one bitch who wants fruit at a candy land themed party.

“Go for it, it’ll end up back here anyways-“ you chortle and toss a pair of clean boxers his way “-you’re over five days a week.”

Ruby orbs narrow, brows furrowing as he takes playful offense to your statement. A grin plasters across his face and he leans in.

“Wouldn’t have to if a certain shithead could take care of herself, now would i?” Katsuki taunts and assumes victory. He looks proud of himself.

Your brows shoot to your hairline and you laugh wildly. The task at hand half forgotten, fingers reaching into the basket to grab a random article of clothing and throw it at his head.

“Oh please, you come here for back rubs and head scratches.” The teasing tone of your voice has his eyes rolling. Hard.

Katsuki looks down at the fallen fabric and snorts. Big hands put the pink, scallop trim panties in the basket to your right while he formulates a good answer.

You’re not completely wrong.. but you can’t know that.

“Nah I c’mere cause’ you’ll get a scurvy if I don’t.” He lies, grabbing a towel to fold.

Banter continues on and off through the night. He talks shit on the show you’re watching but gets invested anyways. Like always. A plate of steaming curry is served for dinner and afterwards you show him to the stash of his items stored away in your bedroom.

He grumbles and flushes a peachy tone, throwing most of the items in his bag. He leaves two or three pairs, though.

You get lectured again on groceries even though he’s the one that cooks. And, now? There’s a grocery list on your fridge that says “k: bringing order on Monday” in not too-pretty handwriting.

Katsuki finds himself basking in the warmth of your hands later. Pretty fingers rub his taut muscles and tug at the roots of his hair. Nails drag up and down, up and down his shoulder and back casually. He’s out like a light in minutes.

He wakes up and chooses to ignore that he’s already left another set of clothing in your laundry basket.