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The prettiest omega Katsuki has ever seen is pouting at him from across the table in the library.
Katsuki feels—
Well. Maybe he should have thought this part out some more.
“Hey.” Katsuki clears his throat. “Halfie.”
Shouto stubbornly pouts some more. “Isn’t studying supposed to be a solitary activity?” he asks. “I thought you liked those.”
Okay. That one’s definitely Katsuki’s fault. He just—he kind of figured Shouto could handle it. That he’d interpret Katsuki tugging on his pigtails for what it was, and just. Nod like a good little omega and maybe whine please before baring his neck for Katsuki to mark him up, for him to sink his teeth in.
Maybe this is the part where he blurts out I like you more, and it only makes his cheeks burn from how unquestionably true it is.
(And then maybe Shouto would look up from his French homework and let Katsuki cup his cheek and kiss his red mouth and confirm that his lip balm does in fact taste like strawberries, and Katsuki’s not just potentially well on his way to losing his mind.)
“I’m trying to ask you something, princess.”
Shouto blinks, long eyelashes fanning over his—softsoftsoft—cheeks. “Oh,” he says softly. “You really don’t want to study.”
“Could use a distraction, yeah,” Katsuki admits, even if what he means is more like you’ve been distracting me. More like you’re distracting. More like I want you to be my only distraction from now on.
“Are you sick?” Shouto asks. “Is that why you’ve been acting strange?”
Katsuki bites at the inside of his cheek so he won’t hiss I’m trying to ask you out, idiot, at the love of his short life, but what comes out instead isn’t much better. Or—even remotely better, actually. Because what he ends up saying with his whole chest is—
“I want you to have my pups.”
Shouto is quiet and almost perfectly still for the longest ten seconds of Katsuki’s life. Then, he says, “Did you hit your head?” in perfect seriousness, and Katsuki wonders about if doing that right now would have enough retroactive value to save his remaining dignity.
“No,” he says instead. “No, I didn’t hit my—halfie, I’ve been trying to ask you out for three months. You don’t—you didn’t know, did you?”
“I thought you hated me,” Shouto admits. “I didn’t—just last Tuesday you took my cold soba from me and wouldn’t give it back.”
Katsuki winces. Expectedly, Shouto sounds particularly betrayed about that last bit. “Because you were about to eat it for the third day in a row,” he protests. “Couldn’t let you end up malnourished.”
“So you were being nice?” Shouto asks.
Katsuki nods. “I’m always nice to you.”
“You’re nice,” Shouto repeats incredulously. “To me?”
“Always,” Katsuki insists. “Make you food, give you my jacket when it’s cold, got you that weird candy you said you liked.”
Finally, Shouto sets his pencil down between the pages of his French workbook. “I didn’t realize,” he says. “Even if—well. Kaminari did say you wanted to, uh, hit it from the back. I kind of… assumed he was implying violence?”
Katsuki growls. No one should—well. Not that that’s not in his alphabetized mental list of long-term goals, but there’s more important things in there. Things like holding Shouto’s hand, and kissing his soft mouth, and taking him to a cat café so he can pick out some grumpy orange cat and go look, Katsuki, you match. So. No one should picture it. What Katsuki wants to do with Shouto behind closed doors. Because—
Because Shouto should look up at him and nod quietly and say okay, I trust you first. And then they can figure out the technicalities.
“I just want to kiss you,” Katsuki says, which—it feels like more of a revelation than it has any right to, honestly.
“But I haven’t done that before,” Shouto says. “What if I’m bad at it?”
“You won’t be,” Katsuki insists, and—
It’s sweet. Shouto is sweet. Worrying about being bad at kissing when what he should be doing is telling Katsuki to fuck off because he doesn’t, like, deserve to touch him at all, let alone see how he likes this bit. The kind of touch you’re only supposed to share with one person. With your alpha.
God—
He wants to, is the thing. He wants to be Shouto’s alpha and he wants forever and he wants Shouto to give him pups.
“But you hate it when people are bad at things,” Shouto says. “I don’t want you to get mad at me.”
“Won’t get mad,” Katsuki promises. “Won’t get mad at all, god, fuck, just—let me. Okay? Please.”
“You said please,” Shouto says, the corner of his mouth twitching.
“Yeah,” Katsuki says. “I did.”
And then—
Shouto pushes his chair back, gets up, and before Katsuki has had enough time to blink, he’s—he’s plopping down on Katsuki’s lap instead, all warm and soft and fucking—strawberry-scented. Katsuki’s hands settle on his tiny waist, and Shouto lets out this little whimper that Katsuki knows down to his core will haunt him for life. It’s worth it, though. Of course it is. It’s Shouto.
“Huh,” Katsuki says, one hand cupping Shouto’s cheek, touching the shiny swell of his lower lip. “It’s just you after all, isn’t it?”
“Just me?”
“Your scent. The, uh, strawberries.”
Because when Katsuki leans in to kiss him, the lip balm doesn’t taste like anything. But Shouto does. Shouto tastes warm and sweet and perfect, and for a delirious breath, Katsuki wonders how mad Aizawa-sensei would be about him knotting Shouto right here, bent over the desk with his back arched while Katsuki kisses him all over just to keep from sinking his teeth in.
It probably wouldn’t take that long, either. Just a few more of those little whines, and Katsuki would pop a knot real quick.
“Strawberries?” Shouto asks when they pull apart, mouth redder and wetter than before. “That’s what you think I smell like?”
“Mm.” Katsuki nips at his neck. “Strawberries. Fucking sweet. So, so fucking sweet.”
Shouto’s cheek is warm against Katsuki’s palm. “You know,” he says, gaze darting away like he’s shy even now that he’s (willingly, it merits mentioning) straddling Katsuki’s lap. “I think I might not be against the idea of having your pups. At, uh, at some point.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“You wanna go back to the dorms and practice?” Katsuki asks. “What do you say, princess?”
“I think,” Shouto says. “You should take me out on a proper date first. Because I’m pretty sure taking my soba doesn’t count. Is that okay?”
“Told you I wanted to, didn’t I?” Katsuki huffs. “What do you take me for? I don’t lie, pretty omega.”
Shouto, captivating eyes sparking, asks, “Can we get ice cream?”
So Katsuki kisses him again. He just has to. Shouto tastes sweet.
(They get to the ice cream. Eventually. But not before a few other things. Mostly things that fall under the category of kissing Shouto on the way a lot. But it’s okay. He doesn’t look like he minds.
No. He just—well. He looks like he’s Katsuki’s.)