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Katsuki groans, falling face first into the plush queen-sized bed. The fucking department doesn’t pay for anything better than economy, and flying six hours for a damn conference cooped up in a tin can with his bodybuilder thighs isn’t exactly the epitome of comfort.
He rolls over, facing the ceiling and spreading out his arms. He wiggles his fingers at either edge of the bed. At least he’ll sleep well tonight before his presentation tomorrow.
The clock beside him blinks 8:47 PM, the air conditioning kicks on, and he sinks deeper into the bed. His mind starts to drift as his eyes turn heavy. He really should shower off the day's travel, but the bed is just too—
The hotel room's door whizzes open and Katsuki jolts up. “I didn't order any—” His jaw slakens when a familiar round face comes into view. “You,” he sneers. “What the fuck are you doin' here?” He hasn’t seen her in a few months—not since the last conference—but there’s no forgetting her face after seeing her every single day in grad school.
Her neutral expression morphs to mirror Katsuki's. “Me? What're you doing here?”
“This is my fucking room!” His arms wave around like she'll find evidence of the truth of his statement in the impersonal setup of a hotel.
She rolls her eyes and holds up her keycard. “It's my room, Bakugou.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose, pressing deep into his lids. “My fucking keycard let me in here too. It's my room.”
“Hotel must've double-booked us. I'll go down and figure it out with the front desk.”
“Like hell you're goin' without me. You'll probably figure out some way to get me kicked out of this damn room.”
“It's a nice room, so that'd be the best option, yeah. Unless you think they'll gimmie a free upgrade?”
He snorts as his feet hit the carpeted floor. “Good luck explainin' that line to the department manager. Bet they'd make you pay back the upgrade rate on your expenses even if it's free.”
The two don't see eye-to-eye on very much—research, demeanor, lifestyles—but the one thing that unites all academics is their undying hatred of administration.
And, the two are once again united at the front desk.
“There aren't any other rooms.” The attendant looks up from his computer. “Hotel's fully booked—there's a big conference in town.”
“Yeah, dumbass, we know. We're part of the conference.”
The attendant looks between Katsuki and Uraraka, blinks, and appraises them both with elevator eyes. “Oh. You're not what I think of when I think of profs.”
“It's a sport-science conference, dipshit. Everyone's jacked.” Katsuki's patience wears thin.
“Sorry, my colleague here is just on edge because we’re presenting tomorrow. Can you just double check to make sure there really isn't another room—or maybe there's something else you can do for us? There's only one bed in the room.” Uraraka's voice is saccharine to hide the twitch of her brows.
The attendant looks through his system again and shakes his head. ”Sorry, we don't even have cots left.”
Katsuki runs his hand through his hair. It's greasy from travel and sticks up at all angles. Thanks to budget cuts hitting all the big departments, every grad student must've had the brilliant fucking idea of overbooking the hotel and taking up all cots.
“Ok, but, there's gotta be something. You can't just expect us to share a room—a bed!” Uraraka tries again, reaching across the counter to turn the monitor.
“Ma'am, please don't reach across—”
“That's doctor to you, not ma'am,” Katsuki blurts. “C'mon, cheeks, these fuckers ain't gonna do shit, and it's gettin' late.”
Her rosy face twists in confusion. “But...the bed.”
“What, big bad Dr. Uraraka Ochako afraid to share a bed with her research rival?”
Her nose flares. “Don't flatter yourself.”
He shrugs. “Well, I'm gettin' some fucking sleep. You can join me or you can go through this conference sleepin in the damn foyer.”
Uraraka makes a rumbling noise, apologizes to the front desk attendant, and scrambles beside him. They step into the elevator, both vying to tap their keycards at once.
Katsuki gets there first, the satisfying ping letting them know they're allowed onto their floor. When the elevator opens, Uraraka all but runs to their door, swiping her keycard to let them in.
Katsuki groans and readies himself for the worst conference of his life.
—
Ochako doesn’t ask for much. But, she’d rather not have to share a bed with her academic rival. She just wants a good night’s sleep before having to fend off the old white dudes at her presentation who are bound to try to tell her that her research focus is all wrong.
Bakugou crashes into the bed the moment they make it back inside the room. He toes off his shoes and they land haphazardly on the floor beside the bed.
She wishes she could fall asleep like Bakugou, but she needs a moment to unwind before crawling right into bed. Plus, her slides still aren't finished.
She groans and hopes into the shower. The water is hot, and she runs it without remorse. The department doesn’t pay for much, but at least hot water is included. She throws on the hotel-given robe and wiggles in the softness. When she comes back out to the room, Bakugou is fast asleep, light snores filling the room.
Making as little noise as possible, she pulls out her laptop. There's only a small debate in her mind about whether to crawl into bed or just try to sleep on the most uncomfortable looking desk chair. If Bakugou is going into tomorrow fully rested, then she will too.
She slides under the covers wearing only her robe and plops her laptop on her lap. She'll finish her presentation, do a quick run-through in her mind, and be refreshed for tomorrow.
Maybe this won't be so bad afterall.
—
Katsuki takes in a deep whiff. Roses and lilac mix with the fresh linen. He hums and nestles deeper into his perfect picnic outing. His fingers curl to softness and his cheek lays on a pillow softer than his imagination. The sun shines, there are no grant deadlines, and for once, he can read for leisure. His hand snakes up to his pillow, curling around plush curves, and he squeezes.
A shriek, a slap, and Katsuki’s face stings. “Wha—” It takes him a long, groggy moment to realize his dream is his reality is his nightmare. Uraraka is under him wearing a robe that’s mostly fallen off through the night. His hand is on her tit, and from the drool spot glistening right near her nipple, so was his face.
He scrambles, hoping to get back to his side of the bed when he reaches the edge.
She’s the one curling up to him!
Uraraka realizes this at the same moment, rolling to her side in mortification, pulling out the half-closed laptop from under her. “Sorry,” she mumbles, head hidden by a pillow. “I was finishin’ up my presentation last night after my shower, and I guess I fell asleep.”
For once, Katsuki is out of words. He can only stare at his hand and twitch his face. So soft. So round. All with a solid wall of muscle underneath thanks to her motto of living her research.
Fuck.
“Let’s just…umm…forget this all happened,” she pleads, still not looking at him. “Stupid bed.”
Every good workout program takes into account two things. What one wants to do and what one has the ability to do. Both Katsuki and Uraraka are keenly aware of this despite the target audiences for their research being as different as they can be. So, when Uraraka asks Katsuki to forget the plush, suppleness of her body, he resorts to what he knows best.
The problem is that even if Katsuki wanted to forget—something he’s trying very hard to convince himself—he’s not sure he has the capability to do that.
“I’m gonna get dressed!” Uraraka squeaks, scrambling out of the bed, making herself as small as possible when she sneaks off to her suitcase.
Katsuki should really say something. She’s the one who’s just been unexpectedly felt-up. Katsuki isn’t the only one in this fuck up. He clears his throat and Uraraka freezes with her clothes hugging her chest, one leg elongated toward the bathroom. “You…uhh…work out.”
Katsuki shouldn’t have said anything.
Her face twists when she turns to him. “Yeah. We’re exercise scientists.”
Katsuki snorts. “Well good thing you know your half-assed methodology works then.”
Katsuki needs to shut up three conversations ago.
“Half…half-assed methodology?” She straightens, forgetting the modesty she was just so upset over. “I actually value the people developing programs with my research. They’re for real people! Not just the upper crust of already-genetically-gifted athletes!”
“Upper crust means pushin’ the boundaries of what’s physically possible for humans!” Katsuki raises his voice to match hers, throwing the blanket off and standing.
“For like ten humans in the world! Most of us are just tryin’ to stay fit enough so we can stand up from the toilet when we’re eighty!”
Katsuki’s brow twitches and his hands curl into fists. This is what their relationship is really like. Through grad school, through post-docs, through visiting positions, and now through sharing a room at the biggest Kinesiology conference of the year. “I ain’t waitin’ till I’m eighty.” He stomps past her to the bathroom door. “I actually finish my presentations on time, so I’m gonna shower and get ready for the shit we’re actually here for.”
He takes one step into the bathroom when he’s pushed off balance. In a blur of blushing pink and fierce brown, she side-checks him and slips into the bathroom before him. The door slams shut and Katsuki groans when the lock clicks.
“I called changing first!” she shouts from inside.
Katsuki plops back onto the bed, staring at the half-open laptop precariously perched on the edge of her pillow. “Little shit,” he mumbles and grabs the computer. He’s not enough of an asshole to actually fuck with her presentation, but he’s just enough of an asshole to want a preview.
He clicks through her slides and grumbles. She’s so damn personable that she’s the only one who doesn’t just dump useless shit on a slide. She’s the type to actually guide you through her assumptions, her methodologies—so much so that even undergrads could follow along all the way to her findings.
He’s about to close the laptop and go bang on the bathroom door when a new email comes in.
The Japanese Journal of Exercise Science
Thank you for submitting your revie….
Same journal as Katsuki’s most recent submission. That’s not surprising—there’s only a handful of reputable journals in the field anyways. But…review? Is Uraraka reviewing recent submissions for the journal now?
“Fuck it,” he says under his breath after a quick glance to the bathroom door.
Dr. Uraraka. Thank you for submitting your review on the paper titled “Going Plus Ultra: Optimizing mechanical performance in professional boxing using ‘every minute on the minute’ (EMOM) training.”
Katsuki’s mouth hangs open.
That’s his paper.
The same paper where some prickly reviewer-two with a stick up their ass about elite level athletes forced the journal to give Katsuki a revise and resubmit instead of a simple acceptance.
Katsuki clicks on the attachment from the sent files, scanning Uraraka’s comments.
The same fucking comments that have been replaying in Katsuki’s head for the whole two days since the journal’s response.
His nose flares and he slams the computer shut. Uraraka comes out of the bathroom and he barely even spares her a glance, shoving past her.
—
Despite everything from the morning, once Ochako is in the presentation room with her coffee in hand, her practiced sense of calm takes over. She hasn’t seen Bakugou since he stomped into the bathroom, and she can’t help but feel a little bad.
He’s a grown man. He’ll get over it. Still, she should at least apologize for overreacting or sneaking into the bathroom—even though she did call it first.
He should be coming in any minute now. He’s the first presentation in a set of four, where Ochako is the last. They may be in the same time slot, but going first thing in the first time slot at a conference sucks. It’s better than going absolutely last, but the first sessions have some of the lowest attendance rates even among people who supposedly like this research enough to dedicate their whole lives to it.
Only five minutes before the start of the session, Bakugou stomps in. He shoots her a passing glance and scowls.
“Wow ok, way to hold a grudge,” Ochako mutters.
With the confidence of a seasoned lecturer, he’s up and running right on time.
“I’m Katsuki Bakugou from Osaka University,” he starts.
Ochako opens up her laptop. Her and Katsuki might not agree on the best methodologies of researching human movement, but it’s not like he’s not worth learning from. Her face pinches together when she sees the screen. She didn’t leave her email open, did she? And, the email on the screen…she’s never seen this.
“I’m gonna present a forthcoming paper”—Bakugou stops short, revising his statement—“Nope. I’m gonna present a paper that’s still in review, ‘Optimizing mechanical performance in professional boxing using ‘every minute on the minute’ (EMOM) training’.” His gaze lands directly on her.
Ochako inhales sharply when the title rings a bell. It’s exactly the same as….
Oh no.
She’s his reviewer two.
And, Bakugou knows.
—
Katsuki waits for Uraraka’s questions at the end of his talk, but he doesn’t get any. Instead, she stares only at her screen, brows knit, and the tip of her tongue peeking out from the edge of her mouth. Katsuki chuckles to himself. Her expressions haven’t changed since grad school. Still, from the look they exchanged at the start of his talk, he knows that she knows that he knows.
He sighs, absentmindedly answering the last question from his talk and taking a seat in the audience for the next speaker. Uraraka is supposed to present soon, but Katsuki doesn’t know the exact time. Unsurprisingly, he’s already lost the paper schedule and conferences run about a decade behind on tech, so it’s not up on their website.
He grumbles, slouching in the chair and picking at his fingers. Maybe he’s being too harsh on her. It’s not like her review was pulled out of her ass. She’s a qualified researcher and her comments reflect that.
Katsuki’s more pissed that he couldn’t do better.
He’s about ready to doze off through yet another talk on deadlifts and CNS fatigue when a gentle tap on his shoulder spurs him back to life.
“Young Bakugou, you gave an interesting talk!”
Katsuki jerks back to meet the downturned eyes of old Dr. Toshinori. The once great bodybuilder turned scientist is a shell of his former glory, but his eyes shine as bright as ever. This is the man who ushered in a new wave of practicing what is preached. It’s why Katsuki hits the gym as hard as the library. But his time is over and it’s time for people like Katsuki and Uraraka. “What d’ya really want, old man?”
“Your talk was fascinating. You know, EMOMs are mostly used in weight training, but you adapted it to combat sports.”
Katsuki rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I know. My damn name’s on the paper.”
Dr. Toshinori nods with a thoughtful expression. “You know who else adapted high level resistance training principles for a new purpose?”
Yes.
Katsuki doesn’t reply, and instead, purses his lips into a thin line.
“Dr. Uraraka…I remember the two of you conducting studies in my lab in grad school. I hear she focuses primarily on rehab and injury mitigation work now.” He hums, eyes distant. “Different sides of the same coin you know. You look after excellence and she looks after”—he gestures to himself, muscles long gone from atrophy and injuries—“well, the rest of us.”
Katsuki rolls his eyes. His former mentor is a lot of things, but he’s not “the rest of us.” Still, the man has a point.
“Come to think of it, my lab is setting up two visiting researcher positions next year.” Dr. Toshinori taps his lips in thought. “Perhaps a collaboration is in order.”
Katsuki opens his mouth to protest. No way is he going to collaborate with her. But, he’s not stupid enough to turn down a visiting spot in the famed Toshinori Movement Lab. Before he can put his foot in his mouth, Dr. Toshinori’s eyes widen, looking past Katsuki.
“Talk it over with Dr. Uraraka,” Dr. Toshinori says. “I’ll reach out via the department on Monday.” With a sly look, his attention is on the next speaker.
When the familiar, saccharine voice starts, Katsuki knows why.
Wide awake, he doesn’t take his eyes off Uraraka, noting down the similarities between their methodologies.
When she’s done her talk, Katsuki hangs his head, pressing his thumb deep into his eyes. No shit she became his reviewer two. Uraraka’s latest research takes sub-maximal training, emphasizing time under tension, and applies it to rebuild and retain muscle structures in those recovering from major injuries. It’s the perfect way to mitigate further injury risk.
Katsuki takes hyper-maximal training in the form of decreasing rest time to make sure his athletes can perform even under the most stressful conditions.
Where Katsuki pushes, Uraraka pulls.
Two sides of the same stupid exercise science coin.
He hates being unjustified in his anger.
“Young Uraraka!”
Katsuki pinches the bridge of his nose on hearing Dr. Toshinori’s voice again. The old man isn’t going to let the idea of a collaboration go.
“Fascinating talk! And your latest grant—well deserved.”
“Oh, thank you. That means a lot coming from you! I’m excited to continue this project—the grant will let me upgrade some of our sensors for better data collection.”
Katsuki raises a brow. Only some of their sensors? He knows that the bigger research grants go to research like his—where high paying athletes or celebrities can boast about their new training on social media. But, still, she should get at least enough to replace all the sensors. Hell, she should probably get enough to hire new staff and conduct longitudinal studies too.
“I was just telling young Bakugou here about two new visiting research positions that’ll open up at my lab in the next year.”
Katsuki finally stands to join their conversation, grunting awkwardly as he shuffles his feet around.
“I suspect you know how well funded my lab is.”
The gleam in Uraraka’s eyes both forms a pit in his stomach and makes his chest squeeze.
“Yes!” She shouts without hesitation.
Dr. Toshinori chuckles. “You shouldn’t say yes just yet. I was telling young Bakugou this because I’d like the spots to go to the two of you. I believe a collaboration between your approaches can change the face of the field.”
Uraraka frowns and glances at Katsuki. “I dunno about that.”
“Well, obviously, it’s not totally up to me—department bureaucracy and whatnot. But, since it’s my lab, I’ll have quite the sway.” Dr. Toshinori’s eyes meet a small, mousey figure at the door. “Ah, I should go catch up with Nedzu.” He grabs Katsuki’s shoulder, squeezing tight. “Think my proposition over. The two of you would do better together than apart.” He rushes off, leaving Katsuki to face Uraraka all on his own.
Their simmering tension starts to boil over. He knows. She knows. She knows that he knows. And, he knows that she knows that he knows. There’s no beating around this bush.
“You were my reviewer two.”
“You went through my emails.” Uraraka crosses her arms.
Katsuki winces.
“Don’t say you didn’t mean it,” she says. “Nobody accidentally clicks through emails.”
“Fine, I meant it,” he growls. “But, you were an ass.”
“No, I was fair.”
“You were fair in an asshole kinda way.” His finger wags in her face.
Instead of backing down, Uraraka looks smug. “You’d know.” She scoffs and walks out the door without letting Katsuki get another word in.
He’s going to need another tactic if he wants this damn visiting researcher position. Because it’s definitely only about the position, and nothing else.
—
Ochako isn’t actually holding a grudge. Well, she’s not not holding a grudge. She’s just frustrated that Bakugou didn’t talk to her…or that Bakugou would hold a reasonable—maybe a tiny bit incendiary but still mostly reasonable—review against her.
“Ready to order?”
“Not yet, sorry,” Ochako says. “Gotta figure out what I can expense first.”
The bartender snorts. “If it helps, I’ll get you a second receipt that says mocktail.”
“It does.” Ochako grins and points to a bright pink drink. Something delicious and fruity to take the edge off.
“Figured you’d be here, tryin’ to loophole your way through your meals.” Bakugou plops down on the stool beside her. “Gimmie the same shit—mocktail receipt included,” Bakugou says to the bartender.
The bartender looks between Ochako and Bakugou, raising a brow without saying anything, before mixing their drinks.
Ochako clears her throat. “I’m decompressing here.”
Bakugou snorts and looks her up and down. “Don’t think you’re gettin’ any taller even if you decompress.”
Ochako rolls her eyes. “Jerkface,” she mutters.
Drinks appear in front of them and Ochako takes a sip—small at first and then a big gulp. At least the drink is nice.
“I shouldn’t have gone through your shit,” Bakugou says it like it physically pains him to admit it.
Ochako narrows her eyes. “And?”
He sighs, running a hand through his hair. Maybe it’s the drink already hitting Ochako, but she can’t help but linger on the size of his hands and how messing up his hair somehow makes his intensity more alluring.
“You had some good points in your review.”
Ochako nods and clinks their glasses together. “See, was that so hard?” She brings the glass up to take another sip when the large hand stops her. Callouses from his palm snag against her wrist.
“But, you went for the damn jugular.”
Ochako gulps. “I’m sorry too. I reviewed it right after I found out my new fancy grant wouldn’t cover all the equipment I need.” His hand moves away and Ochako realizes she misses the warmth. “I shouldn’t have taken it out on your paper. It’s not your fault the flashy stuff gets the money.”
“All Might’s lab would help.”
Ochako nods. “Yup, but a collab?” She snorts, downing the rest of our drink. “You couldn’t put up with me for that long. You barely made it out of grad school with the cohort of me and Deku.”
“Another round, and keep ‘em comin’,” Bakugou says to the bartender before turning to Ochako. “We’re gonna sit here and figure out this damn collab ‘cause I know neither of us are givin’ up an opportunity like this.”
The next drink warms more than just Ochako’s tongue when she finds herself pressed up against the door to their hotel room, legs wrapped around Bakugou’s waist as he fumbles with the keycard, nipping at her bottom lip.
—
“Fuck,” Katsuki whispers, husky and heady. “This wasn’t the plan.” They stumble into the room and he dumps Ochako on the bed—she’s “Ochako” in his mind now. Warmth coursing through him, powered by liquid courage, his hand itches to feel the softness from the morning.
“Plans change,” she says, breathless. “I like this new one.” She reaches for his waistband, fumbling with the button.
Katsuki snorts and smacks her hand away. “Me first.” He grabs her legs, throwing them up. She squeaks as a blush creeps up her face. Katsuki finally gets to see how far that blush goes. Sliding a finger down her leg, he grips her thigh, finding heat building at her core. Her skirt rumples around her waist and her chest heaves. “Fuck me,” he whispers.
She chuckles. “Exactly—that’s the new plan.” Her legs clench, thighs squeezing around Katsuki’s neck as he sinks to the ground.
“Think this is gonna help us work together in a lab?” He asks, sliding her panties aside. He bites back a groan at the slick wetness revealed on her lips. His thumb parts her lips, gathering her slick, and with a tight circle around her clit, it’s back on his mouth.
She gasps, eyes wide enough to reveal flecks of gold in a deep sea of brown. “Yes,” she pants. “Definitely. Can’t think of a better way to work tog—”
She’s cut off when Katsuki puts his tongue on her clit.
Her back arches, her hands curl into the bed sheets, and she moans. She’s exactly where Katsuki wants her. He grins into her skin before rumbling at the ends of her sensitive nerves.
“Fuck!” she shouts, grinding into his mouth. Katsuki knows she swears—you learn a lot about someone when you go through the hell of grad school with them—but it’s different when he’s the one making her come undone.
It’s different when he’s the one making her come.
“Kats—” She doesn’t have the full breath needed to finish the sounds of his name, but she’s singing his favourite song anyways.
He hollows out his cheeks, sucking hard. His fingers dip into her pussy, feeling her walls flutter and pulse, and when he curls them into her g-spot, he gets what he’s craving.
He gets her.
“Fuck me,” she whimpers, coming down from her first release. Her hands claw at his waistband until he’s unzipped.
“Always been this needy for me?” he asks, unable to keep the hope out of his voice, shoving off her shirt so he can finally knead at the softness from the morning.
With a tight nod, she blushes and Katsuki sees how far down it goes.
The raw need thrumming through Katsuki’s body surprises even him. It’s not that he’s been waiting for this for all the years he’s known. It’s more that the two of them need to be ready. They needed to find their own ways.
He needed to push, and she needed to pull.
And, somehow, the prospect of working together could solve the two-body problem that every academic is faced with. So, their readiness is finally matched with their opportunity.
“Think this counts as a collab?” She chuckles as Katsuki grabs her hips and flips her over. She looks over her shoulder, eyes blown wide, hair frizzy, lips plump.
Katsuki’s already hard as rock, pulling out his shaft with a slow pump, but seeing her like this—ass up, face coy—has him struggling to not come early. “Dunno, I think we’re gonna need more research time to find out, Cheeks.” His hand slides across Ochako’s bare ass, reveling in the thick muscles covered in plush roundness. “I could research this for the rest of my damn life,” he blurts.
Their eyes meet, and neither broaches the subject when Katsuki breaks the tension by opening his mouth wide and biting down on her ass.
“Katsuki!” she squeaks, light and airy.
Katsuki shrugs. “Don’t gotta expense that meal.”
“If you don’t fuck me right now, I’m not gonna collab with you.” She sticks out her tongue in a way that makes Katsuki want to bite more than just her ass cheek. “And, I’m gonna break all blind review protocols to be your reviewer—”
With a sly grin, Katsuki cuts her off again. This time, it’s with his cock sliding deep into her pussy.
“Katsuki,” she whimpers. “So full.” Her mouth hangs open and the tight tension of her pussy ripples through her body.
“So damn wet,” Katsuki moans. “Fuck, your pussy’s pullin’ me in.” He grips her hips hard enough to know exactly where to grab her again tomorrow. He also ignores the thought of fucking her tomorrow, or the day after, or any other day she riles him up by putting his research in its place.
He’s holding so still in her that she’s one who sets them off, wiggling her ass and urging him to move. Once he starts, he can’t stop. Her pussy is the drug, keeping him coming back. Wet sounds of skin against skin fill their small space, punctuated by moans and gasps.
“Harder!” Ochako moans, arching her body so Katsuki’s cock hits her g-spot. “I can take it!”
“Fuck!” Katsuki grits out as he pulls out, flips her onto her front, and pounds into her again. His hand wraps around her front, finger rubbing tight circles onto her clit. “Come for me. Come on my cock, Cheeks.”
Katsuki has had a lot of incredible experiences in his life. He gets to travel the world for conferences, he gets annoying people to call him by his hard earned title, and he gets to work with professional athletes. But, Ochako coming on his cock, squeezing him so tight that his hips stutter—spilling hot cum into her, claiming her from the inside-out—that’s in a category of its own.
They stay there, silent and unmoving, until the two of them fall onto the bed together. Liquid courage long gone, Katsuki stares at the ceiling, sneaking glances at Ochako. He could turn on his side and fall asleep—it’s already way past his bedtime. But, with their new opportunity looming, he realizes he doesn’t want to.
“Fuck it,” he mutters, throws an arm around her waist, and pulls her flush to him.
She giggles and melts into his hold, giving him more confidence in his choice. “So, is this how our time at the Toshinori Lab is gonna go?” she asks, peeking over her shoulder.
“Research by day, fucking by night?” Katsuki snorts. “Sounds fucking great to me.”
Ochako wiggles her ass in agreement. “Me too.” Her breathing evens out as the two of them drift into their dreams.
Dr. Toshinori was right. The two of them are better together than apart—in and out of the lab.