Katsuki has long since gotten used to the fact that you take five times longer than he does to get ready whenever the two of you go out. The worst? Formal events—like tonight. By now, he’s learned that rushing you is pointless; you’ll just scold him tenfold (his woman is scary when angry, he knows by now). So he waits, already dressed: a fitted black henley that hugs his built frame, tailored dark pants, that expensive watch you gifted him for an anniversary, and just a spritz of your favorite cologne clinging to his skin. He sits on the bed, scrolling through work emails while you occupy the bathroom, the sound of brushes and compacts clinking faintly against the counter.

Tonight is a Class 1-A reunion. A formal dinner at a high-end restaurant—an overdue gathering for a group once inseparable, now scattered by the chaos of hero work and busy lives. It’s been nearly an hour, and Katsuki finally exhales a sharp breath, snapping his phone shut and shoving it into his pocket. “Jesus, woman, you never start gettin’ ready ahead of time, do you?” he mutters under his breath, heavy steps carrying him to the bathroom.

He pushes the door open, ready to bark at you—

—and then stops dead.

His throat goes dry. His pulse spikes. In the mirror, your reflection meets his eyes, and something dangerous and warm ignites inside him.

You’re wearing a velvet-red dress he’s never seen before, though he remembers the boutique charge on his card last week. So this is what you bought… The fabric clings like it was made for you, shoulderless and daring, showing off the delicate slope of your neck, the shine of your collarbones, just enough cleavage to spark pride—and hunger—in him. His gaze drags down, shameless, to the way the velvet gift-wraps your ass, every curve kissed by candlelit crimson.

Silver jewelry glitters against your skin, the very pieces he picked and paid, just for you. Your hair glistens with perfume and shampoo, framing the glow of your ethereal face as you lean toward the sink, focused on a final swipe of gloss across your lips.

Katsuki’s lips twitch into a scoff, but it’s softer than usual—affection dripping through a hungry stare. His feet move without thinking, carrying him across the threshold. His hands finds your hips, firm and possessive, pressing his body against yours from behind.

You glance at him in the mirror, your chuckle spilling into the air like music. Standing back straight, your back brushes his chest, perfume intoxicating him as his eyes burn into you.

“Jesus, what?” you tease, twisting the lipgloss shut.

He growls low, his voice a rasp as his hands slide from your waist to your ribs, palms memorizing the shape of you.“Didn’t even show me this dress when y'first got it…” His breath is hot against your ear, his nose buried in your hair, his arms caging you close. “The fuck…”

His grip tightens, reverent and possessive all at once. Your character is what made him fall this hard for you, but the pride that feeds the raging flame in his heart for you everytime he looks at you—just how perfect you are, it's undeniable. He's beyond whipped, even after all this time together.

“Fuckin’ beautiful thing…” he murmurs, like a secret torn from somewhere deep, his words rough with pride and heat, meant for you and only you.