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The silver bleachers overlooking the rugby field were shockingly cold for how early it was in the season, but still, Bakugou dropped his backpack down onto one and took a seat. He had no interest in rugby as a whole, despite how rough around the edges he seemed. Plus, his temper was stretched far too thin to attempt such a heavy contact sport; one extra hits him too hard, and he’s throwing punches. School sports weren’t his thing at all, he preferred boxing over teamwork and cooperation, and all that bullshit UA preached at them regularly. Give him a pair of gloves and an octagon, and he’d be perfectly content beating the shit out of his increasingly difficult opponents.
And yet, he’d been coming out here every day to watch their practicing.
Reaching into his bag, Bakugou dug out his lunch and settled back, watching as meatheads tumbled over one another and hit the turf, sending dirt and grass flying. Fucking ridiculous. He began eating, wondering how these jocks went about this sport without losing brain cells. They probably don’t, he thought, I doubt any of them make good enough grades to go here. But appearances are king.
And speaking of appearances.
Bakugou knew exactly why he came out here, watched a bloody and brain killing sport during his lunch period instead of doing anything else with his time. And there he was, pulling one of his teammates up and roughly patting his head before shoving him back into the fray. Red hair was tied back into a bun, signature for when he was on the field, a white headband holding back any strays. His practice clothes weren’t much to see, a plain gray tank top and gold running shorts, but he lifted the edge of his shirt to wipe at his forehead, and Bakugou got a good look at his tight, brown abs, and he swallowed hard.
Kirishima Eijirou.
His jersey number was six. His body was an immovable mass of muscle , much bulkier than Bakugou’s own but not so much that it was gross to look at. His hair was vibrantly red, and Bakugou knew it was a dye job, but he didn’t care when it looked that fucking good . He was always pulling his teammates up, giving them encouragements of both the physical and verbal kind. He smiled a lot, probably way too much for a sport that relied on trying to kill the opposing team, and his teeth were sharp in his mouth.
That was what pulled Bakugou in the most. While Kirishima was all laughter and smiles with his teammates, the blond had seen how he was on the field. Scrimmages were typical among the UA team, and he’d never forget the day someone, mid-tackle, had thrown an elbow at Kirishima’s face, making his nose drip red. The game went on, but Bakugou’s mouth went dry as the other boy had tasted the blood with a smirk, diving back into fighting without a word.
He thought about that day far too often.
Bakugou knew he was spoiled. Growing up, no was not a word he’d heard in his household often. Typically, if he wanted something, his father would jump to get it for him. His mother would ruffle his hair and call him a brat before ultimately doing the same, though. As soon as he got his license, he’d had a brand new car waiting for him at home. Every new phone and laptop would find their way onto his desk, every vacation a place he wanted to go to. If Bakugou Katsuki wanted it, he got it.
And he wanted Kirishima Eijirou.
There was only one big issue with that; this wasn’t just something he could ask his parents for. He couldn’t just walk into his mother’s office and demand she bring him Kirishima in all his sweaty, sexy glory. No, this issue involved feelings and talking to people and God. He fucking hated being involved with people. He had friends, yeah, but since his last relationship had blown up in a blaze of angst and heartbreak, he’d avoided relationships all together. This issue would take tact, time and patience; all things he did not possess.
“We were wondering where your angsty ass ran off to. Should have known.”
People surrounded him and he glowered angrily at the purple haired speaker.
“Fuck off, Eyebags. What do you all fucking want?” He spat, sticking food in his mouth. His friends- the annoyances who never quite seemed to leave him alone -set their stuff down around him, Jirou casting a glance towards the field.
“Still anger pining? You know that kind of approach only works in movies; not great for getting a boyfriend in real life,” She said, propping her legs up on Tokoyami’s lap, who adjusted and pulled them closer to his chest. “Seriously, just talk to the guy.”
“ Fuck off ,” He hissed, as if the players on the field could somehow hear them through the aggressive training they were under. “Fuck off, I can’t just fucking talk to a guy like that.”
“A guy like what? A cheery team player with the world’s cutest dimples?” Shinsou drawled, eyebrow raised at him. Bakugou’s glare only intensified.
“Exactly. I’m probably not even his type.”
“What do you mean by that?” Jirou scoffed. “You’re like, one of the hottest guys in our grade, probably even the entire school. Plus, you have a car and you’re actually decent at driving, which is very hard to come by in a gay man.”
“Shut up, Headphones!” He shouted, making the other two boys laugh. “And I didn’t mean it like that, fuck you!”
“You mean the fact that you act like a feral dog, right?” Shinsou chuckled, making Bakugou slam his fist against the metal of the bleachers.
“ I mean that he may be straight, you dumbasses! ” He yelled.
The thought constantly turned his stomach, that Kirishima may be straight. It wasn’t likely- what straight person would dye their hair that color of red? -but it was still possible. The idea of Kirishima liking women, dating women, kissing women, it was upsetting. Bakugou had liked straight guys before, but usually, after a drunken night of ‘experimentation’, he was over them and never went back. But he knew, he knew, if he ever got a taste of Kirishima, he’d never move on. He’d want to sink his nails into those biceps and never let go.
“We’ve got an audience,” Tokoyami muttered, and Bakugou looked up to see quite a few of the rugby guys watching them. One of them was Kirishima, bottom lip caught between those sharp teeth and fuck -
Standing, he tossed his food back in his bag. “We’re leaving.”
“We?” Jirou questioned, making him crane his head back at her.
“Let’s go, or you all can forget about getting a ride home tonight.” He commanded, tone leaving no room for argument. Turning his back on them again, he stormed down the bleachers and back towards the building, knowing his friends were on his tail. Perks of being the angriest out of your specific group of punks, you were the designated leader.
“I doubt he’s straight, Bakugou. I’ve never met a straight man with fire engine red hair,” Jirou tried comforting him, catching up to him and lacing her arm in his. He grumbled about the contact but didn’t stop her, noticing how her platform boots nearly put her at eye level. “It’s like girls with blue hair; none of them are straight.”
“I’ve thought about that,” He grumbled honestly, stopping at his locker to fish out his chemistry textbook. “But like, rugby is probably the most masculine of masculine sports to play. Plus, have you seen how he dresses?”
“Like a dad on summer vacation,” Shinsou leaned against the locker next to Bakugou’s, smiling softly. “Gay guys have better style than that. Sorry, man.”
“I know,” He groaned, dropping his head into his locker with a thunk .
“Jesus, what’s up with us and falling for straight people?” Jirou sighed, and Bakugou lifted his head just long enough to watch Yaoyorozu turn the corner. “You’d think we’d have better sense.”
“Or better taste, on Bakugou’s part,” Shinsou pushed himself upright and didn’t even flinch when Bakugou grabbed him by his shirt collar.
“You’re one to talk, Eyebags. How’s Monoma doing?” He sneered, making Tokoyami step up to them.
“Alright, calm down, both of you. Katsuki, let Hitoshi go. Hitoshi, apologize,” His voice was as collected as ever, calmingly cool. Scoffing, Bakugou released Shinsou and watched him stumble back a step or two.
“Sorry, Blasty,” He shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Whatever,” The blond grumbled, not even angry anymore. “I’ll see you all after class. Get the fuck out of here, emos.”
They went their separate ways, and Bakugou headed to his least favorite class of the day. Not because he didn’t understand it or hated science in particular- he didn’t, science was actually his favorite subject and might be his career choice at some point down the line -but because he had the class with him. Kirishima, who was already in his seat when Bakugou walked in. He was talking to his seatmate, a round faced girl who wore way too much pink, a smile on his face, bun on his head messy and loose.
God, he was fucking hot .
Pushing past a few idiots standing in the aisle, he plopped himself down at his table and dropped his textbook on it, notebook following after. He just needed to not think about Kirishima and his stupid red hair and his stupid smile and his fucking cute dimples- no. It was lab day, and he’d been looking forward to this all week. Plus, his lab partner was Yaoyorozu, which meant they were always way ahead of everyone else in terms of comprehension and skill. This would be a good day.
“Good afternoon everyone, I hope you had a filling lunch and are ready for lab today,” Their teacher walked in already speaking, setting down a stack of papers on her desk, some stapled, some looseleaf and fluttering to the floor. Kirishima snatched a few of them out of the air and handed them to her, making her smile. “Thank you. Now, last lab there was some great work. However, some of you had… less than desirable scores.”
Bakugou didn’t need his and Yaoyorozu’s notes back to know they’d killed it. He glanced over at her and she smiled softly, as if reading his thoughts.
“So, after scoring your lab and reviewing notes, I’ve decided we’re switching up partners.”
No . Fuck, that meant both Bakugou and Yaoyorozu would be stuck with one of these morons who could barely hold a pencil. His seatmate seemed to echo his concerns, raising her hand to be called on.
“Ma’am, with all due respect, Bakugou and I work incredibly well together, dividing lab work itself and notes; is splitting us up going to set our work ethic back?” She worded her question like a true scholar, and Bakugou was glad she’d spoken instead of him. It wouldn’t have sounded the same if he said the two of them didn’t want to be paired up with these dumbasses.
“Yaoyorozu and Bakugou, you two are incredibly intelligent students, and I think your intelligence would be much appreciated by some of your classmates,” Their teacher gave Yaoyorozu a smile and Bakugou crossed his arms. Yeah, they’d appreciate us doing all their fucking work for them, wouldn’t they? “So, at station one, we have Yaoyorozu and Mineta.”
Bakugou instantly looked at his seatmate, who picked up her things with a grimace. God, their teacher really wanted to fuck up their grades, huh? The blond watched as people were paired and split off, leaving him waiting for whatever fucking idiot he’d be working with.
“Station seven, Bakugou and Kirishima.”
I am going to kill God.
Anger radiated off of him in waves as he collected his things, heading to his new lab station. Fuck, he was supposed to work in close quarters with this guy? This guy who no doubt was missing a brain cell or twelve, the literal ray of sunshine who was constantly on Bakugou’s mind? How was he supposed to work with him without losing his mind? Didn’t seem possible, he wanted a new lab partner, this was bullshit!
“Hey man,” Kirishima greeted him, hand on the back of his neck. “Hope you don’t mind us working together, I promise I’ll try my best!”
God, why did he have to be so fucking nice? Fixing him with a blank stare, Bakugou flipped open his textbook. “Good, because I’m not carrying your ass.”
“You won’t have to! I’m Eijirou Kirishima, by the way. Most of my friends call me Kiri, though,” He introduced himself as Bakugou reread over their lab, casting Kirishima a glare. There was no way he’d call him that, absolutely not, not without spontaneously combusting.
“Bakugou Katuski,” He responded, handing Kirishima a pair of goggles. “Do you know how to take lab notes?”
“Yeah!” He cried, strapping the goggles to his face. They made him vaguely frog-like and Bakugou wanted to scream. Why did that look so fucking… cute? “I take great notes, you just tell me what to write down; you’re in charge here, boss!”
“Damn fucking right,” Bakugou snorted. Ah, shit, did that sound arrogant? Even though that was his fucking, well, personality, he probably should be nicer to this guy if he even stood a chance at making an impression.
Then, Kirishima laughed, draping an arm across Bakugou’s shoulders and holy shit he was fucking ripped, what the fuck? What the actual fuck, how could he be so fucking attractive?
Shrugging the arm off, even though he could let it rest there for hours without complaint, he pointed at Kirishima’s notebook. “Start writing.”
Over the course of the lab, Bakugou found himself actually… enjoying it. Kirishima took diligent notes per the blond’s instructions and didn’t fiddle or fuck around with their project. He knew he was having a better time than Yaoyorozu, who’s lab partner had been sent to the nurses office about twenty minutes in. Plus, Kirishima was an actual ray of sunshine, complimenting Bakugou’s technique and cracking jokes that had the blond fighting back smiles and laughter throughout the class.
“What grade do you have in this class?” Bakugou asked as he lowered the temperature of their flame. “You’re taking decent notes for someone not doing great.”
“I have a C, so not too terrible,” He explained, leaning in a bit closer to the test tube. “No change.”
“Hm,” The blond hummed, flicking off the flame. “Finish the graph, we’ll do the rest together.”
“No problem, bro!”
Bro . Kirishima had been calling him that all period and it was… not terrible. His friends weren’t the bro type, all preferring to call one another mean nicknames or plain first names as a sign of affection. Being called bro certainly felt different.
As he cleaned up their work station, Bakugou found himself staring at Kirishima. His eyebrows were furrowed in concentration, lip pulled between his teeth again; it must be a habit for him. Bakugou wondered if his bottom lip had indents where his teeth would sink in. It was highly possible, considering how pointed his teeth were. He wanted to run his thumb over his skin and find out.
“I got something on my face?”
Eyes snapping up to his, Bakugou felt color invade his cheeks and he quickly turned back to the beakers he was cleaning. “No, you don’t.”
“Just looking, huh? I get it, I’m a pretty handsome guy; I’d stare at me too!” He joked, and Bakugou’s eyes narrowed. Okay, was this a straight guy uncomfortably playing off being stared at, or a gay guy flirting? His gaze slid over to Kirishima, who had his cheek propped up against a palm, grinning.
Fuck it. Fuck it, Bakugou Katsuki was no fucking wimp who ran away when confronted. He liked this guy, and he’d be damned if he didn’t take the shot when it was literally right in front of him. Worst case scenario, the guy says he’s straight and they move on. Okay scenario, he’s straight but down to fuck, and Bakugou gets to bite and kiss those fucking abs at least once.
Best case, he’s gay and into Bakugou and they start dating and get married.
Crossing his arms, he turned to face Kirishima, leaning against their lab station with a glare. “Do you have a girlfriend?”
The red head looked caught off-guard before laughing, shaking his head a little. “Uh, no. I’m gay.”
HOLY SHIT.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” He asked, trying to calm his heart down. It was fucking pounding , this was going good, he was so fucking close to having Kirishima and keeping him for-fucking-ever.
“Nope,” Kirishima scoffed, still smiling.
Bakugou was done beating around the bush. “Are you free this Friday?”
Kirishima blinked a few times, stammering, “Uh, I have rugby until 6.”
“After that then,” He decided, pushing himself upright and going to finish putting their lab supplies away. “I’ll drive you home and we can get dinner or something.”
“Yeah, hell yeah!” Kirishima cheered, and Bakugou couldn’t keep a smile off his face that time. “I’ll see you then!”
By Friday, the chilly fall weather had finally set in. Bakugou had taken his dumbass friends home, all of them teasing and prodding at him to get information about his date, only laughing when he’d threatened to crash the car. He wasn’t nervous- Bakugou Katsuki didn’t get nervous about anything -but he was feeling… something. There was a bit of a lump in his throat, and he’d been picking at one of the rips in his jeans for at least thirty minutes.
It was a few minutes after six, and Kirishima had texted saying he was taking a shower before they went out. Bakugou took a deep breath and started up a random playlist, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel as he watched across the parking lot for Kirishima.
Soon enough, a bright head of hair and an even brighter smile came walking up to the car, the other boy getting in the passenger seat and closing the door a little too roughly.
“Watch the door, jackass,” Bakugou griped, taking in Kirishima’s appearance. He hadn’t been expecting much, maybe a Hawaiian shirt and Crocs, which were per the usual for the red head. Instead, he wore black jeans and a white shirt, a tan cargo jacket layered over the top. The shirt was probably a bit small, because every movement had muscles bulging at the seam and Bakugou had to look away because it was far too much. “Who did you shake down for clothes? You’re not wearing Crocs.”
“Sorry about that!” Kirishima apologized, then reached back to tighten his ponytail. “These are my clothes! I figured I should look nice since you do.”
Fuck, he thinks I look good .
“Fuck off, I’m just wearing clothes,” He mumbled, pulling out of his parking space. “Look good, though.”
“Aw, thanks!”
“Shut up,” He turned out onto the main road. “What do you want for dinner?”
“Dude, I’d kill for a steak right now,” Kirishima groaned, head hitting Bakugou’s seat.
“Steakhouse, then,” Bakugou agreed, hoping Kirishima wasn’t expecting somewhere super upscale or fancy. Sure, Bakugou knew places like that and had been to plenty of them, but he was definitely not dressed for one of them. But, he didn’t want to flaunt his money, didn’t want Kirishima to see him as pompous or just as someone with money. He, fucking hell, wanted Kirishima to like him for his personality. As fucking cheesy as it sounded.
The steakhouse wasn’t too overcrowded, the pair being seated not long after arriving. It was a nice place, but not too nice. Right? God, he was fucking overthinking this shit. Glaring at his menu, he tried to read through the options to get his fucking ridiculous mind to shut up.
“You know, if you didn’t want steak, we could have gone somewhere else,” Kirishima’s teasing voice drew his eyes up and he clicked his tongue, rolling his eyes at the red head.
“Just thinking about how shit this food is going to be compared to mine,” He explained, tilting his menu down to see his partner’s face. “I make a pretty good steak.”
“Really? You should cook for me sometime,” Kirishima purred. Fuck, god, Bakugou’s face went red and he quickly flipped his menu back up.
“If you like the taste of cyanide, you’ll love it.” He threatened, and Kirishima had the audacity to laugh with that fucking rumbling belly laugh that made Bakugou never want to stop telling jokes, if it meant he got that reaction every time.
They placed their orders and Bakugou was stuck staring into his glass. See, this is why he didn’t go on dates; he had the social skills of a fucking rock. Unless he was insulting people or yelling, he really didn’t talk much. Small talk was fucking hard and useless in the end, and yet, all he could think to bring up in that moment was the fucking weather . If Shinsou, Jirou and Tokoyami could see him now, they’d be laughing their asses off.
“You know, I was kind of surprised you asked me out,” Kirishima admitted, making Bakugou’s head snap up. “I didn’t think I was your type.”
“What did you assume my type was?”
“You know, like your friends,” The red head rubbed the back of his neck nervously. “Cool, rebellious punk types. Plus, they’re like, ridiculously skinny and pale; figured you were into the whole sickly Victorian child vibe.”
Bakugou couldn’t help it, he laughed. He laughed at the statement, shaking his head. “No, no. They’re my friends, yeah, but I’d rather die than date one of them. All the reasons you said are reasons I wouldn’t date them; we’re all way too similar.”
Kirishima was staring at him, mouth slightly agape. “Whoa.”
“What, idiot?”
“You’re super pretty when you smile,” He said, awed.
Rolling his eyes, Bakugou looked away. “Shut the hell up. Yeah, they aren’t my type.”
“Then… I am?” Kirishima asked.
“Fuck off,” Bakugou looked back to him. “Yes, you are. I’m fucking super into you, have been for a while so shut up.”
Their food was placed down in front of them and Kirishima tried to fight a smile from his face as he spoke back up.
“A while? How long?”
“I’m not having this conversation,” He spat, going for the steak sauce. A hand caught his and held on, strong despite the blond’s efforts to pull himself free. Fuck , he was strong. “Fucking what?”
“Tell me how long and I’ll let you go,” Kirishima chirped brightly and God, Bakugou was in deep; if he got everything he wanted, then he’d willingly give it all to Kirishima.
“Since that fucking scrimmage. Your teammate hit you in the nose, you got a nosebleed and you just dove back in without a moment’s notice. I thought you were tough as hell, and I liked it,” He answered. “Now can I have the fucking steak sauce?”
“That scrimmage was like, six months ago,” His hand was released. “You’ve had it bad, huh?”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“I noticed you too, you know,” Kirishima admitted. “We’ve had a few classes together in the past, but when you started eating lunch on the bleachers is when I really noticed you. You always looked so cool, but not like you were even trying to; it was just natural for you to be cool. Plus, I’ve always kind of had a thing for blonds.”
Bakugou bit the inside of his cheek harshly, hoping he wasn’t fucking blushing again. He felt like a damn Victorian novel protagonist; why was it so fucking easy for Kirishima to get him blushing?
“Good thing I asked you out before anyone else could,” He commented, passing Kirishima the steak sauce when he gestured for it. “Like that one cheerleader. What’s her name, Casey?”
“Camie,” Kirishima supplied with a wince. “And she has asked me out. Like, three or four times. I finally had to tell her I was gay to get her to leave me alone.”
“Kind of ridiculous she didn’t know. Your hair is… something.”
There was that laugh again. Bakugou couldn’t remember the last time someone had laughed at his grizzly exterior rather than being put off by it. He smiled softly, hiding it by shoving a piece of steak in his mouth.
“I know! My moms always told me if I ended up anything but gay, they’d be extremely concerned about their parenting,” He chuckled. “And when mom caught Mina bleaching my hair one day, she started laughing and told mama they’d succeeded.”
“You bleach it? That is awful for your hair,” Bakugou couldn’t imagine that red mop being anything other than soft, though, even with at home dye jobs. “What color is your hair naturally?”
“Black! I don’t have a choice! You wanna see the first bleach attempt?” Kirishima was already digging out his phone. “And not all of us are blessed with such soft blond hair like you. Seriously, I’d kill for that color.”
The photo was of a much younger Kirishima, shorter and thinner than he was now. His hair was an ugly, brassy orange, and looked frizzed. It was clear he was standing in a mirror, and his face looked nothing but pitiful. Bakugou laughed shortly, shaking his head and looking back to Kirishima, who was giving him this… gentle smile that stopped his laughter. Fuck, no one had ever looked at him like that. Ever. His heart pounded in his chest and he cleared his throat.
“We got it professionally done after that,” He explained as he put his phone away. “And you see the results.”
“Well, now you’re fire engine red, Shitty Hair.”
Kirishima just beamed, nudging Bakugou’s leg with his own. It felt nice, his leg pressed against the blond’s, and if he didn’t move away at the contact, that was his own damn business. God, he felt like such a girl when he set his hand on the table, not meeting the red head’s eyes when he spoke.
“You know, when you had my hand earlier… that wasn’t… terrible.”
A warm, calloused, big hand slid into his and squeezed slightly. “You’re cute.”
“Fuck off, or I’ll break your fingers,” Bakugou growled, stuffing a piece of mushroom in his mouth.
“I don’t doubt it.”
Bakugou quickly found out Kirishima talked a lot. And that was fine, because he didn’t and, in all cheesy honesty, he could listen to Kirishima talk for hours and never get bored. He found out his moms names were Elena and Hiriko, and they owned a restaurant in the old district of their city. Kirishima had a younger sister, Ichika, who had just entered elementary school and was just as much of a spit fire as Elena, apparently. The red head laughed when he recounted stories of his dumbass friends, and all Bakugou could do was stare in awe.
The check was placed down on their table and Bakugou reached for it, flipping the book open and digging for his wallet with one hand.
“Oh, I can get it-”
“Shut up, Shitty Hair. I asked you out, I’ll pay,” He tossed his card onto the book, making Kirishima chuckle quietly. “What’s funny?”
“You know, that would probably be easier with two hands.” He glanced at where their fingers were linked, and Bakugou squeezed, not hard enough to hurt, of course.
“You saying you wanna let go?” The blond knew his tone was even as always, angry and low. He hoped the fear that, yes, Kirishima did want to let go wasn’t evident.
“No way.”
“Good,” He grumbled as their checkbook was taken away. “Because I wouldn’t have let you anyway.”
Their bill was settled and they left, hands still clasped together as they stepped out to a darkened sky, sun slowly setting. It was cold, and he cursed lowly, rubbing his arm with his free hand. Kirishima’s hand slipped from his and he turned on him, already ready for an argument, when his date dropped his jacket over the blond’s shoulders and- it smelled really good . Like laundry detergent and spice, with a lingering scent of hair gel. It was utterly Kirishima and he tugged it closer around his body.
“You’re gonna get cold,” He protested, already slipping his arms into the sleeves. His hand was gripped again Kirishima tugged him in, arm sliding around his shoulders.
“Then stay close to me.”
It was cliche. It was ridiculously cutesy, cheesy in a way that would make Bakugou sick if he wasn’t on the receiving end of it. Instead, his chest warmed in a way that was unusual for him. They reached his car and he turned to face the red head, noting how there was an inch or two difference between them. Kirishima looked bashful, red dusting the tops of his cheekbones and God, Bakugou was in deep for this boy already.
“Hey, Bakugou-”
“Call me Katsuki,” He cut him off, and he noted the small shake in Kirishima’s shoulders. Good to know they were just as nervous as the other.
“Katsuki,” He whispered, and Bakugou felt his breath catch. “Can I kiss you?”
“You don’t have to ask, dumbass,” He responded, reaching out and fisting his hands in Kirishima’s shirt. “Just do it.”
There was a moment’s pause between them, then Kirishima bent, Bakugou pushed up, and their lips met. And there was a second, as if they were comprehending, catching their brains up to their bodies, and their lips were moving. His lips were soft against the blond’s, which was surprising but nice nonetheless. There was a hand on his lower back, holding their torsos together and Bakugou would be happy doing nothing else for the rest of his life but kiss Kirishima.
Breaking away, his partner looked pleased, humming quietly in his throat as Bakugou pressed his face into Kirishima’s neck, the skin warm against his flushed face.
“Hey, you said something earlier. You wouldn’t let me let you go?” Kirishima mused, hands gripping Bakugou’s waist.
“Yeah. You’re mine now, Kirishima.”
“Eijirou.”
“Eijirou.”