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Shouto likes to think they’ve grown. That they’ve grown a lot. That they’ve grown together. That, even if they’re not out of high school yet, they’ve learned to hold what they care about close, not to be afraid of reaching for it.
That peace is frail and priceless, and almost losing each other made them all better at holding on tightly.
And Bakugou—
Well, Bakugou’s special. Bakugou is—Shouto’s, maybe?
Shouto likes to think he is. Likes to think they don’t need to talk about it or pick out a word to decide how to belong to each other. That they just—do. That Bakugou holding his hand in public and calling him princess instead of halfie means more than getting each other anniversary gifts ever will. (Because—Bakugou baked cake from scratch for his birthday and kissed his sweaty temple when Shouto got disgustingly sick and said it’s fine, I won’t catch it like he meant I don’t mind, you’re mine, so.)
Shouto feels justified in assuming that endless mutual devotion can be something they do instead of something they talk about.
But—
Other people haven’t gotten with the program, apparently. Maybe Shouto needs to incentivize some more public ass grabbing on Bakugou’s part, because—
“You’re pouting, Shouto-kun,” says Ochako before reaching to poke his cheek with the tip of her pointer finger. “It’s really cute.”
“I’m not cute,” Shouto protests. Right now, he would like to be other things. Things like threatening and intimidating and capable of turning people into stone with a single look. “I’m angry.”
Ochako laughs. “Sure,” she says. “Still cute, though.”
Shouto grips his fork too tightly. “Why are other people touching my boyfriend?”
“Ooh,” says Ochako delightedly. “He’s your boyfriend now?
Shouto huffs. “He’s always been my boyfriend. I’ve had his dick in my mouth enough times to be sure.”
Which is, of course, the exact moment Izuku decides to take a sip of his banana milk. “Um,” he says, “Shouto-kun, no offense, but I like spending my life without thinking about Kacchan’s dick.”
“Don’t worry,” Shouto says evenly. “It won’t be attached to him for much longer if he keeps letting that general studies floozy grope him.”
Ochako chokes. “Floozy?” she echoes. “Shouto-kun, no one says that.”
“Well—that’s what it’s called, isn’t it? When people disrespect a committed relationship and try to—to take your man away?”
“Oh,” says Izuku, awed like it’s the first time he’s really seeing Shouto. “It’s like that?”
Shouto blinks. “Like what?” he asks.
“Like—you think of Kacchan like that? Like he’s, um, yours?”
That’s an unnecessary thing to ask. “Of course,” Shouto says. “I’m his too.”
Ochako coos. “See,” she says. “I told you they’re both stupid.”
And, while Shouto doesn’t feel particularly complimented or comfortable having his intelligence openly disregarded, it’s almost a little— “Stupid?” he asks. “Why?”
“Because,” Ochako says, dragging the word out, like she’s waiting to pop it like bubblegum. “Bakugou spent all of last week huffing about you going bowling with Inasa.”
“But he was invited too,” says Shouto. “He just didn’t want to come. And Camie said she didn’t want to third wheel, but—oh. She meant it—like a date?”
“Duh,” says Ochako.
“Shouto-kun,” says Izuku, a little bit like he maybe really wants to pinch Shouto’s cheeks. “Kacchan is lucky. Like, really lucky. You know that, right?”
“Um,” says Shouto. “I think I’m lucky too. He’s very sweet.”
Izuku winces like he’s flipping through many varied childhood memories that prove the opposite in his particular case. “Sure,” he says. “I’ll—I’ll take your word for it, Shouto-kun.”
And—
This, apparently, is when his boyfriend who Shouto has never actually asked about calling a boyfriend even amidst all the fervent and frequent dick sucking finally untangles himself from unnamed general course floozies whose one true calling in life seems to be hemming the uniform skirt shorter themselves. Because he’s pressing a kiss the top of Shouto’s head before Shouto has even had time to say anything to him, and then taking a seat pressed too close, like—
Like he didn’t just basically cheat on Shouto in public.
Shouto huffs. “Keep your filthy paws off me,” he says, taking the hand Bakugou shamelessly places high on his thigh off finger by finger.
Ochako bursts out laughing. “That’s a little mean, Shouto-kun.”
“Well,” Shouto says. “If Bakugou wants to touch me, he shouldn’t touch anyone else.” His nose scrunches in distaste. “Or, you know, at least wash his hands first.”
He’s being spoiled, maybe, but—
Bakugou is his. Shouldn’t he know that better than anyone? Shouldn’t he not want to touch anyone who isn’t Shouto in the first place? Even if, strictly speaking, he didn’t. But—even letting himself be touched is inconsiderate. Because he’s Shouto’s. And they could’ve maybe even not made it here. To the part where all’s well. Where they’re no longer both bleeding and broken. Where the world is quieter, and they get to make it through a whole school day where the most exciting thing that happens is a spirited debate on the merits of lemon-flavored ice cream. To—
“What the fuck?” says Bakugou. “I can’t even grope my own boyfriend in peace?”
“No,” Shouto insists. “You can’t. Because I’m not your boyfriend.”
Izuku gasps.
“Sweetheart,” says Bakugou. “C’mon, don’t be difficult.”
“Why not?” Shouto asks. “You clearly have easier options.”
“Kacchan,” says Izuku. “Shouto-kun is mad about, um, well. About other people having close physical contact with you.”
“Close physical—oh, for fuck’s sake. I told her to fuck off. Just took a while ‘cause she was being persistent. And you’re the one who insists hitting a girl is bad, halfie. I’m all for equality.”
Yeah, well—
“Maybe I’m going to revise my views and do it myself next time someone thinks it’s okay to touch what’s mine. How does that sound?”
Bakugou laughs. He swings an arm around Shouto’s shoulders, pulls him in close. “Yeah?” he asks, warm breath tickling Shouto’s earlobe. “You’re going to freeze people to the wall for me? That’s hot.”
“No,” Shouto says. “I’m not going to waste my quirk on something like that, obviously. I’ll just mark my territory.”
“What—you’re gonna piss on me?”
Shouto makes a face. “Don’t be disgusting, Bakugou. There are—far more efficient ways to make a point.”
“Maybe you should go into more detail, Shouto-kun,” says Ochako, chin rested comfortably on her palm. “You know, so Bakugou doesn’t miss the point.”
Shouto crosses his arms over his chest. “Well,” he says. “I would elaborate in private, but Bakugou still needs to wash his hands.”
“But you like it when I get you dirty,” says Bakugou. “Am I wrong?”
It’s—
Not fair, really. How his voice makes Shouto shiver. How he feels off, off, off. Bakugou is right, of course. Cocky as hell, but right. Shouto likes most things, when they’re with him. When Bakugou is the one saying sweetheart and princess and baby while Shouto makes him feel good. Because just Shouto being there does that for him. Because—
If they belong together as easily as they fit together, then there’s really no reason to drag it out.
“You’re mine,” Shouto says. “You’re my—my man, so—,”
“What did you just call me?”
Shouto blinks. “My man?” he repeats. “You are, aren’t you?”
Bakugou makes a sound embarrassingly like a growl. “Oh my god,” he says. His face is, abruptly and inexplicably, red. Tomato red. Beet red. Other assorted vegetables red. “Did you just—oh my fucking god. Shouto, you can’t just—say that shit, what the fuck?”
“Why not?” Shouto asks.
Ochako places a hand over her mouth to stifle her giggles. “I think,” she says, eventually, “it might have something to do with that part of his anatomy you threatened to cut off before he came over.”
Bakugou glares at her. Then— “You wanted to cut off my dick?” he tells Shouto accusingly.
“I mean,” Shouto says easily, “if you intended to put it in someone else, I don’t see a good reason not to.”
Surprisingly, Bakugou laughs. “So I’m only good for my dick?” he asks. “That’s selfish, pretty boy.”
Shouto shakes his head. “It’s not like that,” he says. “But your dick is part of you, and you’re mine, so. I demand exclusive access to it.”
And Bakugou—
Bakugou starts genuinely cackling. “You’re so fucking cute, what the hell?” He squishes Shouto’s cheeks. “All cute and cuddly and deadly and all mine. Think I love you. Is that bad? Or can I be your boyfriend then?”
And—
Shouto does see the glaring flaw in his logic. In pouting a little too hard about it all. And now he can’t even talk unless Bakugou stops treating him like a stuffed animal. “Hey,” he says through squished cheeks. “That hurts.”
Bakugou huffs, but he lets Shouto go. “See what I mean?” he says. “Fuckin’ mixed signals. Usually he likes it when it hurts.”
He still doesn’t get it. Maybe—maybe Shouto’s just that bad at talking, or they both are, but. “I like you,” he insists. “There’s a clear difference. And—and I almost lost you without even telling you. We could’ve—we could’ve grown old and alone and your biggest regret could have been that you never grabbed my butt. That—would be sad, right?”
“Um,” says Izuku before Bakugou has had the chance to say anything at all in response to Shouto’s—confession? Is that what it is? Does it count if they’re already dating? Already each other’s? “Maybe you should discuss your, uh, butt, and Kacchan’s you-know-what in private? Not that I mind, just—just in case the conversation escalates into a practical demonstration. I think that should be private, don’t you? Unless you’ve suddenly changed your stance about other people interacting with Kacchan’s, uh, private parts.”
“Shut up, nerd,” says Bakugou, and—
Shouto laughs. “That’s my best friend,” he says. “Don’t talk to him like that.”
“Yeah? Or what? You’ll pout more, princess?”
Shouto tugs him close by the neck just to whisper in his ear. “No, but,” he threatens. “I won’t let you kiss me next time we cuddle.”
It’s not a threat, really. Bakugou just likes having Shouto close. Holding him without having to ask for it. Likes being the one responsible for keeping him safe. And that’s—sweet, isn’t it? That Shouto doesn’t need to shove everyone out to lick his own wounds in peace. That Bakugou will hold him and touch him and tell him he’s doing well. That he’s pretty and perfect and everything Bakugou wants.
Maybe all that merits forgiveness for letting other people touch what belongs to Shouto. Maybe. Especially considering he didn’t exactly mean to. (Especially considering he looks at Shouto like—like Shouto’s everything. Bakugou’s everything.)
Bakugou pushes him back, tucks a lock of Shouto’s hair behind his ear. “Anything you want,” he says. “Deal? Am I forgiven?”
A small, cramped part of Shouto wants to be petty. The part starved for affection. The part that grew up cold and alone and convinced no one would ever care about him—care for him—if he stopped serving a purpose. If he stopped being perfect. But—
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Shouto admits. “I just—hate it. When you’re not here. With me. Even—even for a second.”
Ochako reaches from across the table just to pinch Shouto’s cheek. “Oh my god,” she says. “If you don’t kiss him, I will, Bakugou.”
And Bakugou—Bakugou honest-to-god snarls in her face. “Yeah, right,” he says. “This one’s mine. Get your own.”
Something deep and low inside Shouto flutters. Mine. He likes that. Likes belonging. Likes how Bakugou leans in with so much tenderness that’s just for Shouto and kisses him like the rest of the world has melted away, like it doesn’t—couldn’t—matter compared to Shouto.
Maybe he just has abandonment issues. Either way—
Bakugou feels warm. Bakugou holds Shouto like he’s precious. And maybe—
Maybe they’ve been stumbling here since the first time Bakugou got in his face just to yell that he was better and he was going to prove it, but—Shouto doubts that boy would have laughed at the (very real and very genuine) suggestion of being castrated for any potential indiscretions, or kissed Shouto in public like this, or held him like he knows. Like he knows he has him forever.
Like he doesn’t need to wonder or worry. Like he’s sure.
That’s nice. The tangible result of this much safety being comfort. Being his person. Bakugou.
“I have a secret,” Shouto says. He’s smiling, can’t help it. “I like you too much to damage your dick in any way.”
“Just like?” Bakugou says, openly amused.
Shouto shakes his head. If they’re being precise— “I love you. A lot.”
“That’s more like it.”
They’ll be fine, probably. With a bit more time. A bit more effort. With the certainty that whatever the future may hold, they’ll face it together. Will hold hands through the storm. Or something like that. Shouto isn’t sure. But he bets it’ll be okay. Because—
“Oh, thank god,” says Ochako, and Izuku smiles, and—
Shouto has that too, now. Friends who love him. Who threaten his boyfriend for him. Boyfriend. That sounds nice.
Really, really nice. Like love.