Work Text:
“Oi, Red!” The shout came from across the street as a piece of rubble flew through the air. “What did you want to do for Christmas?”
BOOM. A victory cheer.
Kirishima Eijirou rolled his eyes as he held up a wall, urging the civilians to move away from the scene. “You’re asking that now?”
A streak of black, orange, and green split the sky for a moment followed by more explosions. “What? Busy or something?” BOOM. Kirishima thinks that’s the villain hitting the asphalt, but he can’t be too certain. “I was thinking-” BOOM. Okay, that was definitely the villain. “-we could just go to my mom’s. She always gets the chicken.”
The smirk was apparent in Bakugo’s voice and Kirishima chuckled as he weighed the suggestion. “We’ll talk about-” He finally spotted the accomplice and charged at him, taking him down with a hardened body slam before he could activate his quirk. “We’ll talk about it later, Dynamight.” He rolled the accomplice on his stomach and tied his wrists together, packaging him up neatly for the authorities.
With both the villain and the accomplice incapacitated, Kirishima was finally able to step back and take a proper look at the damage caused by this fight. The bank the villain and accomplice had been attempting to rob had a large crater in the side of it, the street was cracked and there were several new potholes, and a couple trees had been knocked down. Overall, not too shabby.
Once the police came and took the accomplice into custody, Kirishima made his way over to the ambulances, checking in with the civilians. They all smiled and thanked him while shaking his hand. No one had been seriously hurt and Kirishima felt a weight release off his chest. A hand snaked its way around his waist and he felt himself being pulled into the warmth of another body. The smell of burning sugar wafted into his nose and he smiled, turning to face the man behind him.
“Good work out there, Red.” Bakugo Katsuki smiled softly, privately, and traced a thumb along the redhead’s back.
“You too, Dynamight.” He reached up and wiped at a spot of soot smudged across Bakugo’s cheek. “About Christmas-”
Suddenly, chaos broke. Reporters pushed forward; cameras flashing, lights blinking, microphones shoved in their faces.
“DYNAMIGHT!”
“RED RIOT!”
“MR. GREAT EXPLOSION!”
“ANY COMMENTS ABOUT TODAY’S FIGHT?”
“KISS FOR THE CAMERA?”
“DYNAMIGHT, IT LOOKED LIKE YOU WERE STRUGGLING-”
Bakugo stepped forward, teeth bared. “Struggling my ass. We kicked ass and took names and you all know it.” He seethed.
Kirishima laughed warmly and put a hand on Bakugo’s shoulder, stepping in front of him. “What my partner means to say is that today’s fight was tough, but not unmanageable! There was minimal damage to the city and only minor civilian injuries.”
A reporter with mousy brown hair and crooked glasses shoved his way through the group and pushed his microphone so far into Bakugo’s face that it nearly touched his lips. “Do you think working with your boytoy is clouding your judgement on the battlefield?”
Both Kirishima and Bakugo froze. The blond’s finger twitched and Kirishima felt, more than saw, his body tighten like a snake about to strike. A nervous chuckle floated out of his mouth and he tightened his grip on his boyfriend’s shoulder. “Let’s get going-”
“BOYTOY???” Bakugo snapped, eyes blazing and palms sparking. “I SHOULD KILL-”
Kirishima sat in the chair next to Bakugo in the office, feeling remarkably like he was fifteen again. They were both still in their hero suits, having been summoned immediately upon their return to the agency. He glanced at Bakugo who was sitting with his hands on his knees. His fingers tapped an irritated rhythm and Kirishima fought the urge to take his hand in his.
“You understand that what you said and did was not appropriate.” The cool voice of Tsuchiya Kazumi, the agency’s PR manager, edged on irritated for the first time in ages.
Bakugo huffed and crossed his arms, rolling his eyes. “The shithead got exactly what he deserved.”
Tsuchiya looked at him with a neatly manicured brow lifted in disdain. “You destroyed multiple cameras and tore off his toupee.” Silence. “Hundreds of dollars in personal damage because you couldn’t keep your temper in check.” More silence. Kirishima opened his mouth to fill it, but was stopped short by a quick glare from the small yet intimidating woman. “You will make this up by taking some of the newbies out on patrol. Make yourself look good for the public. Do I make myself clear?”
“Who’s the one signing paychecks again?” Bakugo grumbled, but she was not deterred.
“I said: Do I make myself clear, Mr. Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight?” She stared unwaveringly at the hot headed blond, daring him to challenge her again. When he huffed out a breath and rolled his eyes, nodding ever so slightly, her face softened into a smile. “There, was that so hard?” She looked at Kirishima and warmed further. “And Mr. Red Riot, you did fantastic work as always. Your ranking is doing wonderful!” She clapped her hands and turned back to her computer. “Lovely seeing you boys as always. Don’t be strangers now!”
The dismissal was clear, so the men made their way out of the room, heading toward the locker room. Bakugo bumped his shoulder into Kirishima’s as they walked in step together.
“You never answered my question.”
“Hm? Oh about Christmas?” Kirishima smiled sheepishly and looked at his feet. A slow blush was spreading along his cheeks. He cursed himself mentally; this was just Bakugo, his best friend of the last, what, 10 years? So what if it’s their first Christmas together as a couple? They’ve spent many Christmases together before, nothing should be different about this one. But still… “I was thinking we could make dinner and spend Christmas Eve together? It’s our first Christmas together together and…I want it to be special, you know?” He looked down at his feet, counting his steps and trying to ease his stupid heart.
Bakugo stopped walking, reaching for Kirishima’s hand and pulling him to a stop as well. He looked at the redhead with such an intensity that Kirishima wondered idly if he should start wearing sunglasses around him. “Whatever we do will be special. Because it’s with each other.” He squeezed Kirishima’s hand firmly. “If you want to do dinner, we can do that. I can cook your favorite-”
“I want to cook it.” Kirishima interrupted.
Bakugo blinked. “You don’t even like making your own instant noodles.”
“I want to cook dinner for us.” He repeated, trying to look as serious as he could.
Another blink before an easy smile made its way across the blond’s face. “Alrighty, then.” He stepped forward, ruffling Kirishima’s hair as he passed. “Let’s hit the showers, chef. We both stink.”
Half an hour and a couple showers later, Bakugo turned to Kirishima and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. “I’ve gotta finish up some paperwork from today. You head home, I’ll bring carryout when I’m done.”
Kirishima rolled his eyes and lightly punched Bakugo’s shoulder. “You’re such a sap, you know that?” He grinned, snaking a hand behind Bakugo’s neck and pulling him in for a quick kiss. He never ceased to be surprised by how electrifying it felt to press his lips to Bakugo’s; warm, soft, almost delicate. A total juxtaposition to the man before him. “I’ll see you later.” He was a little breathless when he pulled away, but he got his bearings quickly. Kirishima had his own tasks to complete.
Christmas was only a week away, so he needed to start planning immediately. He wanted this year to be nothing short of perfect. As he made his way to his motorcycle, Kirishima began going through the (...limited) list of dishes that he knew how to make. Putting on his helmet he sighed. He knew what he had to do, but he was scared of screwing it up.
He had meant to go home, really. He had no idea how he had made it all the way to Todoroki’s house, he’d been so lost in thought that he hadn’t paid attention to the turns he was making on his bike.
“Well…I’m here, I guess.” Kirishima mumbled as he stepped off the bike.
“Kirishima.” A voice spoke from the door of the house and the redhead startled.
“Todoroki! How did you know I was out here?” Kirishima laughed as he started walking up to the entry. “I haven’t even knocked yet.”
“Kokoro told me.” His voice was monotone, but Kirishima could hear the warmth underneath. He stepped aside, showing an immaculately groomed toy poodle sitting patiently at his feet. “Come in.”
After following Todoroki inside and taking off his shoes, Kirishima couldn’t wait another second, the words stumbling over themselves as if fighting to get out first. “Can you show me how to make mapo tofu? I want to make it for Bakugo but I’m really bad in the kitchen and I need it to be perfect and your family makes it right? I guess that’s why I thought of you. But if you’re busy I totally understand. I mean, I did come over unannounced and-”
“Is this for Christmas?”
Damn him for being so observant. Wouldn’t be manly to lie about it. “Yes.”
His friend was quiet for a moment. “I have all the ingredients. Let me text Fuyumi and get her recipe. I haven’t made it in a while.”
“Thank you! You can keep the food for tonight, Bakugo is bringing back dinner.” Kirishima grinned and put out his fist for a bump. Todoroki hesitantly knocked his fist into the redhead’s, having long since learned it was easier to just go along with these signs of affection. “You’re the best!”
Kirishima shot Bakugo a text saying that he was at Todoroki’s house for a bit and ten minutes later he was tying on an extra apron his friend had laying around.
An hour later, the dish was complete. Tofu glistening in the sauce, the aroma of spices and cooked pork filling the air, steam rising from the bowl. Kirishima beamed with pride. “I did it!” He turned and faced Todoroki who looked rather exhausted.
“Despite your best efforts, you did.” There was a small scorch mark on Todoroki’s apron from the small kitchen fire Kirishima had accidentally started early into the process.
The pair of friends each took a fork and tried a bit of the food, eyes widening as they realised that it truly was delicious. “Dude, Fuyumi’s recipe is incredible! I bet hers tastes even better than this!”
After setting aside a portion for Todoroki’s dinner and packaging the rest away for leftovers, Kirishima said his farewells and made his way back home.
The week went by quickly without much fanfare. Patrols, some minor villains, paperwork, nothing out of the ordinary, but Kirishima was buzzing with a mix of excitement and anxiety. As Christmas Eve inched closer, Kirishima found himself repeating the steps to his recipe in his mind like a mantra.
Fry the ginger and garlic.
Add the pork.
Add the peppercorn, careful not to let it burn.
Add the bean sauce and chicken broth, then let simmer.
Thicken with cornstarch and water mixture.
Add in chili oil and tofu, cook for 3-5 minutes.
Finish with scallions and sesame oil.
Over and over he repeated these instructions, determined to have it be perfect. Bakugo deserved nothing less than the best.
“Oi, Red.” A knock on his office door and a familiar voice cut through Kirishima’s train of thought. The redhead looked up from his forgotten report, blinking in surprise to see Bakugo smiling from the threshold. “Let’s pack it in for the day.”
Kirishima blinked and glanced at the clock. “But it’s only 2pm? I’m still writing this report-”
“It’s Christmas Eve and we own this agency. I’m saying our work day is over.” His tone left little room for arguing and he lifted an expectant brow, stepping to the side and gesturing for Kirishima to leave with him.
A warm chuckle bubbled out of Kirishima’s throat as he shook his head, already placing the report back in its folder. “Yessir, Mr. Dynamight.” He got up and met Bakugo at the door, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before heading down the hallway.
Having carpooled to the agency this morning, the couple made their way down to the parking garage. Sidekicks and interns wished them a happy holiday as they passed and they reminded them to also get home to their families soon. It’s a holiday to be with loved ones, Kirishima would say with a smile and a wave. When they got to Bakugo’s Porche, the blond opened the door for the redhead, ever the gentleman for his boyfriend, before making his way to the driver’s side.
The drive was quick, filled with light chatter and Bakugo’s hand resting firmly on Kirishima’s thigh. Despite his memorization of the recipe, he fretted about missing a step or burning the peppercorns or overcooking the tofu. He chewed his lip, thinking of every possible way this dinner could fail, what that would mean about him as a partner. Someone imperfect. Someone who couldn’t do even a simple task like making dinner.
The hand on his thigh tightened for a moment as they pulled into the driveway. “You’re nervous.” Bakugo said. A statement, not a question. He had always known Kirishima so well, sometimes even better than he knew himself.
“I-” Kirishima started and then stopped again, chewing his lip. “I just don’t want to mess it up tonight.” His voice was quieter than he intended and he turned to look out the window.
“Hey. Look at me, Eijirou.” A pause before Kirishima looked back at Bakugo. “You could make me a boiled shoe for dinner and I’d love it. You know why?” Kirishima shook his head. “Because you made it for me.”
Kirishima reached down and held Bakugo’s hand with a small smile. “Well, I certainly hope it’s better than a boiled shoe, but I’ll keep that in mind as a back up.”
With that, they entered the house together. Kirishima made his way to the kitchen to prepare his ingredients while Bakugo headed toward the bathroom. As he began to dice up his tofu, he heard the shower turn on and let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Okay, Eijirou. You can do this.”
Kirishima walked over to the speaker in the kitchen and put on his workout playlist. Admittedly, the songs were a little…heavy for Christmas, but he needed to get pumped up. Because, really, what’s the difference between getting ready to deadlift 250kg and getting ready to cook a Christmas dinner for his first ever serious boyfriend? No difference at all in his book.
With music pumping, Kirishima got back to chopping his ginger and tofu, preparing the ingredients into little bowls to make it easier to add to the wok (a trick Todoroki had taught him). As the ginger fried, the aroma filled the kitchen, slowly seeping into the rest of the house. He added the garlic, cooked that down for a minute, and then added the pork, increasing the heat on the burner. By this point, he started to feel more confident, the music hyping him up, the smell of the cooking meat easing the tension in his body. He was doing this and, dammit, he was doing it well.
Once the meat was cooked through, he added the peppercorns, frying them briefly, and then the spicy bean sauce and chicken broth. During this, Bakugo entered the kitchen and sat at their island, watching the redhead intently, despite him not noticing. After he let the food in the wok simmer for a couple moments, Kirishima added in the cornstarch mixture and carefully watched to make sure the sauce didn’t thicken too much. Finally, he was able to add in the chili oil and the tofu, cooking it for a couple minutes, and then finished it off by adding in a big handful of scallions and a drizzle of sesame oil.
“Done!” Kirishima exclaimed, taking the wok off the heat and taking a step back. The sound of Bakugo’s chair scraping back as he stood up startled him. “When did you get there?”
The blond chuckled and put a hand on the back of Kirishima’s head, pulling their foreheads together. “Doesn’t matter. It smells delicious, Ei.”
Bakugo set the table while Kirishima plated their food. When the couple sat down, Kirishima let out a little sigh of relief. His task was done. There was nothing left to do but eat. And eat they did.
Making sure to get some pork and tofu in his chopsticks, Bakugo took his first bite and made a soft sound of pleasure. Kirishima’s face lit up and he leaned closer. “You like it? Did I do well?” If he had a tail, he was sure it would be wagging in this moment.
“Like it? Ei, this is the best mapo tofu I’ve ever had.”
As they ate, Kirishima told Bakugo all about his time with Todoroki and how their friend had taught him how to make the meal.
“You really went to Icy Hot’s place to learn how to make this for me?”
“Yeah! He was so awesome and helpful. He wasn’t even that mad when I started that fire! He put it out really quick.”
“You started a fire-” He paused and shook his head, a fond smile plastered to his face. “Nevermind, you did good, Ei. Thank you for this.”
After dinner, Bakugo insisted on cleaning up, banishing Kirishima into their livingroom with a promise of a gift exchange when he was done. The redhead went into their hallway closet and retrieved the gift he had picked out and wrapped weeks ago and hidden behind some boxes.
When Bakugo finished cleaning, he entered the room holding a small box wrapped in shiny red paper and sat next to Kirishima on the couch. “Open mine first.”
Kirishima carefully unwrapped the box and gasped when he saw what was in his hand. It was a mask. Specifically, it was Crimson Riot’s mask. Kirishima would recognize it anywhere. “How- Where did you get this??”
Bakugo shrugged with one shoulder. “Pulled some strings. Took a long time and I had to make nice with a lot of people.”
Kirishima laughed brightly and held the mask to his chest. “Thank you, Katsuki. This means so much to me.” He handed over the present he had wrapped and watched Bakugo tear into it, making no effort to be gentle.
“The limited edition All Might figure from his time in the states! They only made like 50 of these!” Bakugo held the figurine box out in front of him, staring in wonder. “I’ve been wanting this for years.”
“I know.” Kirishima said, voice only slightly smug. “You’re not the only one who can pull strings, you know.”
Bakugo gently took his and Kirishima’s gifts and put them on the table, pulling the redhead toward him so he was straddling his lap with his arms around Bakugo’s neck. “This was the best Christmas, Ei.” He gave a small peck to Kirishima’s cheek, then his lips, and then his other cheek. “Thank you.”
Kirishima knocked his forehead into Bakugo’s and smiled. “Anything for you, Katsuki.” He pressed his lips to Bakugo’s for a slow kiss, one that didn’t ask for anything more than just presence. When he pulled back, his cheeks were dusted pink. “Here’s to many more holidays together, my love.”