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Bakugou was halfway through his second highball of the night and regretting every decision that had led to this. He had helped Uraraka and Tsuyu with their quirk counseling session for some brats that afternoon and was ready to head home. Todoroki was going to be late, and he was hungry, so when they casually mentioned there was a good izakaya nearby, he hadn’t thought much of it.
A waiter had walked them to a private room in the back, and when they opened the door the girls from his old class were already seated, chatting and drinking like it was a reunion they’d been planning for weeks. Jirou was lounging with her chin propped on one hand, Ashido had a half-full glass raised mid-story, Yaoyorozu was politely smiling as she tried to organize the clutter of plates, and Hagakure started waving excitedly the moment the door slid open.
“Bakugou!” Ashido beamed, scooting over and patting the cushion beside her. “You actually came!”
“I didn’t know you were joining us!” Yaoyorozu added brightly. “What a nice surprise.”
“Wow, it’s been a while since we all hung out like this,” Jirou said with a lazy grin, eyes flicking toward him.
“Bakugou! Over here!” Hagakure waved again, like he didn’t just look around the room and immediately regret his life choices.
Bakugou froze in the doorway, while Uraraka and Tsuyu stepped inside like they were totally innocent. Like they hadn’t lured him here under false pretenses.
He knew exactly what this was. A couple of months ago, he and Todoroki had officially told their former classmates that they were dating, and their class A group chat had blown up. He’d done a pretty good job dodging everyone’s questions since, but he had no doubt this whole setup was a ploy to get the details out of him.
The girls offered to pay for his food and drinks if he stayed, and he still said no. But then Ashido had smirked and said, “Aw, Bakugou’s embarrassed! Can’t hang with us now that he’s domesticated,” and without thinking, he’d snapped, “Who’s domesticated?!”
And now here he was. Trapped.
Uraraka took a long sip from her glass of beer and let out a content sigh. “Ah! Good work everyone!”
Bakugou shot her a look across the table, brows raised. “What are you, an old man?”
The private room was warm and packed, the low table already covered in the beginnings of a lively meal. Plates of skewered yakitori, blistered shishito peppers, and golden-brown karaage sat half-finished between puddles of sauce. There were little bowls of edamame shells, a still-sizzling plate of buttered scallops, and a nearly empty sashimi platter with only the daikon garnish left behind. The smoky scent of grilled meat lingered in the air, mingling with the citrusy sharpness of highballs and sour plum cocktails. Laughter echoed off the wooden walls. The soft overhead lights glowed amber, warming the room’s already easy atmosphere.
The conversation had started off harmless, with everyone just catching up. Their busy schedules meant they didn’t get to see each other that often, but it seemed like the girls made an effort to see each other when they were all in town.
Bakugou kept quiet at the end of the table, arms crossed, throwing in the occasional grunt or monosyllabic reply whenever someone actually tried to pull him in. It was fine… until it wasn’t.
It didn’t take long before the conversation shifted in the direction he’d been dreading.
“So, how was Ishikawa?” Uraraka asked casually, leaning forward as she reached for a gyoza.
Bakugou barely glanced up from his plate. “Which time?”
“It wasn’t just a one-time thing?”
Bakugou felt his skin prickle under the sudden weight of attention. The clink of glasses and shuffle of plates dulled around him as the table shifted, their focus narrowing entirely on him.
“How long have you two been together?” Tsuyu asked, her tone curious but light.
“Six months.” Bakugou’s reply was flat, hoping it’d end there.
Ashido slammed her chopsticks down dramatically. “WHAT?! No way! Todoroki told me eight years when I asked him!”
Bakugou almost choked on his chicken, coughing as his disposable chopsticks snapped clean in his grip. “If you already knew, why the hell did you ask me?!” He jabbed the broken sticks in her direction. “And he only confessed six months ago!”
“Wait,” Jirou cut in, eyes wide. “He confessed only six months ago?!”
“I thought you’d been together since high school,” Hagakure said, voice high-pitched and scandalized.
“Yeah, you two were always together in the dorms!” Uraraka chimed in, waving her chopsticks for emphasis.
“Didn’t you exchange uniform buttons at graduation?” Yaoyorozu asked, her hand covering her mouth in quiet surprise.
“And you left together in front of everyone in the middle of your welcome-home party when you came back from America,” Ashido added, laughing as she took another sip of her drink.
“Shut up! It’s complicated!” Bakugou snapped, glaring at all of them, jaw tight and ears burning.
That only made Ashido snicker harder, but the rest of the table eased off a little, the energy softening as the weight of his words sank in. Yaoyorozu raised her hand for the server and ordered him another drink, her tone polite and composed, like she was gently placing a lid on something volatile.
“Here,” she said softly when the glass arrived, sliding it toward him.
Bakugou clicked his tongue and looked away, muttering something under his breath, but he took it. The flush on his ears didn’t fade. Sensing the shift, the girls let it go, letting the conversation drift elsewhere — lighter topics, easy laughter, bits of old stories traded back and forth.
For about five minutes.
Then, inevitably, the conversation circled back.
“What’s it like living with someone?”
“Who does the cooking?”
“Do you guys fight a lot?”
He gave short, clipped answers in response, but it didn’t matter. The questions kept coming. Uraraka ordered another round. He thought maybe they’d get bored again eventually, but of course, it only got worse.
Ashido lit up, eyes gleaming, “Ooh! What about your love languages?!”
Bakugou shot her a sharp look. “…What?”
“You don’t know?” Uraraka leaned forward over the table, her arms crossed loosely, “It’s a western personality quiz thing. It’s about the ways people give and receive affection.”
“I’m not doing a quiz.”
“You don’t have to,” Ashido said cheerfully, already grinning like she’d won. “We’ll just go through them, and you tell us which ones fit you and Todoroki best.”
“I’m not telling you shit.”
“Come on,” Hagakure whined, half-laughing. “You’ve been answering everything else!”
He clenched his jaw. His face was already a little warm from the drinks, he could feel the flush spreading down the back of his neck, and now all six of them were watching him, waiting to see if he’d fold.
He didn’t want to give them the satisfaction, but he also felt like he couldn’t back out either, not without looking like a coward.
So he slammed back the rest of his highball, set the glass down with a sharp clink, and waved his hand in irritation. “Fine. Go.”
Seeing his glass empty, Uraraka sneakily flagged down the server to order another.
“Okay,” Ashido said brightly, clearly delighted to have him trapped. “Number one: Words of affirmation.”
“Gross,” Bakugou said flatly.
“So you don’t say ‘I love you’ a lot?”
“Wow,” Ashido said, grinning into her drink. “Poor Todoroki, having to guess.”
Bakugou scowled. His eye twitched. “Not everything needs to be said out loud!” he snapped.
He could feel their stares on him, smiling, expectant, and absolutely enjoying this, but what annoyed him most was that they weren’t wrong. He didn’t say “I love you” often, but that didn’t mean he didn’t feel it. And after eight years Todoroki definitely understood. How else would they have made it this far? Why else would Bakugou come home to him, fall asleep next to him, let him in completely, let him touch him, let him fuck him, if it didn’t mean something?
Todoroki, on the other hand, was always saying things out loud. He probably said I love you to Bakugou at least once a day, maybe more. What he said when he had confessed (and asked Bakugou to come with him to Ishikawa, and to move in together, all at once) still haunted him. He went on about his body, his strength, his personality. How much he wanted him. How beautiful he thought he was. Bakugou had nearly blacked out from secondhand embarrassment on the spot.
The memory hit out of nowhere, and he could feel his ears starting to get hot. He ducked his head, hoping the low light would hide it, but he could feel the flush creeping up anyway.
“Why are you turning red?” Ashido asked, leaning in with a grin.
The girls burst out laughing, clearly sensing they’d struck gold.
“One of those couples,” Uraraka said, sipping her drink. “Todoroki’s probably the type to say it all the time.”
“Right??” they all echoed, and Bakugou groaned.
“Shut the hell up!” he barked, reaching for his drink like it could save him.
Ashido held up her hands in mock surrender, still grinning. “Okay, okay! Moving on! Number two: Acts of service.”
Bakugou blinked, unimpressed. “…Hah?”
“You know,” she said, counting on her fingers, “doing things to take care of someone. Like… running errands, cleaning, carrying heavy stuff—”
“Why the hell would I need someone to carry heavy things for me!?”
“What about the other things?”
Bakugou clicked his tongue, leaning back slightly. He thought about it.
Todoroki cleaned, but it hadn’t exactly come naturally at first. His version of clean was fine for normal people, but it didn’t meet Bakugou’s standards. Not that Todoroki was a slob, far from it, but he wasn’t as detail-oriented. Which made sense. With Todoroki’s upbringing, that huge house, staff, and a shitty dad more obsessed with training than chores— it made sense that he’d grown up without ever needing to scrub anything himself.
Unlike Bakugou, whose mom had absolutely made him clean. He could still hear her yelling from the hallway: “Katsuki! If I find one speck of dust under that dresser, you’re doing the whole damn floor again!” Years of cleaning under threat of death had burned a level of precision into his bones that Todoroki simply didn’t have.
Still, he’d lost it on Todoroki the first few times. Then he felt like an asshole about it, so he’d taken a different approach: yelling, but constructively. After a month of hands-on training, and by hands-on he meant standing over him, pointing things out, and making Todoroki redo them until they passed inspection, he’d actually gotten pretty decent at it.
As for cooking, they split that. Whoever got home first made dinner, and the other washed the dishes. Todoroki had trained seriously for over a year just so he could make meals Bakugou would actually want to eat. And it had paid off. His food was delicious.
Of course, Bakugou was a good cook himself, but sometimes… if he came home sore and tired, Todoroki would wordlessly do both the cooking and cleanup.
But carrying heavy things? Why would a professional hero need someone else to handle that crap? Still… before his right arm had fully healed, Todoroki had stepped in more than once to fix his tie in the mornings, opened doors for him and carried things for him even when Bakugou got pissed about it. He hadn’t wanted to be taken care of, but Todoroki had done it anyway.
There were exceptions though. If something was just plain annoying, like dealing with oversized trash that couldn’t just be thrown away, he’d let Todoroki handle it. But that was different. That was just smart.
…Why the hell was he even telling them all this?
Probably the alcohol. He’d definitely said more of that out loud than he meant to, just enough to make the girls exchange knowing looks across the table.
“Todoroki said you gave him a desk lamp…”
Bakugou stiffened. “That wasn’t—” he started, then immediately gave up. He knew exactly what he’d done. “Fuck off.”
“Oh my god, it was broken, wasn’t it?!” Ashido crowed, practically bouncing in her seat.
“And Todoroki treated it like it was a present,” Hagakure laughed. “Did you even put it in a bag?”
Bakugou didn’t answer.
“That’s a no,” Ashido said, gleeful. “He definitely just carried it over like, ‘Here. You can have this.’”
“And then he went and mentioned it in an interview!” Bakugou snapped, the memory still fresh and infuriating. He slammed his glass down harder than necessary. “They hadn’t even asked about me! It was a general question about his classmates— and he said that!”
The table burst into laughter again, louder this time.
“Yeah, Shouto’s fans were so pissed that Dynamite gave him trash,” Ashido said, “I’m honestly surprised you didn’t drop in the rankings!”
Bakugou scowled, shifting forward on his cushion. “I’m leaving.” He braced a hand on the low table to push himself up, but immediately the protests started.
“Wait, wait, don’t go!” Uraraka reached out, lightly catching his wrist before he could stand. “We’re just teasing!”
“Please stay.” Yaoyorozu said gently, her voice warm and composed, trying to soothe the edges before they frayed completely. “It wouldn’t be as lively without you here.”
“Let him go,” Ashido teased, chin propped on her hand, absolutely unhelpful. “He’s embarrassed ‘cause he gave Todoroki a broken lamp.”
“Calm down, Bakugou! You’re the one who pawned it off!”
“It wasn’t broken,” he muttered under his breath, crossing his arms. “…It just didn’t work that well.”
“And you gave it to Todoroki anyway!” Ashido cackled. “Spoiled, spoiled!”
They were still laughing, and Bakugou grimaced, but didn’t argue. There was no excuse. He had pawned it off. A desk lamp that flickered if you touched the base too hard. He’d used it for a year and then decided it would become Todoroki’s problem.
What he didn’t say, what he wasn’t ever going to say, was that it had also been an excuse to go see him at that time.
“Next!” Jirou cut in helpfully, clearly trying to keep things from escalating. She leaned back on her cushion, smirking. “Receiving gifts!”
Bakugou paused for a second, considering. “…I definitely give better gifts than he does.”
There was a pause, and then the table erupted.
“There it is! The confidence!”
They didn’t really do gifts often. Neither of them were very materialistic.
In the years after graduation, when Bakugou had been saving for Izuku’s armor, he’d become extremely frugal. He did all his own cooking, bought groceries and stocked his kitchen based on whatever was on sale, and rarely allowed himself luxuries beyond what was necessary. But he never cut corners on the things he considered important like his hero gear, his apartment or his car.
Todoroki also never seemed to want much. Maybe because of how he’d grown up, as the son of the #2 hero, everything within reach, the best schools, a guaranteed recommendation into U.A. But Bakugou knew it hadn’t been easy for him. He wasn’t spoiled. If anything, Todoroki had only lacked the kind of things money couldn’t buy.
Even so, they’d developed a small habit. Whenever one of them traveled, they always brought something back. Regional snacks, specialty seafood, unique sauces, sake, things tied to where they’d gone. Things they could share and try together once they were home.
And when it came to Christmas and birthdays, Bakugou absolutely refused to lose. This was the first year they actually had the money to spend, and he wasn’t about to hold back. Getting the better gift meant winning.
He’d gotten Todoroki a few high-end kitchen tools because Todoroki had gotten serious about cooking over the past year, and Bakugou wanted him to have the best. He’d also picked out a couple of designer accessories, a soft cashmere scarf, a slim leather wallet— nothing flashy, just quiet, nice pieces he knew would suit him. And maybe his favorite part: he bought Todoroki a few well-fitted shirts, just to see him in the things Bakugou had picked. He liked knowing that when Todoroki wore them, nobody else would know, but Bakugou would.
But Todoroki gave just as good as he got, in his own way. His gifts were fewer, like he’d a long time deciding on each one. Thoughtful, deliberate, and irritatingly perfect. He didn’t buy things just to buy them, he waited until he found the exact thing Bakugou would want. A limited-run bomber jacket from one of Bakugou’s favorite brands, impossible to get unless you were watching the drop the second it went live. And his watch.
“He got me this watch I was looking at last year,” Bakugou said, his tone flat but his grip on the glass a little tighter. “Only two hundred made. Sold out in under a minute. The kind of thing you see on auction sites after for triple the price, and he just… shows up with it. No clue how the hell he got it.”
For a moment, the table went quiet before a ripple of voices broke out all at once.
“Damn, look at this guy,” Jirou muttered, smirking into her drink.
Ashido’s smile was sharp and bright. “Our Bakugou, living the luxury life.”
“Shut up,” Bakugou barked automatically, scowling, but it lacked any real bite. He set his glass down, leaning back with a smug tilt to his mouth anyway. “…But I’m better. I can’t stand the idea of losing to him.”
The table burst into laughter again, louder this time, teasing but warm. And Bakugou… didn’t actually mind it as much anymore. The drinks helped, sure, but something about the noise, the heat, and being surrounded by familiar faces softened the edge.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, and when he pulled it out, he already knew who it would be.
A Line message lit up the screen: Just finished. Where are you?
He smiled a little before he could stop himself, thumb tapping out quick responses. The first one was Good work, and the second was the address of the izakaya.
He didn’t look up, but he could feel the heat of their stares and knew they’d seen the expression on his face.
“That must be Todoroki,” Tsuyu said, calm as ever, but Bakugou caught the hint of a smile in her tone.
Bakugou didn’t bother to respond. Just pocketed his phone like nothing had happened, ignoring the heat climbing up the back of his ears.
That was when Yaoyorozu leaned forward, her expression serene but far too knowing, and asked gently, “What about quality time?”
Of course it was important. They were both top five heroes, and work always came first. Sometimes one of them was called away for a week, sometimes two. Sometimes they worked opposite shifts and barely crossed paths at home. But when they were both home Todoroki stuck close to him, always reaching for him, leaning in, finding excuses to touch.
Bakugou didn’t dislike it. If anything, it was a relief. After years of being in something undefined, it was good to have their closeness be obvious now.
And now, in the world where heroes had time to spare, they took trips to Ishikawa every couple of months, stayed in different ryokans tucked between the mountains, and spent entire afternoons making their own lacquerware by hand. They soaked in the bath until they were soft and half-drunk, skin flushed from the heat and sake, until there was nothing left to do but be close.
“There’s no one else I’d be willing to spend that much time with,” Bakugou admitted simply.
The table groaned in unison, a messy chorus of disbelief.
“Gehhhhhhh,” Ashido whined, dramatically dragging out the sound. “Gross.”
“Is he bragging?”
“I think he’s bragging.”
“Yeah, he’s totally bragging.”
Bakugou smirked into his glass, taking another slow sip instead of answering.
“Last one,” Uraraka said, leaning forward with a grin. “Physical touch.”
“This one is every man’s answer,” Ashido declared, nodding sagely and gesturing with her chopsticks for emphasis.
Which made sense. It was a big one for both of them.
At home, when Bakugou was cooking, Todoroki would come up behind him and slide his arms around his waist, rest his chin on his shoulder like he belonged there. When they sat on the couch, Todoroki always touched him—an arm thrown around his shoulders, their knees pressed together, fingers slipping between his without asking.
And they had sex pretty much every day. If the next morning was a late start or a day off for Bakugou, they’d do it more than once. Even if it wasn’t, it wasn’t like Bakugou needed an excuse. He liked touching Todoroki. He liked sucking him off just because he could, just to watch his expression as Todoroki’s breath catch and his fingers tighten in Bakugou’s hair—
Maybe he really had drank too much. His thoughts were starting to wander. Thankfully, he hadn’t said any of that out loud.
Bakugou blinked, cleared his throat, and tried to look unaffected. Everyone at the table was already giving him knowing looks.
“Physical touch is good,” he said, voice even.
No one asked him to elaborate this time.
“So which one is yours, and which one’s Todoroki’s? Is it physical touch after all?” Ashido prodded, smirking over the rim of her glass.
Bakugou downed another gulp of his highball. The carbonation bit against his tongue, sharp and grounding. Everyone was still watching him. Expectant. Like he was supposed to just pick one. Like love could be boiled down to some checklist, or worse, a quiz result.
Because when Bakugou really thought about it, he couldn’t. How the hell was he supposed to?
The things they were talking about weren’t options. They were requirements. All of them. Every single one. Of course he deserved to be touched, to be seen, to be taken care of, to be given thoughtful gifts. What kind of idiot would settle for choosing just one of those things?
This whole “love languages” thing had to be bullshit. Probably cooked up by some lazy bastard who didn’t want to try very hard and needed an excuse for why it was fine to keep giving the bare minimum. Especially if every guy just picked physical touch because of sex, and then their partner was supposed to pick one thing they wanted most and be grateful for it.
The more he thought about it, the more it pissed him off. Settle for one? No. If Bakugou was going to be in a relationship, he was going to kill the other person (with his love). Just like everything else in his life, he was going to pour everything into it, and he expected the same in return.
He slammed his glass down harder than he meant to and snapped, “Why the hell do I have to pick one?!”
The table went silent. Six pairs of eyes blinked at him.
“One of those isn’t enough,” Bakugou said, sharp and certain. “If I’m gonna be with someone, I want all of it.”
Everyone was silent. Then—
“EHHHHHHHHHH?!”
The room exploded into shrieks, laughter, shocked gasps. Ashido looked like she was about to fall over.
“So greedy!”
“Greedy?! How the hell is that greedy?” Bakugou snapped, slamming his fist on the table. “Don’t get used to crumbs. Raise your damn standards!”
That only made them laugh harder, the whole room buzzing with chaos.
“Wow, you’re lucky!” Uraraka said, trying to catch her breath between laughs.
Bakugou didn’t deny it. “It’s not one-sided. I give everything too.”
The chorus around him dissolved into soft, half-drunken groans of admiration.
“Must be nice…” Hagakure sighed dramatically, pretending to wipe away tears.
“As expected of our top two!”
“So—so then what’s the secret?!” Ashido demanded, leaning halfway across the table, desperate for the answer. “What’s the trick to pulling a man who has it all like that?!”
Bakugou thought for a second and then shrugged, “Easy. Men are simple. Just keep his stomach full and his balls empty.”
There was a pause, and then more chaos.
Uraraka practically fell over, wheezing so hard she couldn’t breathe. Tsuyu made a quiet croaking sound and covered her mouth, drink shaking violently in her hand. Jirou had slipped halfway under the table, face red, shoulders trembling in silent hysteria.
And then, the shoji door slid open.
Bakugou glanced up, half-expecting the server, but no. Standing there, backlit by the hallway’s warm glow, was Todoroki, hair slightly messy from the wind. Bakugou knew he was drunk, because for a second, the sight actually knocked the breath out of him. The noise of the room dimmed, just for him.
Todoroki looked mildly surprised by the scene. “Good work today” he said politely, glancing around at the table of women absolutely losing their minds.
“It’s him!” Ashido yelled, pointing like she’d spotted a rare animal.
“The man who has it all!”
“Welcome, Todoroki-san,” Yaoyorozu said with perfect composure, the only one graceful enough to offer a proper greeting.
Todoroki blinked slowly, scanning the table, clearly trying to piece together why the air was so thick with scandal and screaming.
Bakugou, unfazed, tossed back the last sip of his highball and stood. He slung his bag over his shoulder.
“Perfect timing,” he said, brushing past the table as he made his way to Todoroki’s side.
“Wait—no—where are you going?” someone shouted. “Todoroki just got here!”
“Stay! Just a little longer!”
“Don’t go, Mr. I Want It All!”
Bakugou didn’t even glance back. He just raised one hand in a lazy wave, stepping close enough to Todoroki that their arms brushed.
“Quality time,” he said flatly, sliding the door shut behind them as the room howled.
✦
Outside, the night air was thick with heat, heavy and humid in a way that clung to the skin. The concrete still radiated the warmth of the day, cicadas droning lazily somewhere in the distance as they stepped out of the izakaya’s cool entryway. Bakugou’s skin was already flushed from the drinks, and the sticky summer air only made it worse.
Without a word, he pulled his car keys from his pocket and dropped them into Todoroki’s hand. He’d been drinking, after all. A sharp tilt of his chin toward the street was all the explanation Todoroki needed.
Todoroki took the keys, falling into step beside him without comment.
“You looked like you were having fun,” Todoroki said.
Bakugou shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I guess.” He gave it a second, then added, “It wasn’t bad.” It was loud, they were nosy, and it was embarrassing as hell. But not bad. Still, he was happier now, knowing the rest of the night would be just the two of them.
Todoroki glanced over, “What was everyone laughing about?”
“Stupid shit,” Bakugou muttered. “They need to raise their standards.”
He edged closer to Todoroki’s right side and gave him a look. Todoroki didn’t need any more than that; he slipped an arm over Bakugou’s shoulders without hesitation. The chill of his skin against Bakugou’s neck felt so good in the heat that he let out a sigh before he could stop himself.
Todoroki laughed softly, the sound easy and warm. “You do have high standards.”
“Damn right I do.”
They reached the parking lot, tossing their bags into the trunk before climbing into the car. The black frame was still hot to the touch, the leather seats radiating leftover heat from the day. Todoroki adjusted the mirrors and the seat before starting the engine, and Bakugou, slouched deep into the passenger seat, didn’t look away.
It was his car, but right now, he couldn’t stop staring. Todoroki looked good behind the wheel. That serious face, the clean line of his jaw, the little crease between his brows when he focused. His arms. His shoulders. The way his shirt stretched just slightly across his chest. Bakugou’s eyes dragged down slowly, openly, and he didn’t bother pretending otherwise.
Bakugou still hadn’t put on his seatbelt, so he leaned over and kissed him.
Todoroki blinked, hand still on the gearshift.
“I love you,” Bakugou said, voice low, eyes fixed on Todoroki’s.
It wasn’t like Todoroki didn’t already know. It wasn’t about proving anything, or making up for something. And it sure as hell wasn’t because of those dumb love-language questions. He just… felt like saying it.
Todoroki smiled faintly, his gaze flicking from Bakugou’s mouth back up to his eyes. “I love you too,” he said, steady and simple, the same way he said it every day, “Now buckle up.”
His voice dropped half a note as his hand shifted the car into reverse. “I want to hurry up and get home.”
Bakugou huffed out a breath, leaning back into the seat as a soft laugh slipped out of him. His whole body felt loose, too warm, but good.
“Yeah,” he said, “Me too.”