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“Deku, look out!”
BAM!
The villain intercepts Deku’s flying kick and swings him hard into the ground, then leans over and—flicks him in the head?
“Oi!” Bakugou snarls, launching himself at the villain. He’s about to use that stupid support item again—some sort of shockwave blaster that had knocked Bakugou back thirty feet the first time he’d pointed it at him—but this time Bakugou’s expecting it. It’s what he wants. He grins, probably ferally.
The instant he has a clear line of fire, he fires off a quick AP Shot from midair, and the weapon explodes in the villain’s hand. He yelps from the sudden heat, and then Bakugou is on him, nailing a kick to his solar plexus and knocking him flat on his back.
Bakugou’s just finished flipping him over onto his stomach and pulling his wrists together behind his back when a pro hero arrives—Deku must have sent off a ping right as the fight started. She doesn’t look like much to Bakugou, just some buff brunette with a ton of leaves sprouting off of her, but she has an air of authority about her that commands even Bakugou’s instinctive respect when she starts firing off questions about the situation.
The aftermath goes by in a blur. The pro restrains the unconscious baddie with vines she produces, she radios the police, he shows her his provisional license (then recalcitrantly demands to see her own hero license, which she procures agreeably), and he gives her a quick statement. But as he starts to explain that he was out with Deku when they came across the villain, he frowns. Where is Deku?
The pro hero points over Bakugou’s shoulder. “Would that be him over there?” she asks.
Bakugou turns to look, and yep: down the street, Deku has gotten to his feet, and appears to be wandering around aimlessly. Bakugou slaps a hand to his forehead and marches up to him. “Oi! Deku!”
Deku twists around to look at Bakugou as he approaches, then stumbles off balance, and instinctively Bakugou lunges to catch him. Deku falls into his arms, giggling.
Bakugou opens his mouth to scold Deku, but before he can get a word out, Deku makes a sound like a cat and says, “Kaaachaaan, you’re so strong!”
Bakugou nearly drops Deku in surprise.
Uh. What.
Deku’s not done, apparently. “No, really,” he insists, seeming to mistake Bakugou’s expression of bewilderment for one of disbelief. Bakugou notes that his words are slurred. “Kacchan is so swole.” He runs his palms over Bakugou’s biceps and squeezes for emphasis.
“Wh—did you hit your head or something?” Bakugou splutters, shoving Deku away.
Deku staggers back, windmilling his arms comically to regain his balance. It doesn’t work. Instead, he falls flat on his butt. Apparently unfazed, he looks up at Bakugou and grins, his eyes hazy and unfocused.
Then a realization washes over Bakugou: Deku did get hit in the head. Or, well, flicked. That villain must have had some sort of contact quirk that he used to put Deku out of commission, right before Bakugou put him out of commission. And now Bakugou is left to deal with a chatty, loopy Deku in the aftermath.
Great.
“You stay put for a second,” he tells Deku.
“’Kaaaay,” Deku replies, still smiling like a dope.
Bakugou stomps back over to where the pro hero is speaking into her radio. “Don’t let this guy touch anyone,” Bakugou says grimly, jabbing a finger in the direction of the still-limp villain laying on the concrete. “He’s got some sort of contact quirk. He flicked my—” he flounders in search of a word to encompass their relationship, “—Deku,” he eventually lands on, “right in the forehead, and now he’s all messed up. It’s like he’s drunk or something.”
The pro nods, her mouth flattening into a thin line. “That could be serious,” she warns. “You’d best take your Deku for medical help immediately.” Bakugou feels his face heat up, and he’s about to protest her phrasing (never mind that he had been the first to phrase it that way, by accident), when she continues, “Good work, young hero. I’ll handle the rest.”
Bakugou doesn’t want to outwardly seem as pleased as he is that a pro hero acknowledged him, so he can only grunt and nod as he spins on his heel to walk back over to Deku. Fortunately, Deku has not budged from where he fell on his rump. Unfortunately, he shows no inclination to change that fact himself.
“C’mon, up you go,” Bakugou urges, yanking Deku to his feet.
“Why?” Deku whines, standing up floppily.
“So we can go back to UA,” Bakugou says, already feeling the beginnings of a headache settling between his temples.
Deku brightens. “UA? I love UA!” he announces. Well, at least he’s agreeable.
“Then let’s go,” Bakugo says. He gestures for Deku to follow him and starts off down the street. At first, Deku walks along right behind him, but it’s not long before Bakugou glances over his shoulder to find that that is no longer the case: not only is Deku far behind him, but he has also veered off to the right, teetering dangerously as he walks.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Bakugou backtracks to where Deku is stumbling along. “Alright, new plan,” he grumbles, mostly to himself. Deku’s not going to be able to walk back to UA himself after all, which leaves them with limited options. He hates to admit it, but as much as he’d like to just scoop Deku up and be off, Deku has… bulked up a fair bit since the last time Bakugou had picked him up, and he’s not sure he’ll be able to lift Deku without his cooperation. With a sigh of disgust, he crouches to the ground, his back to Deku. “Get on.
“Hmmm?”
“I said, get on,” Bakugou says through gritted teeth. The longer Deku takes to wrap his fluffy green head around the situation, the longer Bakugou has to stay embarrassingly crouched in front of him. “I’m carrying you back.”
“Oh!” Deku catches on, stepping forward and flopping onto Bakugou’s back like a muscular sack of potatoes. “I’ve always wanted to ride Kacchan.”
Bakugou grimaces at Deku’s choice of words as he slides his arms beneath Deku’s knees and slowly stands up.
“You’re comfy, Kacchan,” Deku says. “I’m glad you don’t like rescuing people much.”
“Eh? What’s that supposed to mean?”
Deku squirms strangely against Bakugou’s back, like he’s undulating his body or something. “It means I have Kacchan aaaall to myself,” he declares happily. He squirms again and adjusts the positioning of his arms. Bakugou tries not think much of it—until Deku’s wandering hands land on his chest and pinch.
“Ow, hey,” Bakugou snaps. “Quit it.”
“Sorry, Kacchan,” Deku mumbles, gently patting Bakugou’s chest in apology. The touch makes Bakugou’s face heat. Why does Deku have to be so embarrassing?
For a few blissful moments, Deku is quiet and still. Bakugou starts to think that the rest of the walk back might even be peaceful. But then… Deku strikes again.
At first, Bakugou thinks he’s just shifting again, as his face nuzzles against the crook where his neck meets his shoulder. Bakugou twitches ticklishly. But then… Deku sniffs him in one loud, long inhale.
“Oi!” Bakugou yells. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I couldn’t help it,” Deku whimpers. “Kacchan just smells so good.”
“Okay, that’s it,” Bakugou decides. Deku’s piggyback privileges are revoked. In as smooth a motion as he can manage, Bakugou pulls Deku off his back and slings him over his shoulder. Heh heh. So he can still manhandle Deku, after all.
“Heyyy,” Deku complains, wriggling and kicking at Bakugou like a petty toddler. Only, this particular toddler has got a nasty imagination and steel-toed shoes.
“Deku—ouch—hey!” Bakugou grabs Deku’s ankle, stopping one of his kicking legs. “That hurts.”
Deku stills instantly. “Oh, no!” he gasps. “Sorry! Oh, no, oh no! Did I hurt Kacchan? I’m so sorry!”
Bakugou snorts. “Please. A shot that weak couldn’t possibly do any real damage. Who do you think I am?” he scoffs, despite the now-tender skin on his abdomen that he’s pretty sure is going to bruise.
“You’re Kacchan!” Deku says brightly.
“Yeah, exactly. I’m invincible.”
“Yeah!”
Then Bakugou frowns, starting to notice pattern as he walks. Every couple of steps, there’s a noticeable pat against his bottom. He writes it off as accidental at first—Deku’s arms are hanging limply against his back, after all—but then comes the muttering. Or, it would be muttering, if Deku were more himself, but in his current intoxicated state, it comes out more like loud, slurred babbling, unfortunately at a speaking pace that Bakugou can actually understand.
He’s commenting on the musculature of his backside, going off about how his higher distribution of muscle towards his upper body is logical considering his fighting techniques, but that it overshadows the physical fitness of his lower body, and that it’s really a shame that his pants are so baggy, doesn’t he want to show off a little more? he wants to see Kacchan’s thighs and—
Bakugou tunes him out as best he can, gritting his teeth as he continues the slightly (but still noticeably) uphill trek towards the school. For a while, it almost works—but then Bakugou catches the words “coital technique” coming out of Deku’s mouth.
“O-kay!” Bakugou says loudly, interrupting whatever tangent Deku had spun himself onto. “Let’s make a deal. You stop talking, and I’ll give you a reward.”
Deku hums thoughtfully. “A reward? Can I pick?”
“Uh…sure, fine. Whatever you want.” Bakugou had been hoping that Deku would just accept the idea of a vague and undefined reward in exchange for behaving, but beneath his drunkenness he’s still his crafty self. Figures. With any luck, though, Deku won’t decide on what he wants until after the quirk has worn off and hopefully forgotten this whole thing, and then Bakugou won’t have to give him—
“A kiss.”
“Excuse me?”
“A kiss,” Deku repeats. “You said I could pick whatever I want. And I want you to kiss me.”
Bakugou is torn. He can’t kiss Deku while he’s like this! But… if it gets Deku to shut up in the meantime…
“Deal.” He’ll think of a way out of this later.
“You gotta promise!” Deku says. “Pinky promise.” He twists awkwardly in Bakugou’s grasp to hold up his pinky finger.
Bakugou groans, but links pinkies with Deku anyway. “Fine. I pinky promise to kiss you. If you’re good and stop talking.”
Deku, apparently satisfied, releases his pinky and slumps over Bakugou’s back once again. To Bakugou’s mild surprise, he remains there obediently for the rest of the walk to UA, although his hands have resumed their accidental patting of Bakugou’s rear. Somewhere along the way he starts humming, too, but Bakugou doesn’t call him on it—as long as he’s not muttering, Bakugou will take it.
When they finally arrive at UA, Bakugou makes straight for the medical office and shouts at the door. It’s starting to get late, but thankfully Recovery Girl is still in.
“What did you boys get into this time?” she asks, clicking her tongue as she ushers Bakugou inside. “You can put Midoriya down there.”
Bakugou sets Deku on one of the hospital beds as directed. “We ran into some creep robbing a convenience store,” he explains, not really keen on getting into the details. “Don’t really know what his quirk was, but he got Deku with it and now he’s acting even dumber than usual.” He stretches his back, feeling the vertebrae pop satisfyingly now that he’s been relieved of Deku’s weight. “Anyway, he’s your problem now. See ya.” He makes for the door.
“Wait, Kacchan! Don’t leave!” Deku cries.
“Young man, you will stay put,” Recovery Girl says sternly. “You have some injuries that I will need to tend to as well.”
“Fine,” Bakugou huffs, plopping down moodily in a hard, plastic chair to await his turn. If he’s honest with himself, he wouldn’t mind a quick healing kiss; he’d landed pretty hard on his side during the fight and he can already feel the ache of bruises forming.
A quick breathalyzer test reveals that Deku’s BAC hasn’t actually been altered—the intoxication is all mental. Bakugou’s not sure if that makes things better or worse, honestly. Recovery Girl cleans up their scrapes from where they’d skidded across the pavement and pecks each of them on the forehead. Instantly, the throbbing in Bakugou’s side eases, though an edge of weariness seeps into his muscles, too.
“How do you feel, Midoriya?” Recovery Girl asks.
Deku rubs at his eye with a knuckle. “Feel… kinda fuzzy,” he mumbles cryptically. “N’hungry.”
Recovery Girl’s mouth flattens into a thin line, and she clicks her tongue again. She has Deku count backwards from ten (he skips seven), touch his nose with his index finger (he hits his eyebrow first), follow a moving pen with his eyes (his gaze flits around unfocusedly), and stand on one foot (he wobbles dangerously and flaps his arms like a distressed chicken). “I’m not even going to bother having you walk in a straight line,” she sighs, shaking her head. “The intoxication quirk still appears to be in effect, I’m afraid. You’re free to go, Bakugou. I can keep Midoriya here in the infirmary until he sobers up—”
“No!” Deku practically shrieks, lunging towards Bakugou and knocking over one of the plastic chairs in the process. He grabs Bakugou’s shirt in a tight hold. “I won’t stay here without Kacchan! I won’t!” He looks up at Bakugou with his biggest, roundest, most dangerous eyes. “Besides, Kacchan, you pinky promised! You pinky promised to ki—”
Bakugou slaps a hand over Deku’s mouth in alarm. There’s no way he’s letting Deku finish that particular sentence in front of Recovery Girl.
Recovery Girl raises an eyebrow. “Well, if you do not wish to stay here, Midoriya, you are free to go as well. Make sure to drink plenty of water and rest up.” She turns to Bakugou, her gaze cold. “I hope I can entrust you with the responsibility of ensuring that Midoriya gets to his dorm safely?”
Normally, Bakugou might argue and complain that that should be the job of an actual hero, never mind that he’s in training to become one. But as it happens, Deku has started licking slow, sensual patterns across his palm, and he is highly interested in exiting this room as soon as humanly possible. “Yeah, sure, whatever,” he says, going for aloof and unaffected even though he feels weird and breathless.
Deku’s face is not-so-innocently gleeful when Bakugou tears his hand away from his mouth. They leave the infirmary together, Deku’s hands still clenched in the fabric of Bakugou’s shirt. They turn a corner and get a little ways down the hallway before Deku tugs on Bakugou’s shirt and stands up on his tiptoes. “Nee, nee, Kacchan,” Deku says, sounding annoyingly cute. “Kiss?”
Bakugou turns away from Deku’s advancing lips. “What, here? In the hallway?” he splutters.
Deku tilts his head. “Aww, Kacchan, are you waiting for somewhere more romantic?”
“Uh, no,” Bakugou denies. So sue him if he actually does kinda want his first real kiss to be perfect. “Just… more private.”
Deku waggles his eyebrows. Weren’t drunk people not supposed to have that kind of coordination? “Then, are you saving it for the bedroom?”
“No!” Bakugou extra-denies. Face burning, he yanks his shirt from Deku’s grasp. “Urgh, whatever. Come on.” He starts off down the hallway with Deku behind him—for all of three steps, before Deku trips and just about falls flat on his face. Grudgingly, Bakugou grabs his hand and pulls him along, which quickly evolves into Deku clinging to his arm.
He drags Deku to the locker room and seats him on a bench under one of the showerheads. “Strip and rinse off,” he orders. “I’ll go get us a change of clothes. If you slip and crack your head open, I’ll kill you.”
Deku nods, wriggling out of his shirt. Bakugou walks away from the shower area to the shelving unit where the school-issue clothes and towels are stored, and returns with an armload. They’re just nondescript gray sweats emblazoned with the school’s emblem, but they’ll do.
Deku has fortunately managed not to fall over or drown in the shower water, and has even taken the initiative and begun to shampoo his hair. Bakugou lets out a small sigh of relief; he’d been afraid that he’d have to scrub Deku off for him. He would not have enjoyed sliding his hands over Deku’s soapy body, the whooshy feeling that swoops through his gut at the thought notwithstanding.
He sets the towels and clean clothes in a neat stack next to Deku’s pile of discarded clothes, before stripping out of his own clothes and plunking himself down on the shower bench near Deku. As he fiddles with the settings of his showerhead, he catches Deku’s gaze out of the corner of his eye.
“Eyes to yourself,” he grumbles, turning on the water and instantly relaxing under the spray of warm water. He refuses to look directly at Deku while they’re both undressed, but he gets the feeling Deku hasn’t listened to him. “Pass me the shampoo, will ya?”
They shower in relative quiet, Deku eventually deciding to close his eyes and hum happily as the shower water rushes over him. Bakugou opts to leave him be as he finishes his own quick rinse and steps over the bench. He towels off hastily and pulls on fresh clothes, the fabric sticking to his still-damp skin.
Now that he’s decent once again, he can focus on Deku. “Shower time’s over,” he declares, reaching past him to shut the water off. Deku turns to pout at him, but before he can say anything, Bakugou tosses a towel over his head and watches with amusement as Deku squawks and struggles to find his way back out to the light.
Miraculously, Deku is able to both dry and dress himself—mostly. He puts his shirt on backwards twice before Bakugou tsks and takes over. When Deku’s head emerges from the depths of the shirt, he fixes Bakugou with a smile that makes Bakugou’s heart feel weird and gooey. “Thanks, Kacchan!” he chirps.
“Yeah, whatever,” Bakugou huffs.
They shove their dirty clothes in their lockers to be dealt with later—or more precisely, they shove their dirty clothes in Bakugou’s locker, because Deku can’t remember the code to his lock—and leave the academic building, starting on the path to the long row of dormitories lining the edge of the campus, Deku clinging to his arm once again.
Relief washes over Bakugou when he opens the door to their class’ building at last, the warmly-lit interior familiar and inviting. But as he guides Deku over to swap out their shoes for house slippers, that relief is quickly replaced by a sinking feeling when a wolf whistle reaches his ears.
“Ohoho? What do we have here?” comes Sero’s voice.
“Nice, Midoriya!” cheers Kaminari.
“Ooh, someone finally made a move, huh?” teases Ashido.
“I’m happy for you, bro!” says Kirishima.
Bakugou grits his teeth and drags Deku towards the living area to face their dumb classmates. “Shut up,” he says, glaring. Their expressions vary, from Asui’s raised eyebrows to Sero’s smug grin to Ashido’s weird mouth shaped almost exactly like the number 3 (he’s not sure how she’s managed that and he doesn’t want to know). “Deku got hit by some stupid quirk and now he’s basically drunk and won’t leave me alone,” he explains as bluntly as he can. Deku waves blithely upon being mentioned. Really, he’d like to just slough Deku off onto someone else, preferably one of his little buddies like Four-Eyes, but he doesn’t want to risk another Deku tantrum or have Deku demand his promised kiss in front of everyone. “We’re gonna have dinner, and then I’m going to put this loser to bed, and then I’m going to bed, so don’t bother me.”
Uraraka has the audacity to giggle. “That’s so sweet,” she coos. “You take such good care of him, Bakugou-kun!”
Bakugou growls, hands sparking menacingly. He’s not nice, and Uraraka will pay for insinuating as much. But as he starts to lunge for her, Deku’s grip on his arm tightens.
“Kacchan, no!” he yelps, pulling Bakugou off balance. And, as Deku had been relying entirely on Bakugou for his own balance, the pair of them tumble to the floor. “You shouldn’t be mean, Kacchan,” he chastises, and is met with great laughter from their classmates.
“Yeah, don’t be mean!” Kaminari echoes.
“Nice save, Midoriya,” Todoroki deadpans.
“What an impressive attack, O Future Number One Hero!” Sero says in mock-awe.
“Uraraka’s right, anyway,” Asui says.
“Shut up!” Bakugou snaps again as he picks himself and Deku off the floor, his dignity thoroughly bruised.
“Sorry, bro!” Kirishima says, despite not having said anything actually offensive.
“But you know she’s right!” laughs Ashido.
Deku hiccups loudly.
“Whatever.” Bakugou is thoroughly fed up with these extras, all acting like they know him or something. “We’re getting food.” With that, he grabs Deku by the wrist and pulls him over into the kitchen. Even though there’s no wall between him and his dumb friends, he’s at least grateful for the added distance between them. He lets out a longsuffering breath.
“What are we gonna make, Kacchan?” Deku asks brightly.
“‘We’ aren’t making anything,” Bakugou says, “You are going to sit down and behave yourself if you want dinner.”
“But I wanna help!” Deku pouts.
“Tough. Sit.”
Deku puffs out his cheeks like a grumpy hamster, but does as he’s told, even if he opts to hop up and sit on the counter defiantly instead of finding a chair. Bakugou rolls his eyes. It’s better than Deku continuing to hover around his personal space and risking burning himself or ruining the meal, he supposes.
Now he’s gotta figure out what to actually make for Deku. He yanks open the fridge and glowers at its contents, trying to come up with something that they’ll both eat. Will being intoxicated make Deku a fussy eater? He hopes not, but just in case, he decides to go for a fried noodle dish. Noodles are always a safe bet—who doesn’t like noodles?—and besides, they’ll be unquestionably delicious if Bakugou’s the one making them.
Bakugou feels eyes on his back as he sets about gathering ingredients, and he turns to see Deku kicking his feet lazily as he leans back on his hands, watching Bakugou intently with hooded eyes. “Got a problem, nerd?” he sneers, jabbing a bottle of olive oil accusingly in his direction.
“No,” Deku sighs, dreamily. “I like watching Kacchan work.”
Bakugou snorts. “And why’s that?”
“Because sometimes you bend over to get things out of the cabinets, and—”
“Forget I asked,” Bakugou cuts him off quickly, turning away from Deku as he feels his cheeks warm. What is wrong with him? He tries not to feel self-conscious as he crouches down to root around in the cabinet for a pan and swearing loudly as he’s attacked by a small avalanche of cookware.
There’s snickering from the living area, and Bakugou whips around. “Oi, Dunce Face! Raccoon Eyes! I will actually murder you the next time you leave the kitchen like this!” he shouts, palms crackling.
“You have no proof!” Kaminari squawks from across the room, at the same moment as Ashido chirps “Sorry, Blasty!” without sounding the least bit apologetic.
“Whatever,” Bakugou grumbles. He continues to snarl under his breath as he hastily rearranges the pots and pans in the cabinet and tries not to think about how Deku’s gaze is almost certainly glued to his backside. He chances a glance over his shoulder, intending to fix Deku with a glare and make him remember who he’s dealing with. But he turns around just in time to see Deku slide his tongue across his lower lip, and a sudden heat overtakes him before he can tell the nerd off again. Is that another one of Deku’s new powers? Does his stare normally make people feel like their insides have melted into steaming goo?
He shakes it off and finally gets the meal underway. It’s soothing, being able to sink into the repetition of dicing vegetables and stirring noodles in a pan. He’s so focused on cooking that he doesn’t notice what Deku’s doing at all until a pair of arms wrap around his midsection and a face presses between his shoulder blades. For an instant, his whole body tenses, ready to throw off his attacker before he recognizes the scarred arms as Deku’s.
He sighs in relief, relaxing slightly. “What is it now?” he asks, exasperated.
Deku shuffles his body even closer, his hold tightening around Bakugou’s waist. “I got lonely,” he says pitifully.
Bakugou rolls his eyes. “I’m right here,” he points out.
“Yeah, but I missed you.” Deku sounds genuinely sad, enough to send a pang of sympathy through Bakugou’s chest. Then he immediately retches exaggeratedly because sympathy is disgusting.
He bats at Deku’s hands to get him to let go. “Look, food’s almost ready. Why don’t you make yourself useful and go grab us some plates, huh?” he suggests, mostly to get Deku off of him.
Deku brightens almost immediately. “Okay!” he agrees, managing to get himself over to the tableware cupboard without falling over. Still, there’s enough of a drunken sway in his step that Bakugou suddenly doubts his ability to carry the dishes to the nearest dining table without breaking them. But against all odds, Deku does it. He’s beaming proudly at his clumsy place settings when Bakugou turns the burner off and brings the pan of noodles over to the table, slapping down a trivet first because he got fussed at for property damage the last time he left burn marks in the wood.
They sit, and Bakugou’s stomach rumbles. He hadn’t realized just how hungry he’s gotten since the villain fight, but now that he’s sitting down for a proper meal, he discovers he’s starving. Deku, of course, reaches immediately for the hot pan like a phenomenal idiot, and Bakugou smacks his hand away. “I am not taking you back to Recovery Girl if you burn yourself,” he tells him, sliding the pan closer to his own side of the table.
Although Deku has admirably passed Using Two Hands to Carry Neutral-Temperature Plates Ten Feet, Bakugou decides he hasn’t yet met the prerequisite requirements to even attempt Holding Hot Pan With One Hand While Serving Hot Noodles With the Other. Bakugou reaches forward to snatch Deku’s plate from him and scrapes about half the contents of the pan onto it, then dumps the rest unceremoniously onto his own plate. It’s not his neatest work ever, but Bakugou’s never cared much for presentation. He’s always maintained more of a, You’re gonna eat it and mess it up anyway, so who cares what it looks like as long as it tastes good? sort of policy.
Deku, at the very least, doesn’t seem to mind. He wiggles excitedly in his seat as Bakugou shoves his plate back across the table to him, and doesn’t hesitate to dig in. After chewing his first bite for half a second, he closes his eyes, throws his head back, and moans, loudly. “MMMMMMMMMMM!”
Bakugou feels heat creeping up his neck as every pair of eyes in the common area turns to them. “Shut up,” he hisses around his own bite of food. Like, yeah, Deku does have a point—it’s delicious. But he doesn’t need Deku broadcasting his mouthgasm to the whole dormitory.
“But Kacchan!” Deku says. “It tastes so good! Mmmm!” He takes another bite, dramatically slurping the noodles into his mouth and letting his eyes sink closed again. “You’re such a good cook, Kacchan. So cool!”
“Yeah, alright, I get it. Just finish your food and stop talking with your mouth full.” Bakugou knows they’ve already attracted the attention of their classmates, but he’s desperately hoping to avoid keeping their attention. With any luck, their tiny goldfish brains will move on from Deku’s outburst without comment, but—no, the novelty of Deku’s intoxicated state combined with Bakugou’s skill in the kitchen (seriously, why is that still news? Of course he’s a good cook. He’s the best at everything) proves too intriguing, and a couple of curious-faced extras approach their table.
“Wow, Bakugou-kun! That smells amazing!” Uraraka comments, her voice like a chime, as always. Bakugou narrows his eyes, suspicious; he knows it smells amazing, but he can never quite tell when she’s trying to needle him sarcastically.
“Yeah, dude!” Kirishima agrees. “It smells awesome. Any chance we can get in on this?”
Bakugou opens his mouth to tell him no, but to his surprise and mortification, Deku beats him to it. “No!” he exclaims, slamming his palms on the table. Kirishima jumps in surprise. Uraraka’s eyebrows shoot upwards. “This is my special meal with Kacchan! He made it just for me! You can’t have any!”
Kirishima holds his hands up in a gesture of peace. “Whoa, sorry man, didn’t realize.”
“Deku-kun…” Uraraka shakes her head, perhaps in disappointment, but Bakugou notices she’s got a small smile on her face. More likely, then, she’s just amused by her friend’s idiocy. At least someone’s enjoying themselves here.
Bakugou massages his temple with one hand, already thoroughly exhausted with this whole business. “Ask before I start cooking. I only made enough for two people,” he sighs in exasperation.
Kirishima brightens. “Does that mean you’ll cook for us next time?” he asks eagerly.
“MMMMMM!” Deku interjects, completely unnecessarily. Bakugou kicks him under the table.
“Would you cut that out!?” Hearing Deku moan—albeit over his food—is making his heart do weird flips.
Uraraka giggles. “Do you think he’s going to remember any of this tomorrow?”
“Yeah, should we take a video for him? Do you think he’ll want to see?” Kirishima asks.
“No idea.” Bakugou would guess no, Deku won’t remember—has kind of been banking on that prediction, really—but he’s got no clue how this quirk works. He doesn’t even know if Deku will be fully sober by tomorrow. Although a not-small part of him would absolutely relish the teasing and blackmail potential that possessing of a video of a drunk Deku would provide him, he’s already thought about it and decided that it’s a bad idea. “But I don’t think it would be great for his hero career if a video of him like this got out.”
“Oooh, good point, dude!” Kirishima says. “I didn’t even think of that.”
Uraraka tilts her head, a little knowing smirk playing on her lips. “That’s oddly…considerate of you, Bakugou-kun. Nice, even.”
Bakugou groans. Do his peers have to question absolutely every single one of his actions? “I’m not nice,” he growls. “I just don’t need anyone accusing me of getting ahead in the hero rankings ’cause someone leaked a video of him being a drunk idiot, alright?”
Kirishima whistles. “Wow, you’ve really thought of everything, huh?”
“Whatever.” Bakugou waves them off. “Now will you leave us alone so we can eat in peace?”
They leave, and Bakugou turns back to look at Deku. He’s pouting grumpily, pushing his noodles around his plate with his chopsticks instead of shoveling them enthusiastically into his mouth the way he was doing just minutes ago.
“Oi,” Bakugou says.
Deku doesn’t look up.
“Oi,” he says again, more sharply, and this time sad green eyes lift to meet his own. “What’s the problem, huh? Thought you said it was delicious or something.”
“Yeah…” Deku says wistfully. Bakugou feels a vein throbbing in his temple. He’s got no patience for this if Deku isn’t gonna tell him what’s wrong.
“So then what’s the matter? Eat.”
With a theatrical sigh, Deku gingerly lifts a single noodle with his chopsticks and takes a tiny bite of the end. The vein in Bakugou’s temple threatens to burst.
“Look, I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but if you’re gonna keep acting like a big dramatic baby, I’m ditching you,” he deadpans, making as if to stand up and take his plate with him.
Deku’s eyes widen. “No, wait! Don’t go!” he protests, grabbing Bakugou’s wrist. “I’m sorry. I was just sad that Kacchan stopped paying attention to me.”
So Deku’s not just a clingy drunk, Bakugou realizes. He’s a possessive drunk. He mentally files that information away for later. “I’m paying attention to you now, aren’t I? So stop being sad and just finish your food so I can go to bed.” Bakugou’s exhausted. It’s already eight o’clock, and he still needs to brush his teeth.
“Okay,” Deku agrees, still sounding sullen. But he quickly brightens back up once starts eating his noodles properly again, and Bakugou tries not to smirk. Heh heh. His cooking is just that good.
They finish eating, and Bakugou clears their dishes away. Deku hovers just behind him as he puts everything in the dishwasher, and then Bakugou spins Deku around by his elbow and marches him down the hall to the baths.
“Are we taking a bath, Kacchan?” Deku asks, far too enthusiastically.
“What? No, what is wrong with you? We just showered.” Bakugou shakes his head, steering Deku towards the sinks. “We’re going to brush our teeth because we can’t let the germs win, got it?”
Deku deflates. “Aw. I wanted to take a bath with Kacchan.”
His insides do that weird melty flippy thing again, and he scoffs. “Just—brush your teeth already.”
Deku does, and Bakugou follows suit once he’s sure Deku’s regained enough coordination not to accidentally choke himself on his toothbrush. Or maybe it would be purposeful—Deku’s always reacted oddly to pain. He shakes off the ideas about Deku’s throat and Deku’s masochism before that particular train of thought can get too far, and comforts himself by muttering his habitual “die, you filthy germs” as he savagely scrubs his teeth clean.
“Done!” Deku announces, beaming.
Bakugou spits out the remainder of his toothpaste and gargles before turning to inspect Deku’s face. He takes Deku’s chin in his hand, rolling his eyes at the way Deku’s own eyes sink closed happily. “You’ve got toothpaste everywhere,” he criticizes, though it’s really just the one spot at the corner of his mouth. He wipes it away with his thumb without a second thought, then realizes how disgustingly intimate and domestic a gesture that was. “You’re hopeless,” he scoffs, releasing Deku’s chin with a light shove, but Deku seems unbothered.
“That’s okay,” he says. “I have Kacchan to take care of me.”
Barf. Bakugou pulls his most repulsed face—which, conveniently, also happens to be his most repulsive face. Deku will change his mind real quick about wanting to be in Bakugou’s most tender and loving care, he’s sure of it.
Instead, Deku bursts into giggles.
Bakugou scowls. “Something funny?”
“I—you—” Deku gasps between peals of laughter. “Kacchan has the best funny faces.”
“Oi,” he protests, subconsciously setting off tiny explosions that end up muffled by his clenched fists. “I do not make funny faces. I make scary faces.”
This, unfortunately, only makes Deku laugh harder. Bakugou decides the best course of action is to drag him as quickly as possibly back down the hall to the elevators before he can spare a thought for the weird fluttery crap his heart is doing, or worse, give in to the horrible, bubbly feeling that he fears might be an urge to laugh sympathetically. He’s struggling to keep his lips from twitching as it is.
Deku’s laughter finally dies down as Bakugou presses the call button, leaving him instead with a big stupid grin and the occasional hiccup of a giggle. Bakugou supposes a happy Deku is marginally less irritating than a grumpy Deku, at the very least.
The elevator arrives and Bakugou pulls Deku inside. They’re finally on the home stretch; all that’s left to do is drop Deku off at his room and then Bakugou will be—
Suddenly, Bakugou is whirled around and cornered against the wall of the elevator, a scarred hand slamming into the metal just beside his head.
Did Deku just… kabedon him???
“Kacchan~” he singsongs, though there’s an edge to his voice that’s almost… dangerous. He leans into Bakugou’s face. “I want. My kiss.”
“Wh—no!” Bakugou splutters, though not before something like desire pulses hotly through him. What. He is not into this. He does not like when Deku tries to be dominant, that… that is his least favorite thing.
“Ehhh? Why not?” Deku whines, his commanding posture deflating in an instant. See? There, it’s gone. The new emotion flooding through Bakugou’s veins is relief, not disappointment.
Bakugou plucks Deku’s hand off the wall beside him and takes a step forward. You know, to reassert his dominance. Not that it was ever in question. “You haven’t earned it,” he decides, letting go of Deku and crossing his arms.
“Whaaat?” Deku stamps his foot cartoonishly. “But I was quiet, just like you said!”
Bakugou lifts a finger accusingly. “And you’ve since stopped being quiet. It’s been real annoying.”
Deku grabs onto Bakugou’s arms, yanking weakly. “That’s not fair, Kacchan!” he protests. “You promised! C’mon, pleeease?”
Part of Bakugou is tempted to just peck Deku on his pouty lips right then and be done with it, but… Deku’s not himself. Bakugou had promised to take care of him, and he’s pretty sure making romantic advances would qualify as a breach of trust, or consent, or something. Plus, he doesn’t trust Deku not to try and take a mile if Bakugou gives him an inch, and as appealing as making out with Deku in the corner of the elevator sounds—
No, wait. It’s unappealing. He doesn’t want to do that. Gah, what is wrong with him? Did the intoxication quirk get him too, after all?
“Okay, okay,” Bakugou placates, clasping Deku’s arms to get him to stop pulling. “How about this: you be good and quiet again and go to bed properly, without acting like a whiny little kid, and you can have two kisses in the morning. Sound good?”
“Two kisses?” Deku repeats. He looks contemplative for all of a few seconds before his face brightens and he nods. “Okay!”
Bakugou nods back. “Okay.”
“But, Kacchan?”
“What.”
“If I’m extra good, can I have ten kisses?”
“Don’t push your luck.”
Deku makes a sad noise, but falls silent as promised for the rest of the elevator trip and leans sleepily against Bakugou’s chest. The whole ride up had seemed to last an absurdly long time for all that they were only going up one floor, but at last the doors open and Bakugou drags Deku out of the elevator and into the hall. Deku doesn’t seem too inclined to put much effort into walking, leaving Bakugou to trudge awkwardly down the hall bearing most of his weight.
Finally, finally, they get to Deku’s room. Deku is fully draped over Bakugou’s shoulders at this point, and Bakugou tries not to think about how much he likes the clean scent of shampoo wafting up from Deku’s damp curls. Deku fumbles for so long with the key to the room that Bakugou eventually snatches it with a tired “Give it here” and unlocks the door for him, shoving it open with his foot and dragging Deku inside.
Bakugou flicks on the light and tries not to shudder as he’s greeted by literally hundreds, if not thousands of grinning All Mights. He kicks the door closed and hauls Deku over to his bed, dumping him unceremoniously on top of the covers with a solid thump.
“Mm, so rough, Kacchan.”
Bakugou freezes, face heating. In a normal situation, Deku would have sounded pouty and childish saying such a thing, complaining about Bakugou’s meanness as usual. But just now, he sounded breathy and… and needy, and the shock of it sends Bakugou’s brain short-circuiting.
“Sh-shut up,” he tries to growl. Nailed it.
“I didn’t say I didn’t like it, Kacchan~” Deku croons. He squirms around on the bed, and his shirt’s riding up and his hair is disheveled and he’s looking up at Bakugou with those dreamy eyes and flushed cheeks and—okay, he’s definitely doing this on purpose now.
“Somebody isn’t being very quiet,” Bakugou warns. Deku falls silent as Bakugou stoops to yank the house slippers off Deku’s feet, coming around to place them neatly on the floor beside the head of the bed. When he stands and makes to leave, though, Deku’s arm darts out to grab hold of his wrist.
“Wait,” he cries, and then immediately claps his other hand over his mouth, having once again broken his promised silence. Bakugou rolls his eyes. It only takes one glance at Deku’s dumb pleading puppy-dog face to know exactly what he’s after.
“You want me to stay with you,” he deadpans. It’s not a question.
Deku’s eyes light up and he nods vigorously, curls bouncing.
Bakugou considers. On the one hand, he could snort derisively and tell Deku no and just leave, but that would probably lead to more of Deku whining or blubbering or both and he desperately doesn’t want to deal with that again. He figures it won’t cost him much to stick around for the very few minutes it’ll take for Deku to conk out in his woozy state, and then he can slip out and sleep in his own bed in peace. It’s not like him to take the path of least resistance, but…
“Fine. Shove over,” he says, kicking off his own slippers next to Deku’s.
Deku beams at him. He happily wiggles over to make space, wrangling the blanket out from beneath him and lifting it up for Bakugou to get settled. As soon as he flops down on the bed, Deku’s grabby hands are invading his personal space. Bakugou flicks him on the nose.
“Oi,” he says warningly.
“Please, Kacchan?” Deku whines. He’s staring up at Bakugou with those eyes again, and Bakugou does not have the energy to put up a real fight. “Please, can we cuddle?”
“Ugh, fine,” he concedes. Deku cheers quietly and scoots right up against Bakugou, encircling his arms around Bakugou’s waist and nuzzling his face into Bakugou’s chest. “You’re so weird,” he says, face warm, because he needs to maintain at least some sense of superiority.
Deku doesn’t respond, just makes a happy noise and holds Bakugou tighter. Bakugou supposes it’s not actually all that weird, for Deku at least—they used to do this all the time when they’d have sleepovers as kids. Deku’s always been the snuggly type, he supposes. He really shouldn’t be surprised that this is what he wants now, especially after how touchy-feely he’d been all evening.
Bakugou reaches out and clicks off the bedside light switch, begrudgingly laying his arm around Deku’s shoulders, but only because there’s no other comfortable position.
Sure enough, it’s only a matter of minutes before Deku’s breathing evens out. Smugly satisfied, Bakugou carefully starts to extract himself from Deku’s arms, but then suddenly there’s a crackle of bright green energy in front of him—Deku’s gone Full Cowling in his sleep to keep his hold on Bakugou inescapable. For an intense minute, he struggles as gently and quietly as he can, even yanking off his shirt when Deku’s grip on the fabric won’t budge, but he’s still got Bakugou’s wrist in his grasp and won’t let go. Unbelievable.
Bakugou growls and weighs his options: he can either forcefully extract himself, wake up the nerd in the process, and risk dealing with more of his nonsensical drunken feelings and protests… oooor, he can just suck it up, lay back down, and wait for One For All to deactivate on its own. Who knows, maybe Deku’s grip will loosen when he hits a different point in his sleep cycle or something. Besides, it’s already 8:30 and Bakugou is wiped. Surely it wouldn’t hurt to close his eyes and rest for a few minutes while he waits…
Midoriya awakens to a throbbing pressure in his skull. He groans and starts to shift—but then freezes as he notices the unfamiliar pressure of another body next to him. What his sleep-addled brain had previously thought was the weight of his blanket draped over his shoulder is actually an arm, and what he’d thought was his unusually warm pillow is actually a broad chest. His heartrate picks up; he’d know those pecs anywhere. But just to make sure, he groggily lifts his head up and, with no small amount of effort, peels his eyes open.
Although he has to squint in the bright morning sunlight blazing mercilessly through his window, there’s no mistaking what he sees even as he blinks away blurry tears: one shirtless Katsuki Bakugou is in his bed.
For a moment, Midoriya just stares (well, still mostly squints), staving off both a heart attack from the fact that Kacchan is in his bed as well as another, separate heart attack from just how breathtakingly peaceful and angelic Kacchan’s sleeping face is. He doesn’t really want to wake Kacchan up, but he also has no idea what’s going on; the last thing he remembers clearly is running into a villain on their way back to school, and everything after that is a bit fuzzy.
“Um… Kacchan?” Midoriya asks hesitantly, voice croaky. His throat feels like sandpaper.
Kacchan twitches, like his muscles have suddenly been switched on, and stirs to life next to Midoriya. He draws in a sharp breath through his nose as he wakes up, and his eyes flutter open as he breathes out, coming to focus on Midoriya’s face.
“So are you back to normal then?” he asks, voice uncharacteristically deep and slow. It sends a pleasant shiver up Midoriya’s spine.
“Normal?” He frowns. “I mean, I think so? Was I not normal before?” His head is still pounding, and his fragmented memory from the night before troubles him even more. “Kacchan, what happened?”
Kacchan stretches lazily. Midoriya tries to look away and fails; every steamy line he’s ever read about muscles rippling under golden skin has got nothing on Kacchan. “You got drunk, like an idiot,” Kacchan says.
“Drunk!?” Midoriya squeaks. “I don’t… Wait—did we…!?” he asks suddenly, face flushing in a panic. He frantically lifts the covers, peering beneath and breathing a sigh of relief when he sees that they’re both fully clothed from the waist down.
“What? No!” Kacchan rolls his eyes, his cheeks turning a bit pink. “Nothing like that, calm down. I don’t take advantage of drunk losers. ‘Slobbery’ ain’t my type.” He yawns. “Do you even remember anything from yesterday?”
“Kind of. I remember… running into a villain on our way back to school?”
“Mm. He’s the one that hit you with the quirk that made you act all drunk.”
“So it was a quirk,” Midoriya sighs in relief.
“What else do you remember?” Kacchan prompts.
“The fight’s kind of a blur. After that, we… went back to UA?”
“I carried you back to UA,” Kacchan corrects. “You owe me big time for that. You’re no feather.”
Midoriya smiles. “Well, Kacchan is strong. I’m sure it wasn’t too bad,” he says. At Kacchan’s growl, he adds, “But thanks, Kacchan. You’re really amazing.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Kacchan says dismissively, but Midoriya can tell he’s pleased. “Anyway, I carried you back, and Recovery Girl healed us, but you were still acting like a dope. Then we showered, ate, and went to bed.” Kacchan’s grin turns crooked. “And you whined like a little baby for me to stay with you.”
Midoriya frowns—not at Kacchan’s jab, but at his low-detail summary of the previous night’s events. “I think… I remember… one more thing,” he says slowly. It’s hazy, but… “Somewhere in there, did you… promise to kiss me?”
Kacchan is quiet for a long moment. “…Yeah,” he says eventually.
“So?”
“So what?”
“Did you kiss me?”
Kacchan scoffs. “I already told you, I don’t kiss drunk losers.”
“Well…” Midoriya fidgets shyly. His pulse races as he debates asking, isn’t 100% confident that he’s read Kacchan right, but… they’re laying in bed together, and Kacchan’s even shirtless. He takes the leap. “What about sober losers?”
Kacchan’s eyes widen in surprise, then narrow in suspicion, searching Midoriya’s face. Midoriya meets his gaze levelly, hoping that Kacchan can’t feel the speed of his heartbeat where their skin touches. Kacchan nods once, slowly. “I do kiss sober losers,” he says seriously. His eyes glint in that way that sends little shivers dancing over Midoriya’s skin. “At least, I do when I’ve made them promises I gotta keep.”
And then Kacchan’s hand is sliding up the back of Midoriya’s neck and his fingers are curling in his hair, and then Midoriya is being yanked down so fast he has to throw his arm out over Kacchan’s chest to rest on the mattress for balance, and then Kacchan is wrapping his other arm around Midoriya’s back to steady him, and then Kacchan is kissing him and it’s so, so impossibly tender.
It’s like all of reality stops for an instant, no sound or sensation save for the gentle press of Kacchan’s lips against his own and the diving swoop of his own heart. And then a split second later, as if trying to catch back up, the universe whooshes back into place around him, planets rushing past his ears and stars tingling against his skin.
It’s a slow kiss, soft and warm and lazy in the early morning light. Midoriya’s pretty sure that his heartbeat has exceeded any humanly detectible speed and that his heart is now fully vibrating in his chest. He feels so light and giddy that he could float; the only thing tethering him down to earth must be Kacchan’s strong arms wrapped around him.
When they pull apart, Midoriya notes with a little thrill that Kacchan’s just as breathless, blinking up at Midoriya with—could it be?—fondness in his eyes.
“Wow,” Midoriya whispers reverently. He didn’t really mean for Kacchan to hear, but he feels the rumble of laughter in Kacchan’s chest anyway. He clears his throat and speaks up before he can lose his nerve. “I believe a second kiss is owed?”
“Convenient memory you got there.” Kacchan’s lips quirk up at the corners. “Well, I’m nothing if not a man of my word,” he says, and pulls Midoriya back in.