kiribaku oneshots

let food be thy medicine

But Bakugo refused to feel bad about it. Even if Kirishima had looked like a kicked puppy the moment Bakugo had pulled his hand away. Even if he had been the one to put that horrible look on his face.

Alright, so maybe Bakugo felt a little bad about it. Just a little bit.

After all, it wasn't like Kirishima had done anything wrong. All he had done was try to hold Bakugo's hand; it wasn't his fault Bakugo was a touch-averse garbage fire.

Bouncing between feeling totally justified in his reaction and feeling like a complete and utter piece of shit, Bakugo had spent the following three hours trying to keep himself distracted. He had gone from finishing the All Might movie to playing his favorite violent video games to doing some pushups to listening to the loudest, angriest music he could find on Spotify.

But without fail, his thoughts kept wandering back to Kirishima and dejected look on his face when Bakugo had snapped at him. He was probably in his own room right now, replaying everything in his head and finding new ways to blame himself for Bakugo's shitty attitude.

Shit, Bakugo had really fucked up, hadn't he? Why the hell couldn't he be a normal fucking boyfriend? One who didn't get upset over the dumbest shit and go off on diatribes at the drop of a hat?

"Fuck," Bakugo breathed, abruptly sitting up. He really needed to make this better.

But he wasn't good at this kind of stuff. He didn't know how to resolve arguments, he only knew how to start them. And he'd never bothered to actually make up with anyone after a fight. He had no idea how.

Yet Bakugo was nothing if not determined to a fault. He was going to figure out how to make this better even if it killed him.

Leaving his room, he made a beeline to the elevator, jabbing the ground floor button with more force than strictly necessary. The elevator ride seemed longer than usual without Kirishima chattering away in his ear the way he did when they were on their way to class or were returning from training.

Bakugo was relieved to find the common room almost entirely deserted. Only Headphones and Bird Brain were downstairs, sitting on one of the couches together with their faces buried in their phones, doing their weekly exchange of music recommendations.

While any other day, Bakugo might have joined them (their taste in music wasn't totally awful), tonight he was a man on a mission. He would have preferred it if the common room was completely empty but at least those two extras were somewhat bearable. And they were both quiet, another point in their favor.

Not bothering to acknowledge the others in the room, he headed straight to the kitchen where he started amassing the necessary ingredients and cooking utensils. He quickly set to work with single-minded focus, trying to tamp down the niggling hint of embarrassment that haunted his every move.

He dutifully made a pot of dashi stock before chopping carrots, onions, and potatoes. Setting the vegetables aside, he thinly sliced some beef and rinsed some shirataki noodles.

While boiling the noodles, he sautéed the onions and the sliced beef and mixed mirin , soy sauce, sake, and sugar in a bowl set off to the side. Once the meat was browned, he added the carrots, noodles, and potatoes to the pot along with the dashi stock and mixed seasonings.

After skimming the scum and fat off the top of the stew, he placed the otoshibuta on top and took a deep breath. With nothing else for him to do, he hoisted himself up on the counter to wait for it to stew.

He really hoped Kirishima liked this. He didn't know what else he could possibly do if he didn't. Cooking was one of the only constructive things he could actually do without making a mess of things.

His dad always cooked for his mom after a fight, even if the fights were almost never his fault, and his mom always seemed to appreciate it. Bakugo hoped that the same would be true for Kirishima. Otherwise, he was out of luck.

Playing around on his phone, he kept an eye on the time, not wanting to overcook their dinner. He couldn't afford to fuck this up.

Fifteen minutes later, he was in the middle of spooning the nikujaga into two bowls, planning to take them upstairs to Kirishima's room, when he heard footsteps on the stairs. He paused, turning to look over his shoulder in time to see Kirishima walk into the kitchen.

"Oh. Hey," Kirishima greeted awkwardly, briefly meeting Bakugo's eyes before looking down at his bare feet. He was in the same clothes as earlier; a pair of baggy gray sweatpants and an oversized Fat Gum hoodie.

Hands buried in his pockets, he started shuffling over to the pantry, actively avoiding looking at Bakugo. But before he could reach for his stash of specially imported protein bars, Bakugo softly called, "Oi, Kirishima."

Kirishima turned to him, eyes big and questioning and so cautious they made Bakugo's heart break all over again. Clearing his throat while lifting a steaming bowl and a pair of chopsticks, Bakugo lamely explained, "I made dinner."

Kirishima accepted the bowl and chopsticks with a silent nod, carrying both over to the breakfast bar where he sat down and began eating. Setting the pots and pans he had cooked with in the sink to soak overnight, Bakugo grabbed his own bowl and joined Kirishima at the breakfast bar.

They ate in silence for several long, awkward minutes before Bakugo abruptly sighed and set his chopsticks aside. He turned to Kirishima, taking a deep breath to steel himself before he chickened out like some fucking nerd.

"Look, I'm sorry, okay?" He blurted, feeling like an even bigger jackass than he already had before. Kirishima turned to him in surprise, a few noodles still poking out of his mouth.

"Fuck, that's not what I meant," Bakugo swore, running a hand over his face. Why were words so difficult to fucking use? What the fuck, they were just words. "I mean, I am sorry. I just... I'm not good at this but I don't wanna use that as an excuse because you deserve an explanation."

Kirishima nodded patiently, slurping up his noodles and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. With Kirishima silently encouraging him to go on, Bakugo paused to catch his breath, trying to formulate his thoughts into something at least somewhat coherent.

"I was being an asshole," he confessed, shakily meeting Kirishima's eyes. "I overreacted and I took it out on you and you didn't — you don't — deserve that. I'm sorry. I-I wanna get better at this communicating thing, I do. I'll get better, I swear."

Kirishima nodded again, waiting a few moments in case Bakugo had more to say. He didn't.

"Thank you," Kirishima said softly, keeping his voice calm and quiet. "For apologizing. Oh, and for making dinner. I totally forgot to eat earlier."

Bakugo let himself smile a bit at that, eyes riveted to Kirishima's own small grin. Licking his lips, Kirishima went on, "I know you have trouble with words and stuff, I get it. But you can't keep shutting me out, okay? If something's bothering you, you need to tell me. Even if it's just you saying 'hey, this thing is pissing me off'."

"I will," Bakugo eagerly answered, nodding vigorously. Impulsively reaching out to hold Kirishima's hand, he squeezed his boyfriend's fingers, like he could convey everything through touch, and swore, "I'll get better, I promise."

"You don't have to promise me that, Bakugo," Kirishima assured him, lips curling up in a fond smile. He squeezed Bakugo's fingers right back, tacking on, "I just need you to try."

"Alright, I'll try," Bakugo agreed, nodding again. Running his thumb over Kirishima's knuckle, he quietly asked, "We're okay, right?"

"Yeah, man," Kirishima confirmed, leaning in to peck Bakugo on the lips. Smiling broadly, he reiterated, "We're okay."

Cheeks filling with heat over the simple display of affection, Bakugo swiftly turned back to dinner, mumbling, "You should eat before it gets cold."

"Sure thing, dude," Kirishima laughed, digging back into his own serving of nikujaga. It was a bit awkward since they were still holding hands but neither one of them minded.

Behind them, watching things unfold from their place on the couch, Jiro and Tokoyami shared a soft smile of their own. Tucking their phones into their pockets, they quietly slipped out of the room to give their friends some well-deserved privacy.