Work Text:
It was a truth universally acknowledged that Bakugou Katsuki, the angriest man in the world, was nothing but a ticking time bomb of emotions waiting to be defused. Luckily, one man possessed the unique ability to fix him—Eijirou Kirishima, who had recently evolved from sunshine incarnate into a walking alpha male caricature with the intensity of 1,000 motivational YouTube videos.
Bakugou sulked on the couch with his arms crossed and his lips puckered into a perpetual pout. He hadn’t yelled in approximately three hours—a personal record.
“Hey, babe,” Kirishima growled, swaggering into the living room. His shirt was inexplicably unbuttoned, revealing abs that looked Photoshopped. It was oiled up and tanned, like burnt dinner rolls, except there weren't any garlic bits nor chopped parsley. “What’s with the frown, my little hunny bunchkin, sub bratty baby?"
Bakugou visibly flinched. He tugged at the hem of his sweater—a sweater Kirishima had knitted for him because real men knit, Bakugou. Deal with it. “It’s nothin’, my big dominant alpha.” Because Kirishima was big. As they aged, he grew to about eight feet tall, whereas Bakugou had shrunk to a mere 4'10 or one hundred forty seven centimeters. How that happened --how Bakugou went from 5'8 to 4'10-- was a mystery as well.
Kirishima smirked, crouching down to tilt Bakugou’s chin up with one calloused finger. “Nothing? Are you being a tsundere again? Do we need another session of emotional yoga where I bend you over backwards and slap you with my pp as we talk about feelings?”
Bakugou’s eyes widened in horror. He liked the pp slapping. He liked being bent over and dominated, but he did not like whenever Kirishima recited affirmations in a deep, commanding voice that made Bakugou’s palms sweat for reasons he wasn’t ready to unpack.
“I said it’s nothing.” Bakugou lowered his head and pouted, fiddling with his index fingers. Once he knew he got his big boy alpha Kirishima's attention, he slowly looked up and fluttered his eyelashes. He knew Kirishima's one weakness was not good character development or payoff –it was whenever he looked breedable and submissive like this.
Alas, his charm did not work. “Wrong answer, baby boy.” Kirishima's voice was thick and dripping like honey. He grabbed Bakugou’s hand with enough force to shatter the spirits of people who would die if anyone ever wrote Bakugou to be an uwu baby boy. “You’re mine , and that means I take care of you—even when you’re too stubborn to admit you need it.”
“I—I don’t need—” Bakugou’s voice cracked, betraying him.
“Shhh,” Kirishima hushed, pressing a finger to Bakugou’s lips. “You don’t have to talk. Just let me take charge.”
With that, Kirishima scooped Bakugou like a baby. It was reminiscent of that scene in Harry Potter when Voldemort was reduced to an infant blob; the only difference was that the author of this fic was not transphobic. It had to be said.
Kirishima carried Bakugou to their bedroom and laid him down on the bed. Of course, he was still pouting like the main character in a vampire K-drama who was too emotionally complex for his own good. His lip jutted out just enough to be noticeable but not enough to look intentional. When Kirishima put a weighted blanket on top of him, Bakugou wiggled his toes under the fabric in defiance.
“This is so dumb.” He glared at Kirishima. “I don’t need a stupid heavy blanket. I’m not, like, a toddler who needs swaddling.”
Kirishima, grinning like a himbo with a purpose, ignored the sass. “Oh, babe.” He sighed, and Bakugou already knew that the sigh meant I know you better than you know yourself. “You need this. Trust me. It’s giving self-care energy, and you? You’re giving chaos goblin vibes right now.”
Bakugou huffed, crossing his legs with a dramatic flump that nearly knocked over the bedside lamp. “I’m not a goblin,” he snapped, sounding exactly like a goblin. “I’m perfectly fine! Stop treating me like I’m broken or whatever.”
Kirishima raised an eyebrow in that infuriating way he did when he was gearing up for one of his Kirishima the Fixer speeches. “Uh-huh. Sure you’re fine. That’s why you literally screamed, ‘I’LL DESTROY YOU!’ at the air fryer earlier. Babe, the air fryer.”
Bakugou’s ears turned bright red. “That thing was taunting me. ” He squirmed when Kirishima started carding through his hair like a nurturing mom who also happened to bench-press trucks for fun. “It beeped, like, five times. Who even needs to beep that much?”
Kirishima’s grin widened. His beefy arm casually rested on Bakugou’s thigh like it belonged there. “Relax, babe. The air fryer is not your enemy. Neither is this blanket. It’s scientifically proven to chill people out, and if anyone needs chilling, it’s my angsty little firecracker.”
“I’m not angsty!” Bakugou kicked his feet under the blanket like a toddler who’d just been denied candy. “I’m literally so chill. I’m, like, the chillest person ever. Ask anyone!”
“Yeah, okay, my little pumpkin. ” Kirishima booped Bakugou on the nose. “Keep telling yourself that while I wrap you up like a spicy burrito of feelings.”
Bakugou scowled. “Don’t call me that."
“Awww, why not? Are you being a stubborn little brat?” When Kirishima spoke like that, it sounded like a threat, but he always did so while pressing a kiss on Bakugou's forehead.
Bakugou blinked up at him, his glare losing steam as his cheeks turned the same shade as Kirishima’s hair. “You’re so cringe,” he muttered, but his voice was soft, like he was half-considering accepting the affection.
“Cringe? Babe, you married cringe.” Kirishima pulled the blanket snugly around Bakugou’s shoulders. “And don’t worry—underneath all the tough talk, you love it. Just admit it. Admit you like me fixing you.”
Bakugou squirmed, trying to maintain his bratty energy, but the blanket was annoyingly… comforting. Like, offensively comforting. His eyelids drooped as warmth seeped into his very soul.
“You’re stupid,” he mumbled, more to the blanket than to Kirishima.
“And you’re adorable.” Kirishima grinned like he’d just won the boyfriend lottery. Because of course he did. Bakugou was a pretty, pretty princess.
Bakugou melted. He didn’t just relax—he deflated. His usual scowl softened into something dangerously close to contentment, and he let out the tiniest little hmpf as he snuggled deeper into the blanket.
“Whatever.” Bakugou's voice was barely audible. “You’re still a stupid jerk.”
“I’m your silly baby.” Kirishima ruffled Bakugou’s hair.
And just like that, Bakugou drifted off to sleep, his brat energy temporarily vanquished by the curse of Kirishima’s cheesy affection. Only Kirishima could make him fall asleep that fast.
Kirishima, of course, spent the rest of the evening scrolling Pinterest for more ways to spoil his “grumpy little waifu.”
The next day, Midoriya and the gang came over for brunch. Bakugou, now wearing an apron that said Kirishima’s Property, quietly served everyone coffee. He was so docile and soft in his pink, frilly apron. Whenever he made off-handed remarks, Kirishima threw him a look that screamed he'll suffer later. So, Bakugou was reduced to being an obedient little baby.
“Wow, Kirishima.” Mina barely hid her astonishment. “You’ve really tamed him.”
Kirishima leaned back in his chair, smug. “Tamed? Nah. I just brought out his true potential. Deep down, Bakugou’s a submissive little lamb. Aren’t you, babe?”
Bakugou scowled, his hands trembling around the coffee pot. “If I say yes, will you stop making me do emotional yoga?”
“See?” Kirishima beamed. “He’s learning.”
And so, the man who once declared himself king of explosions became a glorified lapdog—all because one overly-dominant redhead decided he needed fixing.