Good. Bad. I'm the guy with the gun.

Whenever someone asks Shouto why Bakugou, Shouto is surprised. What do they mean by why? The appropriate question would be: how could he not?

Katsuki is perfect. Okay. Maybe not, he’s got some defects like his explosive character and rough edges, his grumpiness and overall I’d rather bite you than say hello attitude, but Shouto likes that too. It’s honest. Katsuki never shies away from who he is, never tries to appease the masses for a quick favor or positive review.

He’s no people pleaser, but that doesn’t mean he’s not attentive. Because he is.

People always ask Shouto why, because they only see how Katsuki scowls whenever Shouto is a little bit too handsy in public. They don’t see that behind closed doors, Katsuki is the clingy one who always perches Shouto over his lap and carries him everywhere, arguing that Shouto has worked hard enough today, that some villain has thrown him around and his body needs to rest.

They only see old clips of Katsuki denying being friends, and later, of him denying their relationship when Shouto admitted it in public. They never got to see how flustered Katsuki became the second the cameras were away, the tiny smile that escaped him, the proud puff of his chest as Shouto had publicly declared him his.

They only see the Hero #5 taunting the Hero #2, telling him he’d better watch out or he’ll be overcome by him next year. They never see the hungry kisses behind the scenario, the hands that slip and squeeze in a random bathroom stall of the award show, because ‘there’s no way I can wait until we reach home, princess, you look too fucking good’. And then the hours of bodyworship as he congratulates him once they actually make it home. Every kiss tasting sweeter than any award. Every lick, every caress given with his soul and heart, eyes shining with pride as that’s his man who is on top of the charts, beneath him in the sheets.

They only see the scolding after a fight: Katsuki yelling at him, captured on camera, but never the audio. They never hear the worry dressed as rage as he points out that that last move was too fucking reckless, that he could have gotten hurt, and then what? They don’t see the gloss on his eyes as Shouto gets patched up, because a little bit up and he might have lost an eye.

They only see the jeers as he needs a second to recover after he got released from the hospital, because yes, he was too reckless and ended up injured, sentenced to be confined to a bed for two weeks. They never see the worried eyes, attentive listening to the doctors, the precise questions to nurses, and the mental notes he takes as he’s planning ahead on how he’s going to take care of him once he’s released and they make it home.

They only hear a loud man who calls him names like Halfie, Icy Hot, Half and Half Bastard (whenever he has pissed him off really badly). They never hear the whispered princess, baby, doll, good boy, that melt his soul.

They only see a man who sneers and scoffs at big romantic gestures that his friends make for their partners whenever cameras are nearby, things pre-arranged with the PR department. They never see the warm meals he elaborates day after day, the prepared tube of cream for muscle soreness right at the door and hands more than ready to massage and apply, or the scolding bathtub already filled with Epsom salts. Because for him, real romantic gestures aren’t big or public, or pacted, but rather a sum of constant, private, meaningful, and smaller things that really count.

They say Shouto is the sun. They are wrong. Katsuki is. Shouto is just a planet orbiting around him, being pulled by his gravitational force.

In conclusion, if you ask why Bakugou, you’re a fool. Next question, please.

Surrounded. They’re completely surrounded. Up to where his sight reaches, Shouto doesn’t see any way out.

“Oi, Deku and the others are still outside. Just use the vents and leave m—”

“No.”

Shouto’s reply doesn’t leave room for discussion.

He’s not moving, he’s not leaving him.

Katsuki clicks his tongue and sighs, relief and fear washing through him.

He already knew Shouto wasn’t going to go anywhere; it’s what he’d do if their positions were reversed, is what he has done: back when Shouto got hurt in one of their previous expeditions, Katsuki almost got bitten as he couldn’t leave him behind and there was another time when both almost died as he carried Shouto’s unconscious body all across a street flooded with those monsters; so no, both know it’s not a matter of leaving one behind, but rather finding a way out, together.

The problem is that there is no such thing.

Katsuki’s leg is broken. Shouto can see the bone piercing the skin, so using the vents or running somewhere is not an option because Katsuki is also bleeding. Bleeding to death.

He’s suffering, and Shouto hates it.

He hates how much Katsuki is trying to hold back his pain, his wincing, and all that for his sake, for Shouto. Because even if he’s dying, he’s still trying to be strong for him.

“I love you,” he whispers. It slides past his lips like the tear that is falling down his cheek: accidentally and brutally honest.

Katsuki’s eyes widen and then a curse echoes in the small room they have locked themselves in.

The pounding on the door tenfold and Shouto grabs Katsuki’s face as a loud creak of wood giving up thunders in the room.

“Meeting you was the best thing that has ever happened to me. Thank you for letting me in and thank you for loving me back.”

Katsuki’s lip quivers for a second before he snorts. He tries to keep up his cocky smirk but the effect is not the same as always, his eyes are watery and tired and his skin is too pale from the blood-loss, looking even more white as it has some grime and dirt here and there, back from when he fell and broke his leg, trying to distract some zombies to give their friends a way out.

“Stupid, stop saying goodbye-”

“Don’t,” Shouto cuts him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Katsuki’s smile falls.

“I know. I know that.”

“Then what?”

Katsuki’s eyes don’t move from his, and what Shouto sees breaks his heart, but it also gives him butterflies. It reminds him of back when they met, when he was at a dead end, ready to die, only for this man to stretch his hand down and yell at him to take it. Shouto did and then their eyes met.

It was love at first sight… filled with bumps as zombie apocalypse, Shouto having trust issues and Katsuki anger ones; plus neither was willing to let the other one in, too keen on protecting themselves. But they did it. Thanks to Izuku, locking them in a room with the threat of not letting them out until they talked about it, they did it —more like angrily making out, split bloody lips were spotted after Izuku opened the door— and started this adventure.

An adventure that seems about to end.

“I’ve a grenade left.”

Katsuki’s words echo in Shouto’s brain.

Without looking away from Katsuki, he blindly takes it.

As he feels it on his hand, so heavy and definitive, he glances down and his eyes zero in on one detail. He laughs and as Katsuki asks him what it is, Shouto slides his ring finger through the little safety pin and whispers, “Is this your way of asking me to marry you?”

Katsuki blinks and then joins him.

“Idiot.”

They kiss while still laughing, tears mixing, making it salty and so, so bittersweet.

As the door bursts open, Shouto frees his wedding ring and themselves.

He knows he could be obsessed over something else:

His cat-shaped scarlet eyes; how stunningly pretty they are, how with just one glance they can make you feel as if your soul is being examined.

His muscles, oh lord, his muscles. Shouto could and has run his fingers over them for hours, always marvelling at how firm and lethal they are, burning into his mind their shape and all their crevices so he could distinguish them even in the darkness or blind.

His fighting skills or his leadership ones, how he always ends up emerging victorious no matter what hardship they find themselves in, no matter how strong and scary their enemy is, or if the sea is throwing its best at them; he never falters, he’s never wrong and always guides them all to victory and back home, safe and sound with their ship filled to the brim with all the treasures they’ve raided.

But no, the thing Shouto is obsessed with are his braids. He loves how Katsuki’s head looks when he has his long, ashen-blond hair tied up, braids covering his sides, only for his long locks to fall in a cascade behind his head.

Katsuki meets his eyes and smirks as he knows what Shouto is thinking.

Shouto doesn’t look away, he’s not ashamed, but he eventually does as some of their men call for his attention.

They are almost back home; the watchman can already see their town. As they get close to the dock, Shouto smiles as all the men stand up, ceasing their rowing to yell and celebrate the drums that are welcoming them from their latest adventure.

Katsuki stands up in their ship’s bow and roars.

“We’re back! And we bring our chests filled with gold from those extras of the south who thought they could win against us, as if the Bakugou clan was weak, as if we weren’t the best vikings around!”

Everybody goes crazy and Shouto simply smiles, eyes fixed on his lover’s braids.

After the welcoming feast is over, he slides away and lies naked on their bed, patiently waiting, even if he knows it’s a matter of minutes.

His fingers tingle and his mouth waters as he can’t wait to tangle them all over Katsuki’s hair, caressing and fawning over his tight braids, messing them while the man wrecks him with his touch.

When Katsuki finally appears, he wastes no more time as he gets undressed himself and takes him. Shouto doesn’t struggle, quite the opposite: he spreads his legs wide open and crooks his finger in a silent invitation.

Katsuki pounds him and starts to kiss his skin, leaving bites and open-mouthed kisses all over his collarbones, marking him as his as he prepares him for the main course.

Digging his fingers into his skin, Shouto moans unabashedly as Katsuki is nailing his spot with such ease that it always overwhelms him how well the man knows his body, how well-versed he is. Throwing his head back, he arches his body as his orgasm hits him, flooding all his senses.

As he lies under Katsuki, while the man is still ramming into him, and observes him through half-lidded eyes. The second his arms don’t feel like lead, he starts to caress the man’s braids, smiling as he can feel them a little bit wet from his sweat.

Katsuki’s rhythm falters for a bit before he snorts and thrusts rougher into him.

“Again, princess?”

“Can’t help it,” he rasps hoarse.

“Tsk, your hair is prettier, you know?”

Shouto shakes his head. “No, my king, yours is. So sexy and pretty. Katsuki… my Katsuki.”

Katsuki curses and comes, body crashing into his as he pants right next to his ear. Shouto wraps his legs around his waist, keeping him right there as he loves the weight of his man over him.

Yes, Shouto loves Katsuki’s braids, but the thing that fascinates him the most is how this powerful man has chosen to love him.

Russian Red. Marrakesh. Lady Danger. Ruby Woo. Pink Nouveau. Cosmo. Please Me. Speed Dial. Candy Yum-Yum. Cyber Shine.

Gloss. Matte.

He has them all.

They are all perfectly placed in a single row behind his sink, in the pearl white counter of the bathroom. He likes the contrast they make against it: all black and shiny, perfect cylinders with a flat base to stand up proud, a metallic silver ring around their waist, making them look like models wearing sleek black dresses with a minimalist belt, all walking down his particular fashion show.

His finger hovers over them, teeth softly grazing his bottom lip as he considers which one is the one for tonight. He glances up at the foggy mirror and smiles as he can already hear someone with a hoarse grunt scolding him, ‘You shouldn’t use such scorching water, princess. It ain’t good for the skin’.

Shaking his head, he glances at what truly matters: his outfit. He’s wearing a black turtle neck crop top, made of the softest cashmere, and baby blue low-waist jeans.

He’s still unsure, if it was all dark, he’d go for the pink hues and if it was all light, the red ones, but like this…

The tick-tock from the clock doesn’t stop, and he knows neither is the impatient tapping from the man who is waiting outside. Shouto knows he has taken too long scrubbing and exfoliating his skin and then drying his hair, styling it perfectly with some waves on his sides to make it look fluffy, the kind of fluffy that drives Katsuki wild.

Just like the lipstick.

Shouto likes them, he has always enjoyed them. Growing up, his eyes always moved towards the beauty stands, and whenever he had a chance, he sneaked into his sister’s or mother’s bathrooms and awed quietly at them. He remembers opening their drawers and uncovering them, marvelling at how beautiful and shiny the little bars were. He could spend a whole afternoon, twisting the base of the lipsticks, sliding up and down their secret contents that he wanted, oh so badly, to wear.

But he couldn’t. Because proper boys don’t wear make-up, Shouto.

So he didn’t.

Until he met him.

Bakugou Katsuki, a tough man that cursed more than he breathed, wore leather jackets, ripped jeans, rock and punk tees or skull-pattered ones, branded bruises and scars along with tattoos and piercings with utter pride… and used eyeliner without caring about how unmanly it might be.

It was he who caught Shouto staring at the lipsticks with desire and who simply bought one, and right after the store clerk said, "Thanks for your purchase," started to apply it to Shouto’s eager lips.

“There. You look gorgeous. I’m hungry as fuck, can we go already?”

Just like that. All Shouto’s fears started to crumble and now there he is, the proud owner of over forty lipsticks. If only he could exhibit them all... Alas, Katsuki always tidies them up, placing them back in the drawers after he scolds him to only keep ten, his favourites, out.

“But I like them all!”

“No. Choose.”

He finally goes for a pink hue, and as he opens the bathroom door, he smiles as he sees him.

“Fucking finally!”

Katsuki rushes to his side and Shouto bites his cheek as both know this isn’t it.

He’s still going back to the bathroom after this.

Shouto might love his lipsticks, and he can easily spend hours trying them on and off, daydreaming about what shade perfectly goes with what outfit and whatnot, but his favorite part about them is how they look when they smear all over his mouth and chin when Katsuki kisses him.

He might enjoy wearing them, but it’s nothing compared to when they pull apart, panting, and he sees his favourite shade of the day, all over Katsuki’s face, matching his.

Ten minutes later, he goes back to the bathroom. Katsuki doesn’t complain. He needs to retouch his lips and hair.