You’re lounging on the couch, scrolling through your phone, half-wrapped in a throw blanket, the quiet hum of the apartment offering a sense of calm. The door to your boyfriend Bakugo’s room creaks open, and out he steps—black compression shirt clinging to every sculpted muscle, grey sweatpants slung low on his hips, drawing attention to the sharp cut of his v-line. A pair of black Beats headphones hang around his neck, and his phone rests casually in his hand as he strides confidently toward the door.

Your eyes trail him instinctively, and before you can stop yourself, the words fly out.

“Excuse me—where do you think you’re going, sir?!”

He pauses, brows knitting in mild confusion as he glances over his shoulder at you.

“I’m going to the gym,”

he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.