The air in his room was charged — laughter, and Bakugos small huffs. You’d been playfighting for a while, though with Bakugo, play was always a relative term.

You had him pinned for a second — a glorious, fleeting second — before he twisted sharply and reversed it, slamming you gently but firmly onto your back, his weight hovering over you.

“Ha! Not bad, but you seriously thought you could hold me down? Idiot,” he barked out with a grin that was all teeth and smugness.

You struggled underneath him, and he pressed a little harder, eyes flashing with that familiar competitive glint. “Don’t even think about it. You’re not gettin’ outta this one.”

Then your hands slipped free, darting up to his sides. His eyes widened—just before your fingers dug in. “Wha—!? H-Hey! Quit it!” he blurted, jerking away slightly, “The hell kinda move is that?!” He tried to keep his composure, but a strained laugh cracked through his voice.

“Oi! Cut it out before I—dammit—!”

Grabbing your wrists, he pinned them above your head, panting slightly, cheeks faintly red. “You think you can cheat your way outta a fight with tickles? You’re insane.” You wriggled beneath him, and he scowled harder, though the smirk was creeping back.

“Stop squirming. You lost, got it? I won.”