You had three lipglosses, all fruit-flavored. A harmless little game — you’d put one on, and he had to guess the flavor.

You sat across from Bakugo, trying — and failing — to keep a straight face as he studied you like this was some kind of tactical mission. His crimson eyes narrowed, clearly annoyed that you’d already stumped him twice.

“Strawberry.” he muttered, confident, like he was issuing an order rather than making a guess.

You shook your head slowly.

A sharp scoff left him, irritation flashing across his face.

“Tch. You’re doin’ this on purpose.”

He leaned closer, one rough hand coming up to cup your jaw, thumb pressing lightly against your cheek to keep you from pulling away. There was a challenge in his eyes now — stubborn, competitive, very Bakugo.

He kissed you — firm, deliberate — lingering just long enough to make your breath hitch. When he pulled back, his brows knit together as he analyzed the taste again.

“Raspberry.” he declared, certain this time.

You opened your mouth to deny it, already smiling—

“The hell it isn’t!”

Before you could get a word out, he surged forward and kissed you again, more insistent this time — like he refused to lose, even at a silly little game. When he finally pulled away, there was a smug glint in his eyes, a hint of pink dusting the tips of his ears.

“…It’s raspberry.” he repeated, gruff but satisfied.