Chapter Text
Todoroki woke up to the rhythmic hum of the car’s engine and the gentle sway of motion. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but five hours was a long drive, and the steady warmth inside the vehicle had lulled him into unconsciousness. Blinking groggily, he lifted his head from where it had been tilted against the window, faint traces of condensation from his breath clinging to the cool glass.
Outside, the landscape had changed. Dense green trees line the roadside, but as they climb higher into the mountains, more bursts of red and yellow break through, the vibrant shades of fall deepening with altitude. Fog curled lazily over the peaks in the distance, rolling between the trees like ink spreading in water. It looks like something out of an old painting, timeless and untouched.
He glances over at Bakugou, who is focused on the road ahead, hands steady on the wheel. His face is relaxed, unreadable, but Todoroki can tell he’s completely in his element. Even through the winding, single-lane mountain roads, he handles every curve with ease, barely shifting his posture as he navigates.
Todoroki yawned, shifting in his seat as he rubbed his eyes. “I don’t usually fall asleep in cars,” he muttered, mostly to himself.
Bakugou scoffed. “You were out before we even hit the freeway.”
Todoroki frowned slightly, thinking. “That early?”
“Yeah. Thought I was gonna have to drive the whole way in silence.”
Todoroki blinked at him. “Did you want me to talk more?”
Bakugou clicked his tongue, gripping the wheel a little tighter. “That’s not what I said.”
Todoroki hummed, watching the road ahead. “Next time, I’ll stay awake.”
Bakugou snorted. “You’re assuming there’s gonna be a next time.”
Todoroki didn’t answer, but for some reason, the thought lingered. Last month, during the Class A get-together, he had mentioned that he was planning to visit Ishikawa to take a pottery class, making bowls and chopsticks, something he had wanted to try ever since deciding that food might taste better if he ate it using things he’d made himself. He hadn’t expected much of a reaction.
But the next day, a Line message from Bakugou came through. As usual, with no greeting, straight to the point.
What class? Where?
He had stared at the message for a moment, surprised that Bakugou was interested at all. Still, he shared a link to the class details.
When? Where are you staying?
Todoroki realized he hadn’t gotten that far yet. He had only recently decided this was something he wanted to do. Don’t know yet, he sent back.
A response came immediately.
Of course not. November 12 – 14. Put it in your schedule.
Todoroki blinked at the screen. He hadn't expected such a definitive answer, especially not that quickly. It wasn’t unwelcome, just… surprising. Bakugou had never mentioned being interested in Ishikawa, much less taking the time off for something like this.
Are you coming too? I didn’t realize you were interested.
How else are you gonna get there?
That was the end of that conversation.
Todoroki knew Bakugou had recently gotten a car and had heard he liked showing it off. But still… It wasn’t like he needed to come all the way out there.
Even so, Todoroki didn’t mind. Their relationship had always been good. Even back in their school days, when Bakugou was still brash and untouchable, and Todoroki himself was still stiff and emotionally stunted. He had always appreciated Bakugou’s relentless drive, the way he never got complacent, always pushing himself, and by extension, everyone around him, to be better. Since graduating, they had worked together on missions countless times, their styles complementing each other well, finding new ways to synergize and refine their coordination.
Outside of work, too, their relationship had continued to evolve. Todoroki had started inviting Bakugou out for dinner after their long shifts together, and without fail, he always chose soba. Bakugou never outright refused, but after a few times of Todoroki suggesting the same thing, he finally snapped and dragged him to an authentic Chongqing-style hot pot restaurant.
The soup had been bright red, packed with chilies and sichuan peppercorns that made Todoroki’s tongue tingle immediately. By the time they were halfway through, he was visibly suffering—sweating, eyes watering, downing water and rice at a desperate pace.
Across from him, Bakugou was completely unbothered, methodically dipping thin slices of beef into the bubbling málà broth, looking far too pleased with himself, and visibly amused by Todoroki’s pain. His cheeks were flushed from the heat, from how much he was enjoying it. Todoroki had always known Bakugou liked spicy food, but he still didn’t understand how anyone could enjoy this.
Bakugou tore into another bite and smirked. “Didn’t know you had such a delicate tongue.”
Todoroki didn’t dignify that with a response. He was too busy chugging another glass of water, throat still burning.
Then, it happened.
Sharp and unrestrained, breaking through the usual grumbles and scoffs—Bakugou laughed. A real laugh, raw and full, his head tilting back slightly as it rumbled out of him, rich and genuine. It wasn’t mean-spirited, but it wasn’t gentle either. It was the kind of laugh that slipped out before you could stop it, the kind that carried weight simply because it was rare.
Todoroki had never really thought about Bakugou’s laugh before. Had never realized how different it sounded when it wasn’t edged with frustration or arrogance. It was loud, unfiltered, and for some reason, he found himself wanting to hear it again.
The hot pot experience had been horrible. Truly awful. But that part of it, the rare and completely unguarded laugh, Todoroki liked. After that, they made sure to pick different places, ones they could both enjoy.
When his request for time off was submitted, his team had been quick to approve it. In fact, they had practically insisted. The agency was running smoothly under his leadership, and those who had worked under his father before him were recognizing that he was his own person, not just Endeavor’s son. He wasn’t sure when it had happened, when his name had started standing on its own, without being tied to his lineage, but he was beginning to accept it as reality.
“You’re actually taking time off?” Burnin had said, raising an eyebrow before breaking into a grin. “Good. You deserve it.”
The sentiment had echoed throughout the office. It was strange, having so many people push him toward something so simple, but it reinforced something he had already begun to understand: being a hero wasn’t all that he was. He had spent years focusing on work, but now, for the first time, he was actively choosing to make space for other parts of himself.
The idea of the trip had excited him more than he expected.
They crossed a narrow wooden bridge over a winding river, the reflection of the maple trees rippling against the water’s surface. As they passed through a small town, Todoroki caught glimpses of old wooden storefronts with paper lanterns swaying gently outside, hand-painted signs advertising freshly prepared crab dishes and seasonal wagashi.
The car pulled into a small gravel parking lot, the tires crunching over stone before coming to a smooth stop in front of a large, traditional wooden building. The ryokan stood elegantly against the mountain backdrop, its dark wood exterior complemented by sloping tiled roofs. The afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden glow over the scene, and the crisp autumn air carried the faint scent of woodsmoke and fallen leaves.
Sliding doors led into a warmly lit entranceway, where soft yellow lanterns flickered to life as the daylight began to wane.
Before they even stepped out of the car, the wooden doors glided open. A small woman stepped out onto the stone entryway, dressed in an elegant kimono of deep plum with delicate embroidery trailing down the sleeves. Despite her refined appearance, there was an unmistakable spark of excitement in her eyes as she approached, her expression warm and delighted.
Behind her, three younger staff members followed, their postures polite and composed, though even they seemed to be subtly glancing at the two of them with recognition.
The woman bowed deeply, hands tucked neatly in front of her. “Welcome, welcome!” she said, her voice carrying an energy that contrasted with her delicate frame. “It is truly an honor to have you at our inn. We are beyond thrilled to host such distinguished guests!”
Bakugou raised an eyebrow but said nothing, offering a small nod as he stepped out of the car. Todoroki mirrored the gesture, his expression calm but appreciative.
The woman clapped her hands together, practically vibrating with excitement. “We have prepared the finest room for you both, facing the best view, of course! And our chef has been told to ensure your meals are truly special. We want you to experience the absolute best of Ishikawa’s hospitality.”
One of the younger staff members stepped forward, bowing as they moved to retrieve their bags from the trunk, handling them with the utmost care, as if their luggage alone was worthy of reverence.
Todoroki exchanged a glance with Bakugou, who exhaled softly, adjusting his stance. He was clearly not used to this level of treatment, but instead of balking at the attention, he simply inclined his head in acknowledgment. “Appreciate it,” he said, his voice even, almost diplomatic.
Todoroki watched him for a moment, faintly amused. Years ago, Bakugou might’ve scoffed or muttered something under his breath, but now, he carried himself differently. Still sharp-edged, but with a quiet confidence that didn’t feel the need to push back against every little thing.
The woman beamed up at them. “Come, come! Let us take care of everything.”
The owner led them into the lobby. The air carried the subtle fragrance of tatami, a comforting contrast to the crisp autumn chill outside. At the check-in counter, they handed over their IDs, and the staff quickly processed everything with smooth efficiency. They chose the earliest dinner and breakfast slots available, and the owner beamed as she laid out a printed map of the ryokan, her delicate fingers tracing over the key locations.
“We have arranged for you both to have the main onsen to yourselves for the next two hours,” she said, tapping a section on the map. “Normally, it is open to all guests, but we wanted to offer you some privacy.”
Todoroki glanced at Bakugou, whose eyes remained fixed on the paper, studying every detail with an intensity that made Todoroki suppress a small smile.
The woman continued, pointing to another area. “Here is the private dining room where you’ll have dinner, and this is the main dining area where breakfast is served.” Then, with a delighted glimmer in her eyes, she added, “Tomorrow after breakfast, I will personally be guiding you on a tour of the area, including an exclusive visit to a renowned pottery artisan’s studio, just a short walk from here. This kiln is not normally open to the public, so it will be a special experience. You’ll have the chance to paint your own pottery, and the pieces will be finished by the artist in time for your checkout. After that, we’ll continue with a nature and culture tour, exploring the town and its crafts.”
Todoroki looked over again—Bakugou still hadn’t lifted his gaze from the map. He just gave a small nod, but Todoroki could tell: he was pleased.
And Todoroki understood why. The ryokan was beautiful, from the warmth of the wooden interior to the attention to detail in every corner. The owner’s enthusiasm wasn’t just for show; everything here felt carefully chosen, deliberately maintained. Art pieces lined the walls, and displays of delicate pottery reflected a distinctly classical Japanese aesthetic.
Todoroki glanced at Bakugou again. He hadn’t just picked a nice place, he had gone out of his way to make sure it was perfect. That was just how he was. How else are you gonna get there? he had said, as if this trip was nothing, as if it hadn’t required any effort at all.
But Todoroki knew better. Bakugou didn’t half-ass anything. Not in work, not in battle, not in anything he cared about. And clearly not in this.
Something warm settled in Todoroki’s chest, and he looked away before he stared too long.
Their room was just as impressive as the rest of the ryokan. It was massive, a seamless blend of modern luxury and traditional elegance. The staff set their bags down carefully, bowing one last time before excusing themselves, leaving Todoroki and Bakugou in the quiet of their new surroundings. The soft click of the sliding door closing behind them was quickly followed by the muted thud of their shoes being removed at the entrance.
The first thing Todoroki noticed was the spacious living area. Floor-to-ceiling glass windows and doors opened to an inner courtyard garden, where a small koi pond reflected the golden light of the late afternoon sun. A red maple tree stood in the center, its vibrant leaves drifting gently onto the moss-covered stones below. A large white couch faced a sleek flat-screen TV, its presence almost out of place in such a classic and refined setting. The flooring was a mix of plush tatami and polished wood, the kind that subtly creaked underfoot in a way that felt intentional rather than worn.
Beyond the living area was the separate bedroom space, where their beds were arranged a few feet apart, draped in crisp white linens with thick, luxurious duvets folded at the foot. The air there was cooler, quieter, the muted lighting making the space feel even more tranquil.
To the side, a doorway led into the changing area, paneled in smooth, light wood. A long mirror spanned the wall above two stone sinks, with neatly arranged toiletries and a blow dryer placed nearby. Woven baskets sat beneath the counter for their clothes. A separate door led into the bath area, where everything was made of stone—the floor, the walls, and the bath itself. The private onsen was carved from a single massive piece of dark stone, its surface smooth from years of use, steam rising lazily from the water. Beside it, a spacious shower featured sleek chrome fixtures, gleaming under the warm lighting.
Bakugou moved toward the small fridge tucked near the entrance and started unloading the drinks and snacks they had picked up at a roadside station along the way, tucking everything away with practiced efficiency. Todoroki watched for a moment before turning his attention to their yukata, laid out neatly for them, the fabric smooth and carefully folded.
Todoroki pulled his shirt over his head, the fabric catching slightly against his shoulders before he tossed it into the woven basket near the dresser. The room was warm, the faint scent of cedar and fresh tatami settling in the air, and the quiet rustling of fabric filled the space as they changed. He stepped out of his pants, folded them neatly, and moved toward the large wooden cabinet next to the changing area.
Inside, their yukata were carefully laid out, the deep indigo fabric folded with precise care. Above them, haori hung from a sleek wooden bar, their fabric soft and lightweight with a row of hangers waiting for their clothes, and beneath the shelf, a safe sat discreetly tucked away. Next to the yukata, a beautifully arranged tea set gleamed beside a polished French press, accompanied by neatly stacked cups, packets of high-end coffee, and an assortment of delicate manju wrapped in fine paper.
He pulled his yukata from the cabinet, slipping it over his shoulders. The fabric was smooth against his skin as he adjusted the collar and tied the obi with steady hands, wrapping it snugly around his waist. The hem, however, stopped awkwardly above his ankles—too short to look proper, riding just a little too high on his frame. It wasn’t terrible, but it felt slightly off, like it wasn’t made for someone his size.
Even though the tag read LL, the fit was a little too snug across his shoulders, and the sleeves stopped short, ending just past his wrists instead of draping properly. It had been a while since he last wore one, but he didn’t remember them feeling quite this restrictive. He had always been tall and muscular but now, after years of training and pushing his limits, he was bigger than ever. His shoulders had broadened, his chest and arms packed with even more muscle, his entire frame filled out with strength earned through relentless effort.
Next to him, Bakugou moved with efficiency. He shucked off his hoodie and shirt in one motion, neatly folding them before reaching for his own indigo yukata.
Unlike Todoroki, who wore his yukata properly, Bakugou’s look was unmistakably him. His obi was tied tight, but instead of closing the front fully, he left it open, exposing the sharp cut of muscle down his chest and abdomen. The massive scar that stretched across his sternum was on full display. His physique was just as impressive as ever—broad, powerful, built from years of relentless training—but he carried himself effortlessly, like his strength was simply a fact of his existence. His sleeves were rolled up high, all the way to his shoulders, baring the entirety of his arms—scarred, strong, and built for impact.
Todoroki absently adjusted the hem of his own yukata, glancing over again. Bakugou looked exactly as he expected him to. He didn’t fumble with the fabric, didn’t check himself in the mirror. He just wore it like he wore everything else—like it was made for him.
And before he even registered the thought fully, the words slipped out. “Oh.”
Bakugou paused, glancing at him sharply. “What?”
Todoroki tilted his head slightly. “You wear it exactly how I’d expect you to.”
Bakugou’s eye twitched. “The hell does that mean?”
Todoroki gestured loosely. “Just… like you.”
For a split second, something unreadable flickered across Bakugou’s face. Then, predictably, he scowled, clicking his tongue. “Shut up.”
Todoroki didn’t push further, but the corner of his mouth lifted slightly as they stepped out into the hallway.
They walked toward the onsen, and from behind, Todoroki watched the way Bakugou moved, broad shoulders rolling slightly with each step, the sharp lines of muscle visible even beneath the shifting folds of his yukata. Something about him felt… smaller than before. Not in presence, Bakugou still carried himself with that same self-assured confidence, but physically. Todoroki’s gaze lingered, and for the first time, he realized just how much he had to look down to meet the top of Bakugou’s head.
It wasn’t just a slight difference; it was noticeable, undeniable. He had never thought about it before, never really compared their heights like this, but now, walking behind him, it was almost jarring. Bakugou had always been strong, compact, built for explosive power, but Todoroki had kept growing, his body filling out with broader muscle, longer strides, and a height difference that put him a full head above.
Todoroki almost commented on it before realizing—it wasn’t that Bakugou had changed.
He was the one who had gotten bigger.
He pressed his lips together, deciding not to say anything. Bakugou would explode. Instead, he just followed, watching the way the warm lantern light flickered over the curve of Bakugou’s back, the dip of his waist, and how well his yukata fit. The fabric shifted slightly with each step, parting just enough to catch glimpses of strong legs and the controlled, powerful way he moved.
Todoroki exhaled quietly. He hadn’t really thought about their size difference before, but it lingered in his mind now.
The private onsen had a small wooden sign hanging just outside the entrance, marked clearly with Reserved. Bakugou stepped past the curtain first, into a spacious indoor area. The scent of cypress and minerals drifted through the warm, humid air. Five low wooden stools in front of shower stations, a rack of neatly arranged toiletries, and an indoor bath off to the side. A separate changing area with mirrors, hair dryers, and fresh towels was tucked away in the corner, dimly lit with soft yellow lighting.
It had been a long time since they had done something like this. Back in school, using the dorm’s shared baths had been routine, but that was years ago.
Todoroki glanced at Bakugou, who didn’t hesitate, grabbing a stool and turning on the water like it was second nature. They both went through the motions, showering off, lathering their hair, rinsing. A familiar routine. Neither of them spoke much, but silence had never been an issue. If anything, Todoroki preferred it. Words weren’t always necessary.
Once they were clean, they slid open the wooden door to the outdoor bath.
The shift in temperature was immediate. The crisp evening air cooled their skin, sending a pleasant contrast through their bodies as steam rose in slow, curling tendrils. The bath itself was stunning. Large, smooth stones formed the perimeter, framing the hot spring as it stretched out toward an open view of the valley below. A river snaked through the landscape far beneath them, its surface catching slivers of fading sunlight.
The maple trees surrounding the onsen were at their peak, a brilliant red glow filtering through the misty air. The whole space felt like it belonged to another world, untouched by time.
They sank into the water.
Todoroki leaned back, muscles unwinding as the heat settled into his bones. Across from him, Bakugou sat with his back to the view, tilting his head against the stone edge with a quiet exhale. The late afternoon light spilled in from behind him, filtering through the red maple leaves outside, casting a golden glow over the rising steam. It caught on the faint line of the scar beneath his right eye, softening the harsher angles of his face.
Todoroki found himself staring.
Physically, Bakugou hadn’t changed much. He had already been in peak condition back in school, all compact strength and sharp, efficient movements, and that hadn’t faded. His body was still built like a weapon, broad shoulders tapering into a powerful frame, muscle carved with precision. His chest was defined, a deep scar cutting across the firm muscle in the center, a stark contrast against his perfectly smooth, flushed skin from the heat.
His abs were tight, scarred but sharply cut, each line pronounced even beneath the soft glow of the steam. His arms, powerful as ever, rested at his sides, tension lingering even in relaxation.
His face still looked young. His skin was clear, unblemished aside from the few scars he had gathered over the years, and the flush from the steam made it look even softer. His features were sharp, but there was something undeniably boyish about them, the slight roundness to his cheeks, the way his light eyebrows arched upward, the strong structure of his face balancing it all.
It was a contrast. His body was all battle-hardened strength, but his face still carried something untouched, something that time hadn’t managed to take from him.
Todoroki’s gaze lingered a little too long.
Bakugou cracked an eye open, immediately scowling. “What the hell are you staring at?”
Todoroki, still lost in thought, answered without hesitation. “You.”
Bakugou tensed. “Hah?” His voice wavered, just barely, before snapping back to irritation.
Todoroki blinked, as if only now registering what he had just said. His ears heated slightly, though he wasn’t sure why.
There was a beat of silence.
Bakugou clicked his tongue, turning his head sharply. His ears, just barely, were tinged pink. “Tch. You need to get your damn eyes checked. You’re the one who got huge, not me.”
Todoroki blinked. He already knew that, he had noticed it earlier when his yukata fit just a little too snug, but hearing Bakugou say it out loud was different.
Bakugou scowled deeper, muttering, “You’re taller, your shoulders are broader. You’re looking more like your old man.” He exhaled through his nose, clearly annoyed.
Todoroki considered that for a moment. There had been a time when a comment like that would have hit him differently—when any comparison to his father would have felt like a weight pressing down on him. But now, after everything, it was more complicated. He had long since accepted that he would always carry some part of his father with him, whether he liked it or not.
Still, hearing it from Bakugou of all people made something twist in his chest. Not anger, not resentment. Just… something.
He tilted his head slightly, studying Bakugou’s expression. “You say that like it bothers you. Are you jealous?”
Bakugou tensed, his eyes flicking to Todoroki’s face before snapping away just as quickly. “What?”
Todoroki blinked, watching the way the flush on Bakugou’s cheeks darkened just slightly. It wasn’t from the heat.
Bakugou scowled, turning his head sharply. “Shut up before I drown you in here.”
Todoroki let the corners of his mouth lift slightly. The air between them settled, still warm, but steady, like the steam rising between them.
The bath was nice. The view was breathtaking. They stayed like that for a while, neither of them speaking, just soaking in the heat. The river below murmured softly, and every now and then, a red leaf would break free, drifting slowly to the surface of the water before disappearing into the steam.
Eventually, they stepped out, steam curling off their skin as the cool air greeted them. Bakugou toweled off briskly, ruffling his hair once before striding over to the changing area. Todoroki followed, slower, enjoying the lingering warmth of the bath.
Bakugou grabbed a hair dryer from the counter and flicked it on, the low hum filling the space as he aggressively blasted his hair, fingers running through it with sharp efficiency. Within seconds, it was back to its usual shape—wild, gravity-defying, completely unbothered by moisture or effort.
Todoroki watched in silence before reaching for a dryer himself, switching it on at a more reasonable setting. The warm air rushed over his scalp, the sensation oddly soothing. His hair was shorter now, so it dried quickly, soft strands falling naturally into place. He ran his fingers through it absently, enjoying the clean, fresh feeling.
Todoroki glanced at his reflection, then at Bakugou’s. “Your hair’s still the same.”
Bakugou scoffed, unplugging the dryer. “Damn right.”
Todoroki considered this before stating, completely serious, “It’s immune to physics.”
Bakugou paused, narrowing his eyes before smirking. “And yours looks like some dumb pretty boy idol off a romance drama.”
Todoroki blinked. “Is that bad?”
Bakugou scoffed, running a towel through his hair with more force than necessary. “Tch. You were literally just voted ‘#1 Most Dateable Pro Hero.’” He shot him a look, eyes sharp with something unreadable.
Todoroki paused mid-motion, blinking. “…I was?”
Bakugou looked at him for half a second with a disgusted expression. “Are you serious?”
Todoroki tilted his head, genuinely perplexed. “I don’t really follow those things.”
Bakugou let out an irritated breath. “Tch. You don’t even realize. Be more self-aware. Don’t look down on people’s feelings.”
Todoroki hummed, toweling off his arms. Coming from Bakugou, the words didn’t have as much impact. “And you?”
Bakugou clicked his tongue, grabbing his yukata from the basket. “Who gives a shit? Popularity polls are stupid.”
Todoroki nodded, his voice as even as ever. “If you say so.”
Bakugou frowned. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
Todoroki tilted his head slightly, as if considering. “It’s just that people who don’t care about rankings don’t usually bring them up first.”
Bakugou shot him a flat look before scoffing, shoving the damp towel into the laundry bin with unnecessary force. “You really don’t shut up, do you?”
Todoroki blinked, mildly surprised. “I don’t talk that much.”
Bakugou looked like he wanted to say something but turned toward the door, yukata shifting around his shoulders as he strode out of the changing area. Todoroki followed, unconcerned, stepping into his sandals as they made their way down the quiet hallway toward the dining room.
Todoroki glanced at Bakugou walking beside him, his posture as straight-backed and confident as ever. He still hadn’t said a word about the view, or how beautiful this place was.
Todoroki thought about pointing it out. But then again, Bakugou wasn’t the type to need to say things out loud.
Instead, he let the silence settle between them again.
✦
The soft glow of overhead lanterns cast a golden hue over the private dining room, reflecting off the polished surface of a massive slab of old wood, gleaming under the light. The table sat at the center of the room, with two chairs placed opposite each other. Outside, the view was framed by large windows, where dense green trees rustled faintly in the evening breeze. Though the air beyond the glass was cool, the warmth inside was tangible, deepened by the scent of cedar and the gentle clink of the beautiful handmade plates being set before them.
The owner smiled as she stepped forward. “Before we begin, shall I bring something to drink?”
She gestures gracefully to a beautifully printed drink menu, setting it before them. “We have a fine selection of local umeshu, sake, and whiskey. Our chef has carefully chosen pairings to complement each course, but you are also welcome to select whichever you prefer.”
Normally, neither of them drink. Being on call at all hours is part of the job, and keeping a clear head is second nature. But tonight, there’s no work to be done, no emergency to anticipate.
Todoroki glanced at Bakugou, who scanned the menu with narrowed eyes, his expression unreadable. He didn’t say anything, but he also didn’t push back. If anything, he looked interested.
Todoroki tilted his head slightly. He had never seen Bakugou drink before—never really thought about it, either. But now that they were here, the curiosity settled in. What would he be like after a few drinks?
Without further discussion, they went with the recommended drink pairings, trusting the chef’s selections to complement each course. Bakugou didn’t argue. If anything, he seemed fine with it.
A small glass of umeshu was poured first—pretty pink, delicate, and glistening under the lantern light. At the same time, their appetizer was served: thin slices of muscat grape, topped with log-grown shiitake mushrooms tossed in vinegar and red shrimp, alongside a sweet potato mousse crowned with caviar.
Todoroki picked up his glass, glancing at Bakugou before mirroring him as they both downed it in one go.
It was sweet. Todoroki liked it immediately. The fruitiness lingered on his tongue, smooth and easy to drink. It paired perfectly with the crisp, fresh notes of the muscat and shrimp.
Bakugou set his glass down without much reaction, already reaching for his chopsticks. Todoroki watched him for a beat and wondered if he didn’t care for sweets. He hummed in quiet satisfaction, picking up the first bite of his appetizer.
The rest of their meal unfolded in careful, deliberate courses. The first dish, a sashimi selection of deep red tuna, delicate white-fleshed hirame, and lightly seared katsuo, was served over crushed ice, accompanied by freshly grated wasabi and a small dish of soy sauce. The fish was expertly sliced, each piece gleaming under the soft light.
Todoroki lifts a piece of tuna with his chopsticks, dipping it lightly before taking a bite. The texture is buttery, the flavor clean and rich.
Todoroki lifted a piece of tuna with his chopsticks, dipping it lightly before taking a bite. The texture was buttery, the flavor clean and rich.
“It’s really good,” slipped out before he thought about it.
As more dishes arrived, the alcohol flowed in quiet accompaniment. Grilled eel, glazed with ginger sauce, was smoky and rich, the tender flesh melting against the tongue. Then, a hot pot of Noto beef, shabu-shabu style, was brought to the table—a large clay pot filled with thinly sliced beef and an assortment of seasonal vegetables, the broth gently simmering.
Todoroki lifted a slice of beef, swishing it briefly in the bubbling broth before tasting it. It was perfect—soft, savory, carrying the deep umami of the stock.
“So good.”
Across from him, Bakugou finished eating a piece of the beed before he exhaled sharply.
“You have no vocabulary.” Bakugou’s expression betrayed the slightest amusement. He picked up his glass, taking another sip of his drink, a bold, full-bodied pairing that seemed to have finally won his approval. Todoroki watched as he rolled his shoulders slightly, the tension in them looser than before.
The owner returned, carrying a large, lacquered bowl filled with steaming, locally grown Koshihikari rice. She opened the lid, and the grains were fluffy, glistening slightly in the light.
She placed a generous portion into each of their bowls, smiling warmly. “I’m truly happy you both are enjoying yourselves,” she said. “This inn has been in my family for generations, and it brings me great joy to share Ishikawa’s beauty with others.”
Todoroki nodded, taking in her words. The atmosphere felt lighter somehow, like the warmth of the rice bowl in his hands.
“My parents always believed in preserving the traditions of this region. I was lucky,” she continued. “This place remained untouched during the war. It’s an escape for many.”
She turned to Bakugou then, her smile softening. “And I was honored when Bakugou-san reached out.”
Todoroki turned slightly, watching for a reaction. For a moment, Bakugou didn’t say anything. He kept his gaze on his rice, chopsticks turning slightly between his fingers. Then, finally, he muttered, “Thank you for having us. You’ve got a beautiful place.”
Todoroki blinked. It wasn’t that Bakugou was incapable of being polite, he had gotten better about it over the years, but it was still rare to see him so sincere.
It wasn’t much, but there was something soft in the way he said it, and something about it stuck with him.
The next dish arrived; grilled abalone with butter, its aroma rich and indulgent. The golden-brown shellfish was lightly charred at the edges, glistening with melted butter that pooled slightly against the warm plate. It was paired with sake, crisp and subtly sweet, a contrast to the deep savoriness of the dish.
By now, Todoroki could feel it. Warmth that spread beneath his skin, softening the edges of his thoughts. Across from him, Bakugou picked up his glass, and Todoroki noticed the faint dusting of pink across his cheeks.
Their conversation flowed easily between bites, shifting from work to their latest assignments, to Their conversation continued, flowing smoother than it ever had. Maybe it was the drinks, loosening their usual guarded edges, or maybe it was just the quiet, comfortable atmosphere of the ryokan. Either way, for once, they weren’t just talking about work, they were talking about each other. Training, routines, the things they had actually been doing outside of their hero work. Todoroki asked more questions than usual, and Bakugou, surprisingly, answered.
It felt natural.
Todoroki swirled the last sip of sake in his glass. “Midoriya was shocked when he heard about this trip,” he mentioned.
The shift was immediate. Bakugou made a low sound, something between a grunt and a scoff, as if Todoroki had just smacked him over the head with the bottle instead of spoken. His reaction was pure instinct, a flash of something automatic, like his old habits had been shaken loose by the drinks.
Todoroki watched as Bakugou scowled into his glass, regretting the outburst.
He blinked. “What was that?”
“Nothing,” Bakugou muttered, setting his drink down a little too hard.
Todoroki’s mind was already moving to the memory. When he had casually mentioned the trip to Midoriya, his friend had stared at him, utterly floored.
“Wait—Bakugou invited you? To go to Ishikawa?” Midoriya had repeated, his voice caught between disbelief and something close to fascination.
Todoroki nodded. “He has a car.”
Midoriya had looked like his brain was buffering. Then he started mumbling to himself—it was true, Bakugou had been showing off his car to everyone recently. But this… this was something else. Midoriya had muttered something about how Bakugou never invited anyone to anything, how that had to mean something… and lately…
Midoriya had suddenly frozen, his mouth snapping shut as an awkward look crossed his face. He hesitated, eyes darting to Todoroki before stammering, “Todoroki, you…” He trailed off, lips pressing into a thin line, expression shifting from deep thought to barely concealed frustration, like he wanted to say something but couldn’t. Then, abruptly, he changed the subject to himself.
Now, he glanced at Bakugou, the pink already settled across his cheeks. It wasn’t really surprising that he never invited Midoriya anywhere, given their history. He wondered if it was the same with Bakugou’s other friends.
Todoroki considered asking, but ultimately let it go. He picked up another bite of abalone and ate it, before remembering why he’d been thinking of Midoriya in the first place, “He and Uraraka finally got together.”
Bakugou exhales sharply through his nose and tips his glass back. “Yeah, I heard.”
Todoroki took another sip of his own drink. He was genuinely happy for them, and he said as much. “I’m really happy for them.”
Bakugou didn’t respond right away. He just swirled the liquid in his glass, watching the way it caught the light before he took another slow drink.
Juicy slices of ripe persimmon and refreshing lemon sorbet arrived as the final course. The persimmon was plump and glistening, its natural sweetness balanced by the tart, icy contrast of the sorbet.
Todoroki spooned the last bite, feeling the weight of the night settle into his body. A gentle warmth ran through him, not just from the drinks, but from the slow, easy pace of the evening. His thoughts drifted, slow but steady, cushioned by the alcohol’s soft haze.
He had never known Bakugou to be interested in anyone. It made sense, his whole life had been focused on becoming number one. Then later, rehabbing his arm. Funding Midoriya’s armor.
For a moment, Todoroki wondered, what kind of person Bakugou would even like? Someone as intense as him? Or someone who could balance him out? The thought flickered past, hazy at the edges, barely formed before it slipped away.
Todoroki himself had never been with anyone either. He had spent years untangling himself from his past, resolving things with his family, carving out his own future. And now, he had time—time to think about what else he wanted, what else there was beyond work, beyond obligation.
And maybe Bakugou was the same. He had achieved so much of what he set out to do. He wasn’t number one, yet, but he had fought, he had survived. And now, maybe, he had time too.
He glanced across the table.
Bakugou was quiet, finishing the last sip of his drink. His eyebrows, always drawn in sharp concentration, were relaxed. His gaze, half-lidded, drifted over the table, slow and unfocused in the way of someone content. He lifted his spoon, taking the final bite of his lemon sorbet, cheeks hollowing slightly as he savored the cold sweetness.
The warm glow from the overhead lanterns highlighted the flush on his face—the pink dusting his cheeks, the red at the tips of his ears. His features were sharp, all good bone structure and well-cut angles, but softened by the alcohol, by the comfortable weight of the evening.
The sight caught Todoroki off guard.
Maybe… it was the same for Bakugou now too.
The thought lingered, unexpected, as Todoroki found himself watching him just a little too long. His chest felt warm, not from the drinks, not from the food, but from something else he didn’t have a name for yet.
His fingers tightened slightly around his spoon before he forced himself to look away.
The meal wound down, plates emptied, drinks drained. Todoroki didn’t feel lighter, if anything, he felt settled, comfortable, warm in a way that sat deep in his bones.
Across from him, Bakugou leaned back slightly, exhaling as he rolled his neck.
“That was really good,” Todoroki said.
Bakugou let out a short, amused laugh, shaking his head. “You really do have no vocabulary.”
Todoroki blinked, then slowly picked up the menu, scanning it with complete seriousness. His gaze lingered on the carefully printed names of each dish, as if searching for something more sophisticated to say.
After a moment, he set it down and met Bakugou’s gaze.
Bakugou stared at Todoroki like he couldn’t believe him. Then, with a slow exhale, he shook his head, a quiet laugh slipping out despite himself.
“You’re such an idiot,” he muttered, but it was warm, amused, the words softened by the lingering flush on his face.
The owner chuckled as she cleared their table, and Todoroki followed Bakugou out into the night, warmth still humming under his skin.
The walk back to their room was quiet, but easy. The hallways were dimly lit, their footsteps soft against the polished wood.
Todoroki trailed slightly behind, his gaze dragging over Bakugou’s frame in a way he didn’t bother to stop. His usual steady, confident stride was just a little looser now, the hem of his yukata shifting with each step. The fabric parted slightly when he moved, offering fleeting glimpses of muscle, the lean curve of his waist, the sharp cut of his shoulder blades under smooth skin.
He looked strong. Broad. Different in the dim, quiet light of the hallway.
The alcohol hummed pleasantly under Todoroki’s skin, making everything feel a little slower, a little softer, a little too easy to watch.
When they stepped inside, the lingering warmth of the evening followed them.
Todoroki pulled out two highballs from the fridge, the cool metal pressing against his fingers as he handed one over.
Bakugou blinked at it, like it took him an extra second to register, before scoffing softly and taking it.
Todoroki dropped onto the couch, sinking into the cushions more than usual. Bakugou sat beside him—not in his usual sharp way, but heavier, more settled, his arm stretched lazily along the back of the couch.
For a long moment, they just sat there in comfortable silence, the only sound the occasional soft fizz of carbonation.
Todoroki took a sip, then finally, quietly, “It was really good, though.”
Bakugou turned his head to glare, but it was slower than usual, his expression softened at the edges. “I’m gonna throw you out the damn window.”
Todoroki just smiled against the rim of his can.
The highball wasn’t as refined as what they’d been drinking earlier—it was lighter, less complex—but he didn’t mind. He drank anyway, letting the crisp carbonation settle on his tongue, cool against the lingering heat in his chest.
Next to him, Bakugou tilted his head back slightly, his can resting against his thigh. He took a slow sip, the column of his throat shifting as he swallowed. His yukata hung looser now than before, slipping slightly off one shoulder, exposing the strong line of his collarbone and the firm slope of his pectoral muscle.
It was quiet. Not uncomfortable, but different.
The warmth from dinner and drinks lingered in Todoroki’s limbs, a pleasant weight that slowed everything down. His thoughts drifted in easy, unfocused circles, like everything was just a fraction softer around the edges.
Bakugou hadn’t said much since they sat down. Normally, Todoroki wouldn’t have thought anything of it, Bakugou was never the type to fill the silence, but this felt different. More noticeable.
Todoroki took another sip, the carbonation fizzing lightly against his tongue. Next to him, Bakugou shifted, rolling his shoulders before stretching his arms up over his head with a quiet grunt. His yukata pulled apart slightly at the motion, the fabric slipping even lower, but he didn’t seem to notice—or care.
Todoroki looked away, fixing his gaze on his drink instead, only to realize that wasn’t any better. His thoughts felt slow, his body warm from the lingering heat of the onsen, the drinks settling deep in his limbs. But that wasn’t why he felt off-balance.
It was Bakugou.
Something had shifted, subtle but undeniable. He had always been sharp, powerful, untouchable in a way that felt like he existed just slightly out of reach. But right now—his body draped loose in the folds of his yukata, the tension gone from his shoulders, the dim light catching the flush on his skin, he looked different.
Todoroki swallowed, setting his drink down before his grip could tighten around it.
Bakugou exhaled, dropping his arms with a satisfied sound before slumping further into the couch. His head lolled back slightly, resting against the cushions, and his red eyes, half-lidded, heavy with warmth, flicked toward Todoroki.
“You’re spacing out again,” Bakugou muttered, his voice a little rough at the edges.
Todoroki blinked, pulling his gaze from his drink. “I was thinking.”
Bakugou snorted. “You think slow when you drink.”
Todoroki considered that. “Maybe.” He tilted his head, watching the way Bakugou’s fingers tapped idly against the rim of his can. “You’re a little different when you drink, too.”
Bakugou scoffed, dragging a hand through his hair. “The hell does that mean?”
Todoroki hummed. “Less loud. More…” He trailed off, watching as Bakugou lifted his drink to his lips, taking a slow sip.
Bakugou arched a brow as he swallowed, his gaze challenging. “More what?”
Todoroki thought about it, but the alcohol had softened the edges of his usual filters. Instead of considering the best way to say it, he just spoke.
“…Cute.”
Bakugou choked on his drink.
Todoroki blinked as Bakugou thumped his fist against his chest, coughing once before snapping his head toward him.
“The hell did you just say?”
Todoroki frowned slightly, watching him struggle. “I said you’re cute.”
“You—” He exhaled sharply through his nose, scowling, but it didn’t have the usual bite. “You can’t just—say shit like that outta nowhere.”
Todoroki blinked. “Why?”
“Because—” Bakugou gestured vaguely in the air, his usual sharpness nowhere to be found. “Because you just can’t, dammit!”
His face was still red, but now it was creeping down his neck, his hands flexing uselessly against his knees. Todoroki studied him. The way his jaw kept tensing and relaxing, like he was biting back something he didn’t know how to say. His lips were parted slightly, breath coming a little heavier from his coughing fit, but there was more to it than that.
He was flustered.
Todoroki wasn’t used to seeing him like this. Bakugou was always sharp-edged, always brash and self-assured, always pushing forward without hesitation. But right now—his face flushed, his body loose from the warmth of the drinks, his usual bite softened at the edges—he looked different.
The word slipped back into Todoroki’s mind before he could stop it. Cute. He was cute. There really was no other word for it.
His grip tightened slightly around his drink.
Bakugou scowled—no, pouted, his brows furrowing, lips pressed together as he turned his gaze toward the table. His fingers twitched against his knee before he let out a sharp exhale, grabbing for Todoroki’s drink.
Todoroki blinked, watching as Bakugou took a long, slow sip of his highball, making direct, unwavering eye contact as he did.
“Bakugou—”
Bakugou licked a stray drop from his lower lip, then set the can down on the table beside them with a smirk. “What? You gonna do something about it?”
Todoroki pressed his lips together, feeling the warmth in his chest settle even deeper.
This was confusing.
Bakugou had snapped at him for calling him cute, but then immediately did something cute. Todoroki wasn’t sure what to make of it.
He watched as Bakugou leaned back again, this time heavier, his yukata slipping further open from the movement. He was flushed, not just on his cheeks, but all the way down his neck and chest, disappearing beneath the folds of his yukata, or what was left of it. The fabric, already loose, had shifted even more—hanging completely open in the front, exposing the solid planes of his chest, the sharp cut of his abs down to the obi at his waist. The soft lighting in the room caught on the curve of his throat, the dip of his collarbone, the steady rise and fall of his breathing. The bare skin gleamed faintly, flushed from the alcohol, warm from the residual heat of the onsen.
His lips were red, too. Slightly parted from his last sip of alcohol, catching the light, plush and inviting.
Todoroki stared.
His red eyes. His red cheeks. The red leaves illuminated in the garden outside their window behind them.
The whole world seemed red.
“You’re starin’,” Bakugou murmured.
Todoroki blinked. His mind felt warm, a little slow, but his mouth moved before he could think.
“I think I like you.”
Bakugou stilled. For a second, his eyes widened—just a flicker of surprise before something else settled in. Then, his lips curled into a slow, smug smile, his gaze turning half-lidded.
“Think?”
Before Todoroki could process what he was saying, Bakugou moved.
He climbed over him in one smooth motion, pressing forward until he was straddling Todoroki’s lap, knees planted on either side of his thighs.
Todoroki exhaled a slow, steady breath as warmth settled over him, all soft skin and solid muscle.
Bakugou’s yukata, already loose, shifted further with the movement. The sleeves slid down to his elbows, the fabric parting completely, hanging uselessly around his frame. He was mostly bare now, nothing but a pair of black underwear keeping him from being fully exposed. The heat of his skin seeped through the thin fabric between them, his body impossibly close, caging Todoroki in.
Todoroki swallowed.
They were at eye level like this, Bakugou sitting just above him, close enough that he could see the faint sheen of sweat along his collarbone, the way his lips were slightly parted as he breathed.
Were they going to kiss?
His hands moved before he could think, reaching for Bakugou’s waist, about to pull him in—
But Bakugou shifted. Pulled back slightly, just enough to drop to the floor, kneeling between his legs instead.
Todoroki blinked, lips parting, the question barely forming before he felt a sharp tug at his waist.
Bakugou grabbed Todoroki’s obi, pulled it loose in one smooth motion, and slid it out from behind him. The sound was soft, a whisper of fabric against fabric, before he tossed it aside.
Todoroki exhaled, heartbeat steady but heavy in his chest.
Bakugou looked up at him from where he knelt. His red eyes flickered in the low light, bright, burning.
Bakugou pulled Todoroki’s yukata open, his gaze dropping immediately. His eyes locked onto the shape of him through his underwear, sharp and intent.
Then, with no hesitation, he grinned.
“It’s so damn big,” he muttered, his voice low, satisfied, completely pleased with the discovery.
Todoroki exhaled, his grip tightening on the cushions beneath him. He knew he had a good body—he was aware, in the most detached sense, that people found him attractive. He was tall, broad-shouldered, well-built, and, yes, bigger than average. But none of that had ever really mattered to him. He had never sought out a partner, never felt the need for meaningless encounters, and never wanted sex with someone he had no feelings for.
That didn’t mean he wasn’t interested in sex at all. He had thought about it. He had watched AV before, had gotten himself off as a way to release tension. It was just something his body needed from time to time—a biological response more than anything else. But if he was going to have sex with someone it had to be different. It had to be someone he actually wanted.
And for him, attraction had always been more than just physical. It was who they were.
Were they sharp? Driven? Relentless in their pursuit of strength? Did they have discipline, an unyielding determination, a refusal to back down even in the face of impossible odds? Did they have integrity, a sense of self so strong that they couldn’t compromise, no matter the pressure? Did they speak with their actions more than their words? Did they carry their emotions openly, raw and unfiltered, even when they burned too bright?
His breath hitched as Bakugou looked up at him, lips curling into a smirk, satisfied, self-assured, just a little too pleased with himself.
Todoroki’s heart pounded, a slow, heavy thrum in his chest, almost loud enough to drown out every other sound in the room. His fingers twitched at his sides, and finally, he moved, pushing his underwear down and off. The fabric barely hit the floor before Bakugou’s hand was already on him, fingers wrapping firmly around the base.
Todoroki’s stomach clenched, his entire body tensing. He inhaled sharply through his nose, hands gripping the couch beneath him in an effort to stay grounded. His pulse pounded in his ears. Too good. Too much warmth, too much softness, too much sensation all at once.
He tried to focus, tried to slow his breathing, but then Bakugou’s tongue flicked over the slit, his mouth tightening around the head as his hand began stroking the rest of him in slow, steady pulls.
Todoroki clenched his jaw, tilting his head back slightly. His thighs twitched.
He needed to hold out.
The wet heat of Bakugou’s mouth was too much, his movements too determined, too good. Of course he was, Bakugou was good at everything. The slick drag of his lips, the slow suction, the teasing pressure of his tongue, it was impossible to ignore. Todoroki’s breaths came heavier, his grip tightening until his knuckles turned white.
Then he felt it—a sharp pinch on his thigh.
His eyes snapped open, his gaze dropping down.
Bakugou looked up at him, eyebrows furrowed in irritation, mouth still wrapped around him. Saliva spilled from the corners of his lips, glistening in the low light as he worked his jaw, taking him as deep as he could. He couldn’t even fit half his length, but the way he tried, eyes locked onto Todoroki’s, telling him to watch, sent heat shooting straight down his spine.
Todoroki’s breath stuttered. He wasn’t going to last.
“Bakugou, I—” He reached down, pressing his hands against Bakugou’s shoulders, trying to ease him back so he wouldn't come in his mouth.
Bakugou didn’t budge.
If anything, he doubled down—sucking harder, his hand speeding up, determined to pull him under.
Todoroki’s body locked up, pleasure surging through him like a wire snapping under too much tension.
His vision blurred as he came, his whole body tightening before everything unraveled all at once. His head tilted back, his mouth parting in a sharp, breathy groan as waves of heat crashed over him, rolling from the base of his spine outward. Bakugou swallowed around him, tongue pressing firm against the tip as he worked him through the aftershocks, dragging every last ounce of pleasure out of him before finally, finally pulling away.
Then he stood, exhaling sharply as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Wait here,” he muttered, patting Todoroki’s thigh before moving away.
Todoroki didn’t move. Couldn’t move.
He barely registered the sound of Bakugou rummaging through one of their bags, the rustle of fabric, the quiet steps leading further away. His body felt heavy, warm, like the weight of everything that had just happened had settled into his limbs all at once.
His mind was still catching up. The space where Bakugou had been still lingered—the warmth of his skin, the press of his body, the scent of his sweat and the soap he had used. Todoroki exhaled slowly, blinking at nothing.
His heartbeat hadn’t quite settled. His thoughts were a mess.
What just happened?
His fingers twitched slightly against his knee, like his body was just now remembering that he could move. He didn’t.
He had realized he liked Bakugou. Then he had immediately confessed— sort of (since I think I like you wasn’t exactly the strongest statement)—and then Bakugou had climbed into his lap and sucked him off.
His face burned.
And he was getting hard again just thinking about it.
It was the first time he had ever confessed to someone. It had felt really sudden, but at the same time, it hadn’t.
He thought about everything they had been through together over the years—how, at first, he hadn’t taken Bakugou seriously, only focused on himself. How that had changed. How they had grown into something more.
They had seen each other at their lowest. Had failed in front of each other. Had succeeded next to each other. And through it all, Bakugou had never changed, never wavered, always remained exactly who he was. And Todoroki had always been right there beside him.
His mind drifted back, to the way Bakugou had screamed at him that he was looking at the wrong person. To the fire in his voice, demanding his all, demanding he stop holding back.
How long had he been looking his way?
This whole trip—Bakugou had planned all of this for him. Every detail, every careful thought, everything he hadn’t noticed until now.
How much had he overlooked? How long had he been blind to it?
His chest tightened. He didn’t want to let this person go.
It had taken him time, as always, to catch up to his own feelings.
He had been sitting there, lost in thought, when he suddenly realized—Bakugou was gone.
Todoroki blinked, looking around. He had no idea how much time had passed.
And then another realization hit him. He was the only one who had finished. He hadn’t even done anything for Bakugou.
Fuck.
He stood up quickly, the rush of urgency cutting through the haze in his head. Bakugou probably thought he was totally selfish. That he didn’t care. He had to fix that. Immediately.
Todoroki crossed the room quickly. In the changing area, Bakugou’s yukata was tossed haphazardly into one of the baskets. He didn’t hesitate—he slid the glass door open and stepped into the bath area with purpose. The stone floor was warm beneath his feet, steam curling through the air.
“Bakugou, sorry, I—”
His words died in his throat.
Bakugou stood near the bath, his back straight, shoulders tense, one arm behind him. His skin was damp, flushed pink from the heat, beads of water trailing down his arms. He was facing Todoroki, but his body was stiff, caught mid-motion.
His eyes flicked to the bottle of lube next to his right foot.
For a split second, Bakugou looked shocked.
Then irritation took over.
“I told you to wait there, dammit!” he barked, voice cracking at the edges.
Todoroki didn’t stop.
“No,” he said, voice steady. “Let me help you.”
Bakugou’s expression shifted—just slightly, just a flicker, but enough for Todoroki to catch it.
“Don’t mess with me! I don’t need your help!” Bakugou snapped, voice strained.
Todoroki didn’t listen. He crossed the remaining distance, grabbing the wooden shower stool and sitting down with deliberate intent, tilting his chin up to meet Bakugou’s wide, mortified eyes.
“At least let me see what you’re doing,” he said, voice even. “It’s only fair.”
Bakugou’s breath hitched, his fingers curling into fists at his sides.
“It isn’t about what’s fair…” His voice was quieter now—less sharp, more like he was trying to convince himself.
And that’s when Todoroki saw it. The way Bakugou’s entire face was red, ears burning so hot they almost glowed. The way his breath came just a little too fast, his entire body tense with the sheer magnitude of embarrassment.
There were actual tears in the corners of his eyes.
Todoroki stared.
He hadn’t thought it was possible—had never even imagined it—but Bakugou, standing in front of him, was humiliated beyond belief.
His chest clenched, something warm curling up inside him. It wasn’t amusement. It wasn’t pity. It was just… Bakugou, so completely unlike the version of himself he showed the world. Just for him.
And Todoroki thought, He really is cute.
He wasn’t sure what was more shocking—the fact that this was happening, or the fact that he actually liked seeing him like this.
“You can’t do it in front of me?” he asked. It was a challenge, an appeal to Bakugou’s pride, a tactic he’d seen their friends use against him a thousand times.
Bakugou gasped, the sound catching at the back of his throat like he couldn’t quite believe Todoroki had said that to him. His entire body jerked in response.
“Who says I can’t?!” he snapped , his voice cracking at the peak of his indignation. But even as he spat the words out, his head turned away sharply, jaw clenching, hands twitching at his sides like they didn’t know what to do with themselves.
From the sharp line of his profile, Todoroki could still see it—the tension in his brow, the way his throat moved when he swallowed. The way his ears were still burning, betraying him. He was embarrassed, but he didn’t seem to dislike it.
Bakugou’s left hand pressed down hard against his knee, steadying himself before his right moved again, fingers slick as they dipped back between his legs.
Todoroki watched, couldn’t stop watching, as Bakugou rubbed his index finger over his entrance before sliding it in, then his middle finger, both sinking down to the last joint. His breathing stuttered, just barely, as he adjusted.
Todoroki’s stomach did something strange, tightened, flipped, sent warmth spilling through his limbs. His pulse pounded hot against his throat. All of his blood in his body seemed to be rushing somewhere else.
Bakugou’s ass was right in front of him, just inches from his face, and Todoroki could see everything, the way his fingers pressed inside, the slow stretch around them, the tight clench before he eased back and pushed in again.
Bakugou had an incredible body.
Broad shoulders, carved muscle tapering into a strong back, the sharp cut of his waist, everything was built, trained to perfection, honed from years of relentless effort. Even now, even like this, every movement was sharp, controlled. And yet—his thighs trembled slightly, his breath came faster. His fingers, his own fingers, were pushing deeper, working himself open, knowing exactly where to touch.
“Bakugou, is it going to fi—”
“Don’t ask stupid questions! And don’t underestimate me.”
Bakugou snapped his head around to glare, but he sounded breathless.
And then he saw where Todoroki was looking—right at his ass, at the fingers spreading himself open, at the slick, flushed skin.
A visible shiver ran down his spine.
And then—he pushed his fingers in deeper. His pace quickened. He spread himself a little more.
And the whole time, his red, half-lidded eyes stayed locked onto Todoroki.
Todoroki’s cock twitched, heavy between his legs, his breathing uneven. The sight was lewd—obscene, utterly explicit. His gaze flickered over the way Bakugou’s hole clenched around his own fingers, how eagerly he was working himself open, how he was keeping eye contact the entire time.
He needed to touch him.
Todoroki’s hands moved on instinct. One large palm gripped Bakugou’s ass, spreading him just a little further, thumbs pressing into firm, hot muscle. His other hand reached forward, fingertip ghosting over his entrance, right next to Bakugou’s own fingers.
“Can I?” he asked, looking up at him.
Bakugou’s breath hitched. “You don’t need to ask every little thi— ah!”
He broke off sharply as Todoroki pushed in, slow and deliberate, his fingertip pressing past the initial tightness to join Bakugou’s own fingers inside.
Bakugou’s knees shook.
Todoroki inhaled sharply, feeling the way the tight heat squeezed around him, sucking him in. His fingers were thicker than Bakugou’s, his touch careful, steady. He didn’t rush, letting him adjust.
Bakugou had stopped moving completely. His fingers were still inside himself, but they weren’t doing anything anymore. His breathing had turned heavier, more uneven.
Todoroki couldn’t see his face from this angle, so instead his gaze locked onto the way Bakugou’s hole clenched around both of their fingers, the tight ring of muscle spasming slightly around them.
Curious, he curled the tip of his finger.
Bakugou jerked , letting out a high-pitched, strangled, “ah!” before clamping down around their fingers.
Todoroki blinked.
“You stopped moving your fingers,” he observed.
Bakugou’s breath shook. “Shut the fuck—”
Todoroki pressed again. Right against that spot.
Bakugou moaned.
Todoroki felt it—the way his body twitched, the way he clenched down harder, the way his thighs shuddered .
He kept rubbing his fingertip against that spot, experimentally.
Bakugou shivered, his whole body trembling, his arms shaking slightly from the effort of keeping himself up.
Todoroki exhaled, slow and measured. “You’re really sensitive.”
“Shut up,” Bakugou hissed, face burning, his body betraying him completely.
Todoroki tilted his head slightly. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, he pulled Bakugou’s fingers away, removing them entirely.
Bakugou barely had a second to protest before Todoroki replaced them with his own.
Two fingers first, slipping inside easily, pressing into heat. Then three—stretching him further, pushing past resistance. Bakugou’s whole body tensed, shoulders tight, back arching slightly. His mouth opened, but no words came out, only a low, shaking exhale.
Todoroki exhaled slowly, watching the way Bakugou trembled beneath him, his breathing unsteady, his muscles taut.
Bakugou’s hips began moving on their own, pushing back against his fingers, chasing friction. Then suddenly, his hand shot down, wrapping around the base of his own dick, squeezing hard.
“Just put it in already,” Bakugou snapped—but the way his voice wavered, breathless and raw, made it sound nothing like a command.
Todoroki hesitated, thinking quickly. “Do we need a condom?”
Bakugou huffed, still gripping himself tightly. “Have you ever done this with anyone else?”
“No.”
Bakugou’s expression shifted—just slightly—but Todoroki caught it. Relief. His stomach did a little flip.
“Me neither. So just hurry up and do it.”
Todoroki exhaled, feeling a flicker of relief himself. He placed one hand firmly on Bakugou’s waist, the other steadying himself. He rubbed the tip of his cock against Bakugou’s entrance, feeling the sharp hitch in his breath before slowly pressing forward.
Heat. Tightness. His whole body shuddered, and he had to stop himself from just burying it all the way in.
His grip tightened on Bakugou’s hips as he pushed in, watching the way his hole took him, inch by inch. It was unbelievably tight.
Halfway in, Todoroki let out a slow, shaky breath and adjusted his hold, gripping Bakugou’s waist with both hands. He couldn’t see much from this angle, but the view of Bakugou’s well-defined back, his broad shoulders, and the way his flushed cheeks pressed against him was more than enough.
The difference between his fingers and his cock was significant, so he forced himself to take it slow. Don’t rush.
Finally, finally, he was all the way in.
He ground against him instinctively, ensuring he was buried deep, that there was no space left between them. He leaned forward slightly, peering over Bakugou’s shoulder—his muscular chest rising and falling heavily, the deep scar between his pecs, the pink of his nipples, the tension in his arms. He was really beautiful.
Bakugou was breathing hard, turning his face away, his whole body trembling from the stretch. Todoroki pulled back, then started moving, slow at first.
With nowhere else to brace himself, Bakugou wrapped his hands around Todoroki’s forearms, grip tightening each time Todoroki drove into him. His legs were spread, the tips of his toes barely touching the floor, every muscle in his body taut.
The overwhelming tightness nearly undid Todoroki right then. He looked down, catching a glimpse of white dripping onto the dark stone floor—Bakugou was already coming.
His legs shook.
“Bed.”
It felt so good that he honestly didn’t want to stop. So he pulled out, flipped Bakugou onto his back, and lifted him effortlessly.
Bakugou’s eyes widened. “What—ah—”
Todoroki’s cock caught at his rim for just a second before sliding all the way to the base in one smooth motion.
Bakugou wouldn’t be light to a normal person—he was all firm muscle—but to Todoroki, who had trained his strength all his life, it was nothing. He could hold him up completely, supporting his weight with ease as he lifted him, bouncing him up and down a few times, Bakugou’s legs dangling helplessly at his sides.
Bakugou moaned, arms snapping around his shoulders in an attempt to ground himself, but all it did was press them closer together, making him tighten even more around Todoroki.
Todoroki carried him like that, through the changing room and into the main room, setting him down carefully onto one of the beds before climbing over him.
Bakugou’s legs spread naturally, his cock already hard again, flushed and curving up toward his stomach. Todoroki’s gaze trailed downward—from his heaving chest, down to his abs, to the place between his legs. His hole was puffy, twitching, clenching like it was begging to be filled again.
How could he say no?
He lined himself up, pressing against him, and Bakugou looked down, watching as he pushed in again, watching as Todoroki’s cock stretched him open, inch by inch, until he was filled to the base.
When he was finally inside, Bakugou’s arms wrapped around his neck, dragging him down until their bodies were flush.
Todoroki lifted his head, and for the first time that night, he really looked at him.
His face was soft in a way Todoroki had never seen before. His sharp brows relaxed, his lips slightly parted, his red eyes wet beneath long, golden lashes. It almost didn’t seem real.
This was Bakugou—the same proud, rough, impossible person he had always known. But right now, he was letting him see this side of him. Letting him in.
Something settled heavily in Todoroki’s chest. He wasn’t sure what it was—jealousy, a sense of superiority, awe. He never wanted anyone else to see Bakugou like this.
He leaned down and kissed him. It was soft, simple—a stark contrast to what they had already done. He started to pull away, but Bakugou’s hands shot up, gripping the sides of his face and pulling him right back down, crashing their lips together.
They kissed and kissed, tongues sliding together, breathless, bodies grinding in sync. Bakugou was flexible, his knees pushed high to his shoulders, letting Todoroki press deeper.
Bakugou’s moans went straight to his dick. Todoroki started moving again, thrusting into him, gripping his thighs as Bakugou locked his legs around his waist, refusing to let go.
Todoroki couldn’t look away from his face, his parted lips, his furrowed brows, the sheer pleasure washing over him. He was beautiful. And Todoroki was the one making him feel this way.
“Bakugou,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “I like you.”
Bakugou yanked him down for another kiss, and Todoroki melted into it, picking up the pace.
“Bakugou,” he whispered again, this time against his lips, “I really like you.”
Bakugou tensed, his body clamping down around him. He turned his head, looking away—but Todoroki simply trailed kisses down the side of his jaw, pressing his lips beneath his ear before saying it again.
Bakugou snapped, face burning. His whole body shuddered, his nails digging into Todoroki’s shoulders.
“Does everything have to be said out loud?!” he snapped, completely flustered.
Todoroki pulled back slightly, watching his reaction with fascination.
“Fine! I’ve liked you for way longer,” Bakugou admitted, his voice defensive, as if it was some sort of competition.
Todoroki couldn’t help it. He smiled. Bakugou really was cute.
Their bodies crashed together, and they fucked like they were trying to destroy each other. Bakugou’s cock was trapped between them, rubbing against Todoroki’s stomach with every thrust, and it wasn’t long before he came—hot, white ropes of come splashing between them, his body shuddering as he arched beneath him.
Todoroki watched it happen—watched the pleasure ripple through him, watched the way his long eyelashes fluttered, the way his jaw went slack. Fuck , he looked good. He was going to make sure they did this again .
“I’m gonna come,” Todoroki warned, voice wrecked.
Bakugou’s eyes snapped open. His hands slid to Todoroki’s face, locking their gazes together, refusing to let him look away.
Todoroki’s breath caught.
If watching him fall apart was something Bakugou enjoyed—then for the first time in his life, Todoroki was grateful that he had been considered attractive. He held Bakugou’s gaze, his rhythm stuttering, his whole body seizing up.
Heat surged through him as he came—long, deep, shuddering, pleasure slamming through every nerve as Bakugou watched him, his expression somewhere between tired, excited, and smug.
Todoroki leaned down, pressing their lips together as the pleasure slowly ebbed, as their breathing evened out. Bakugou let him kiss him, soft and slow.