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once more, with feeling

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It’s midnight, Todoroki Shouto is about to lose his anal virginity, and Bakugou Katsuki has three fingers knuckle deep inside of him.

There’s something quite poetic about the fact that they’re both inexperienced but full of bluster, both sizing each other up like two predators fighting for dominance. Todoroki doesn’t hate that he’s on the bottom, because Bakugou’s covered in a light sheen of sweat and is gritting his teeth as his eyes flicker from Todoroki’s body to his face, as if seeking confirmation that he’s doing the right thing. It’s a good look, one of cocky confidence covering up concern and worry, and Todoroki wants to record it in his heart forever.

Virgins up until this very moment.

(At this important time in his career, Todoroki’d like to thank his family, friends, and the Academy.)

Bakugou fumbles with the lubricant again, coating his hands in even more slick as he curls his fingers. There’s a brush of something that jolts Todoroki, surprise and shock washing over his features, and Bakugou does it again and again until Todoroki’s legs are shaking.

“Feels good?” Bakugou asks. His voice is too rough and hoarse for it to have the intended teasing effect.

“Not bad,” Todoroki bites back, embarrassed, steam rising from his cheeks through hasty thermoregulation. He chokes off a moan that bubbles in his throat, Bakugou’s fingers scissoring him open, and squeezes his eyes shut.

“Bakugou,” he slurs. In a very emphatic way.

It isn’t begging but the message is clear enough for Bakugou to follow.

“You’re still tight,” Bakugou says back, a flash of something crosses over his expression before it’s smoothed back into the calm façade. That’s what that is, Todoroki realizes as it faintly registers to him that Bakugou is panicking, an illusion that Bakugou’s trying to put on, that everything is under control, when Bakugou doesn’t have any prior experience to make this right either.

And Todoroki’s soft, malleable, pincushion heart thuds painfully hard in his chest at the care and attention that Bakugou puts into this. Into him.

“It’s fine,” Todoroki says. “I’m relaxed.”

“Are you,” Bakugou snorts and taps Todoroki’s neck muscles that are straining with effort, veins jumping out, and snorts again.

“You’re fucking my ass, not my throat,” Todoroki says crudely.

Still, he leans back on the numerous pillows that Bakugou shoved underneath his body and tries to relax. Relax, with Bakugou’s hands inside of him. Bakugou’s hands, rough with callouses, a unique texture inside when Bakugou rubs the pads of his fingers against Todoroki’s prostate—

Todoroki keens, clenches down, and Bakugou swears.

Relax,” Bakugou says.

“Stop teasing me then and fuck me already,” Todoroki bites back, his cock leaking profusely over the flat planes of his stomach. He reaches over and opens the condom packet as a courtesy, blowing on the ring and handing it over into Bakugou’s waiting hand.

Clumsily, Bakugou rolls it on, pinches the tip, and then positions the head of his cock against Todoroki’s hole.

“Breathe out,” Bakugou says, sweat matting his bangs to his forehead, and pushes in.

Unpracticed, Todoroki tenses, holds his breath, and Bakugou has barely fit the tip in when Todoroki feels the pain. Being filled by Bakugou’s cock is nothing like being filled by his fingers, thicker and longer and so much more, and Todoroki can’t help the yell that bubbles out of his throat into the open air between them.

Bakugou stills, his eyes glassy as he stares unfocused at Todoroki’s chest, and his muscles strain with effort.

Todoroki screws his eyes shut as he breathes in and out harshly through his nose. Aside from understanding the excruciating pain he feels, Todoroki hardly has time to coherently think of anything else. He can feel his erection flagging in between their bodies. His hands reach out, slapping over the sweaty skin of Bakugou’s arms, and he holds on like Bakugou’s the anchor and Todoroki’s desperate to not be swept up by the wave.

To be fair, Bakugou is holding himself very still. Todoroki tries to appreciate the small kindness.

“Okay,” Bakugou says and pulls out, Todoroki yelling again with the roughness of the action. “First off, half-and-half, stop acting like I’m killing you.”

Todoroki stares up at the ceiling, trying not to feel mortified. Bakugou sighs, scratches his head with his clean hand, and touches Todoroki’s face with his fingers that are still somewhat sticky with lube.

“Second off, I’m going to try something. Okay?”

Nodding, Todoroki slips his eyes shut.

In the darkness of his own vision, Todoroki feels the gentle press of Bakugou’s lips against his own. This is nice, comforting familiarity in an undiscovered territory, and Todoroki makes low, encouraging noises as Bakugou runs his tongue over the seam of his lips. He parts, easily, and Bakugou deepens the kiss.

Bakugou tastes familiar—the fried rice that they ate for dinner, the peppermint twist of his toothpaste—and Todoroki easily loses himself in the kiss. There’s a hand coaxing his cock back to full hardness and Todoroki sighs, losing himself in it, and then another finger that traces his hole, pushing in once he’s no longer tense.

And then the finger is replaced by the slow slide of Bakugou’s cock.

Todoroki wraps his arms around Bakugou’s neck and rakes his nails against his shoulder blades. A small retaliation.

Bakugou is kissing him and jerking him off and sliding into him and Todoroki can’t breathe, overwhelmed. He slaps Bakugou on the back, sharply in warning before he pushes Bakugou off him forcibly, and Bakugou stops kissing him.

Todoroki gasps, greedily filling his lungs with air again.

“More’s in,” Bakugou says, triumphant, and Todoroki feels it. “Can you handle it, half-and-half?”

The minutes begin to blur together. Bakugou fucks himself in slowly, shaking like a leaf with each spasm and clench of Todoroki around him, and Todoroki feels like he’s losing it.

Everything is slowed down. That’s it with Bakugou. Either too fast or too slow.

The sensation of being filled passes, Todoroki nods, and Bakugou pushes in until Todoroki hisses. It’s arousing and infuriating—the volatile cocktail that is Bakugou Katsuki—and Todoroki wonders if he should just throw caution into the wind and demand that Bakugou fuck him proper and make him never want to do this again.

At this point, it’s more about Bakugou’s pleasure than his. Todoroki doesn’t get why people do this. Being frankly honest, bottoming sucks. He never wants to do it again.

“Thanks,” Bakugou says dryly.

Whoops. Todoroki flashes a smile and pats Bakugou on his bicep. Mmm, Bakugou’s biceps.

“You’re so noisy,” Bakugou reprimands. And then he slides in, just a bit further, and brushes against Todoroki’s prostate, and Todoroki moans so loudly that it startles both of them.

Bakugou stares at him, mouth hanging open, and it’s so ridiculous that Todoroki is tore between laughing and moaning again. Bakugou Katsuki, in between his spread legs, not quite fully sheathed inside of him, gaping at him like a fish out of water.

Then, Bakugou recovers.

Todoroki braces himself.

“Do you still never want to do this again,” Bakugou teases him, a cocky grin on his face, and pushes himself in further. Each rub against Todoroki’s prostate erupts another mortifying noise out of him and he bows his head forward, eyes squeezed shut and teeth clenched. Bakugou’s hand on his cock feels too much and Bakugou’s cock inside of him feels too much and Bakugou, all around him, occupying every single thought, is too much.

Like puzzle pieces just falling into place, it all clicks.

“Too much,” Todoroki rasps and Bakugou’s hand comes off of his cock, both of them moving to rub against his thighs that are straining with tension. And Bakugou keeps sliding in, easier with the pleasure racking through Todoroki’s veins, and Todoroki breathes out, a little easier this time.

Now, Bakugou begins to fuck him.

The sounds that are coming out of him are mortifying. It’s either a pained what are you doing gasp or a pleasured what did you just do moan. Bakugou’s brows are furrowed in concentration and he keeps looking at Todoroki’s face, his thrusts clumsy and hands slippery with sweat.

Todoroki lifts up his head and Bakugou kisses him, helpless. Bakugou’s almost louder than him at this rate, shaking and groaning and pressing into Todoroki as if he can’t get enough of him. Unrestrained with each thrust, Bakugou almost growls into Todoroki’s mouth, breathing harshly as he grabs Todoroki by the shoulders to force him down on his cock.

The delicacy he afforded Todoroki is long gone by now.

Todoroki grinds down when he can, fingernails cutting into Bakugou’s arms. Bakugou is fucking him into the mattress, into the bed of pillows that were so painstakingly laid out for Todoroki to be positioned on, and Todoroki bites down on Bakugou’s lip at the memory.

He feels alive.

One thrust pushes Todoroki up so high that he bangs against the headboard, hissing painfully. Bakugou’s hands come up to wrap around his head, protective, and keeps thrusting. His own hands bang against the wood as he fucks.

“Mine,” Bakugou chants with each thrust. “Mine, mine, mine.”

Todoroki realizes that he can’t come like this, actually, even though his limbs feel watery and his spine is melting underneath Bakugou’s ministrations.

“Bakugou,” Todoroki manages to grunt out between thrusts, “I need to come.”

The thrusts stop. Bakugou looks at him in confusion. His lips are kissed swollen and his face is flushed ruddy red, with his hair plastered against his head. He’s so handsome.

Thankfully, Todoroki googled this beforehand.

“I googled this,” he says with a hint of pride, because excellent preparation is the key to success, “it’s very unlikely for someone to come just from anal the first couple of times around.”

Bakugou stares at him, annoyed in his usual expression whenever Todoroki pulls some random factoid out of his ass, hah, but shakes his head and rolls his eyes in understanding. He repositions Todoroki, dragging them both down as if he can’t bear to be separated for even a second, and wraps a hand around Todoroki’s cock.

It doesn’t take long after that. Bakugou drives into him relentlessly, specifically targeting that one spot inside of him that makes Todoroki’s entire body convulse, and Bakugou’s jerking him off in time with his thrusts. Bakugou finishes inside of him first with a strangled noise, filling the condom deep, and then redoubles his efforts on Todoroki’s cock.

He comes with a cry and his arms wrapped around Bakugou, clinging to him like a lifeline. Todoroki slumps back, exhausted and fucked-out, and Bakugou collapses on top of him.

His mind has grinded to a halt, nothing floating in and nothing floating out, and he stares at the ceiling for much too long. Bakugou rouses first, refocusing, and he stares at Todoroki carefully.

“Was that,” he starts, stops, and then grumbles.

“Not bad,” Todoroki quips, his mind clearing as everything comes back to him. “My favorite part was when you almost gave me a concussion.”

“Shut up,” Bakugou snorts and grabs a pillow out from under Todoroki. There’s a bit of dry lube and fresh semen on the silk, so Bakugou smacks Todoroki with it and leaves a splotch of wet against his face.

“Hey,” Todoroki says and sits up.

His waist hurts, and his ass is still sore, but he still fishes the pillow out from underneath his ass and smacks Bakugou in the forehead with it.

Bakugou takes off his condom and dumps the contents all over Todoroki’s face.

With no remorse, Todoroki wipes his face with two fingers and shoves them into Bakugou’s mouth.




In the morning, Todoroki wakes up and Bakugou isn’t there.

He panics, sleepy and disoriented with his face crusty and sore all over, because Bakugou should be there, sleeping next to him. If there’s one constant in Bakugou’s life, it’s his circadian rhythm that wakes him up at noon and sends him to bed at ten.

But then the bedroom door opens and Bakugou’s there, a flush riding high on his cheeks as he puts a platter of food on the nightstand and stares at Todoroki.

“Are you feeling okay?” He demands.

Dumbly, Todoroki nods.

Bakugou clicks his tongue and disappears into his bathroom. There’s the sound of running water, and the sound of the faucet being turned off, and then he’s back with a damp washcloth in his hands. It’s warm when it touches Todoroki’s face and Bakugou washes him clean.

By the end of it, Todoroki’s awake but still so thoroughly confused.

“Better,” Bakugou says and stares openly at Todoroki’s naked chest where the bites and bruises have begun to purple. Unafraid to openly touch, Bakugou slides a hand over his skin and presses at a bitemark with his thumb.

Todoroki hisses, sensitive, and arches in his touch.

“You should eat,” Bakugou says gruffly, much like a caveman who has just discovered fire. He takes his hand off Todoroki’s chest and throws the washcloth into his bathroom. Then, he picks up the tray of food and Todoroki watches as he carefully sets it up on top of some cleaner pillows.

Miso soup, steamed rice, natto, grilled salmon, pickled vegetables, and some fluffy fried eggs.

It’s all of his favorites, Todoroki realizes with a start.

A traditional Japanese breakfast, in bed.

“Huh,” Todoroki says slowly.

“What,” Bakugou snaps and crosses his arms.

“Nothing,” Todoroki says. He picks up the miso soup and takes a long drink, the warmth spreading throughout his entire body as he sips. It feels nice, in a way, letting himself be pampered like this. It’s infuriating, because he’s not delicate, but it’s nice, because Bakugou’s looking at him so intensely that Todoroki feels the weight of the stare.

His opinion is the only thing on Bakugou’s mind.

“It’s good,” Todoroki says and puts down the bowl. He smiles. “Thanks.”

Of course it’s good,” Bakugou says with a grin, but the tension in the slope of his shoulders relaxes. “I made it.”

Even Bakugou’s bluster can’t diminish the taste of his food. Todoroki eats, hunger rapidly mounting and then damping down to a low simmer as he gets close to finishing. Bakugou watches him the entire time, eyes never leaving him for a second, and only looks away once Todoroki finishes his meal.

Bakugou takes the tray back from Todoroki and begins to stack the empty plates and bowls neatly.

Okay, now it’s just infuriating.

“I’m not invalid because you put your dick in my ass,” Todoroki snipes.

Bakugou blinks at him owlishly, going through a variety of emotions before settling on a familiar anger.

“Then you do the damn dishes yourself, fuck you.” He practically throws the tray at Todoroki and then leaves, muttering something about infuriating bastards.

In a sea of silk sheets and pillows and empty porcelain plates and bowls, Todoroki Shouto picks at his nails while considering what the hell just happened.




Five seconds later, Bakugou storms through the bedroom to the bathroom and picks up the washcloth discarded on the floor. Todoroki watches him go, immobile, and then watches as he storms out of the bathroom, flicks him off, and then storms out of the bedroom.

Well, Todoroki thinks as he stands up on shaking legs, no time like the present.




“I had a good time,” Todoroki says maybe a bit too sincerely, standing in Bakugou’s kitchen in sweatpants that end too high on his calf and a shirt that barely covers his abdomen. He’s wearing Bakugou’s clothes, having fished them out of the closet.

Bakugou’s staring at him, his eyes bulging out of their sockets, and Todoroki rubs the back of his neck. The first self-conscious act that he’s done today. It’s awkward, Todoroki realizes, and maybe Bakugou dealt with the uncomfortable mood by pampering him. Todoroki kind of wants to do it as well, to confirm that nothing has changed from last night, and he crowds Bakugou against the sink to press a kiss against his lips.

“And I’m fine,” Todoroki says as he pulls away, feeling a little chaste. “Thanks for,” a pause, “caring.”

“Yeah, well,” Bakugou says, stiff, and waves a hand. But Todoroki can see the slight nervous tremble in his fingers, the way that he looks at Todoroki’s hands, then mouth, then eyes, weakness covered up by a steely challenge. Because between fight or flight, they’re both ready to lay down their lives to the death. Todoroki gets it, in the way that he once told Bakugou that he liked him and meant it, in the way his heart thudded loudly in his chest just like it is now, and in the way he wants their relationship to change but unsure if the outcome would be what he desired.

Bakugou, he thinks. Bakugou, Bakugou.

And Todoroki puts his arms around Bakugou’s waist, his hands resting on the small of Bakugou’s back, and they kiss again and again until Bakugou melts.

“Wash the damn dishes,” Bakugou says when they part. “And change into your work clothes, you bastard.”

Emotionally repressed, both of them.




Being a Pro Hero is easy enough, Todoroki supposes. At least on the days that he’s supposed to be solely patrolling. It’s harder when it’s a remote mission, because those are inherently more dangerous, but he’s grateful for the days where he can just walk around the city streets.

So far, five criminals have been frozen and handed over to the police. He’s signed several autographs and received a bounty of fresh fruits from store owners who recognize him. It’s a good day.

He doesn’t go back to Bakugou’s apartment. Instead, he heads straight home after work. There’s a rhythm to relationships that he can’t quite pick up on: first kiss, first date, first fuck. It’s hard to determine when the right time to ask to live with each other is, especially since Bakugou is the first person that Todoroki has ever dated, and Todoroki doesn’t want to push too hard too fast.

Well, unless Bakugou dated in middle school, he’s the first person that Bakugou’s ever dated. The blind leading the blind.

Todoroki sends a quick text though, I’m heading home now. Got some oranges from Nakahara-san, which is as close as he’ll get to asking Bakugou to come over. Maybe later, if he’s feeling lonely, he’ll ask Bakugou what he’s up to. Before ten, of course, since Bakugou falls asleep like clockwork unless Todoroki’s the one keeping him up.

again, Bakugou texts him back.

She got them from her mom and she doesn’t want them to rot, Todoroki explains, the crate of oranges slung underneath his arm.

ugh, Bakugou replies. sounds like a pain. tell her mom to fuck off.

Okay, I’ll tell her that it’s from you, Todoroki texts and then sends Bakugou a carefully curated cat sticker. The cat smiles, licks its paw, and stretches out its back.

no shit sherlock its from me, Bakugou replies and ignores the cat sticker. Rude. she hasnt liked me ever since i busted her daughters grocery store.

Todoroki remembers that. Bakugou, sticky in watermelon juice, no nitroglycerin leaking from his palms, chucking the fruit at the villain’s head while avoiding the retaliation from both Nakahara and the villain.

I’ve put in a good word for you every time I stop by, Todoroki promises, which isn’t the point. Do you want to eat some?

whatever, Bakugou says. see you soon.




It’s midnight and Bakugou Katsuki has three fingers knuckle deep inside of him.

Wait, Todoroki thinks, what?

“Bakugou,” Todoroki says, voice dangerously low, and Bakugou’s fingers halt inside of him. “What are you doing?”

And Bakugou stares at him. “You were the one who said you wanted this,” he says, defensive.

“No,” Todoroki frowns. “You were tired of peeling oranges and left around ten, when did you come ba—”

“What the fuck are you talking about,” Bakugou says sharply and yanks his fingers out of Todoroki, causing Todoroki to hiss in agitation. Bakugou curls his hand, in the way that he does when he senses something wrong. It’s a little less intimidating with the glistening lube covering his fingers. “Left what? This is my apartment.”

And Todoroki takes it in, the crimson silk pillows supporting him, the scarlet silk underneath his feet, the bareness of his body, and realizes that this is a dream.

He’s dreaming of last night, and that’s fine. That’s totally fine. He’s not trying to overanalyze what’s going on. It’s just a lucid dream.

“Oh,” Todoroki says softly. Bakugou’s still staring at him like he’s the enemy, so he falls back on their agreed plan for determining each other’s identity. “You took me to an aquarium on our third date and bribed the seal trainers to 'randomly' choose me to feed the animals during the show.”

Marginally, Bakugou relaxes. His palms stop glowing on the cusp of an explosion.

“I didn’t bribe them,” he says.

“Right,” Todoroki says quickly. This is a dream, so he can say whatever he wants. He lets his ice and fire show, briefly flashing one, twice, and Bakugou relaxes fully as he stares at Todoroki.

“Let’s resume,” Todoroki says slyly, shaky confidence thrumming through his veins. He picks himself up and shifts until he’s in Bakugou’s lap, grinding against him breathlessly as he kisses him. This close, he knows that Bakugou can hear how anxious he is, the rapid drum of his heart doing nothing to help the tremor in his hands.

It was good for him last time. The least he can do is make it good for Bakugou, even if this is just a dream. He kisses Bakugou hard, his blood roaring through his ears like he’s in a fight, and it’s just like how it was last night—Bakugou tastes faintly of fried rice and peppermint twist, and he licks in greedily. Bakugou whimpers against his lips and blood rushes southward, Todoroki grinding even harder as his heart does double time, an almost desperate quality to his actions.

Eventually, they break for air.

“Feels good?” His voice is too rough and hoarse for it to have the intended teasing effect.

“Not bad,” Bakugou says as his fingers snake around behind Todoroki.

Relinquishing control, Todoroki lets Bakugou manhandle him into lying down with pillows supporting his body. Like clockwork, Bakugou fumbles with the lubricant, fingers him until his legs are shaking, and Todoroki lets him do whatever he wants with him. Last time, the issue had been that he wasn’t relaxed.

Now, Todoroki breathes in and out slowly as Bakugou pleasures him. His cock leaks all over his stomach and Todoroki feels like he’s going mad with each brush against his prostate. In his grasp, he twists the sheets and pushes back on Bakugou’s fingers.

After what feels like eternity, Bakugou pulls his fingers out of him and wipes the remaining lube on the sheet. He opens the condom packet and rolls it down.

Okay, Todoroki thinks, okay.

He tilts his head up, wordlessly asking for a kiss as he puts Bakugou’s hand on his cock, hissing at the oversensitive brush. Bakugou complies easily, kissing him soundly as he slides in.

This time is rougher than last, Bakugou not taking it as slow as he kisses Todoroki languidly, and Todoroki keens into Bakugou’s mouth with the push of his cock. Part of Todoroki knows what’s coming, soon, the rush of pleasure from the purposeful drag of Bakugou’s cock against his prostate, and he holds onto that memory.

Soon, soon, soon. It’s just a dream. Pain isn’t real.

Todoroki separates from Bakugou, their mouths brushing each other as Todoroki scrambles to grab onto something, anything. His hands find purchase against Bakugou’s shoulder blades and the moan that burbles out of him is animalistic.

The pleasure is so intense that it makes him think this is real.

Bakugou stills, his heart thudding against Todoroki’s own, and they both adjust to the new sensation. He feels bigger than he had looked, which means that Todoroki feels the blunt weight inside of him, thick and hot and perfectly aching.

Eventually, Todoroki’s heart rate settles down. Bakugou’s rocking into him, kissing his neck with each tiny movement in and out, and Todoroki keens when Bakugou shifts to hit his prostate with every slow thrust. It’s a slow burn of pleasure that dissolves into irritation, a familiar anger burning inside of Todoroki when he considers that he’s being treated like he might break at any minute and honestly, it’s a bit embarrassing.

Todoroki takes three breaths before he says, “I’m not delicate, fuck me already.”

Bakugou stares, as if unsure, and Todoroki rolls his eyes.

“Can you not fuck,” Todoroki says bluntly, egging Bakugou on.

“Fuck you,” Bakugou snarls and grabs Todoroki’s hips. He drags his cock out of Todoroki, slow and wet, and snaps his hips forward to slam back in.

Todoroki convulses.

It’s too fast, too good, too hard, and Todoroki doesn’t have to wait long for Bakugou to fuck him properly. Bakugou picks up a fast rhythm, hard and punishing, and Todoroki feels his entire body straining to keep up. He rolls his hips in time with Bakugou’s thrusts, shivering and crying out as Bakugou keeps thrusting his hips without remorse. There’s no one to blame but him: as soon as he gave Bakugou permission to act without holding back, to take and take and take, Todoroki should have expected this.

He clings to Bakugou, biting into the flesh of his shoulder as his nails dig into Bakugou’s side, and all he hears is the loud slap of skin against skin as the blood rushes throughout his body. Each thrust knocks the air out of his lungs and Todoroki gasps, growing delirious with pleasure, and he tentatively moans Bakugou’s name underneath his breath, weirdly self-conscious even when he’s on the cusp of orgasm.

And then Bakugou starts to jerk him in time with his pounding rhythm and Todoroki throws all of his inhibitions into the wind, hole fluttering and twitching around Bakugou’s cock, moaning long and low as tension mounts and winds up tighter in his body until he’s locked and loaded, just a hairpin trigger away from firing.

“Todoroki,” Bakugou hisses and pushes his mouth against the curve of Todoroki’s jaw.

“Bakugou,” Todoroki chants like a prayer, as if given permission.

And he comes, thrashing against Bakugou who pins him down and lets him ride out the orgasm. His hole clenches down on Bakugou, who isn’t moving at all, a small kindness as Todoroki nearly whites out, eyes squeezed shut as his nails dig into Bakugou’s shoulders and nearly draw blood. Long ropes of come slick up and down the flat of his stomach, and some gets on Bakugou when he starts thrusting again.

It doesn’t take long. Bakugou moans his name and thrusts one last time deep into him. His muscles spasm and he comes, throbbing and pulsating inside Todoroki as he fills the condom. Todoroki tries to relax, tries to make it good for Bakugou by clenching and rolling his hips despite oversensitive, and Bakugou lands on his elbows instead of collapsing on him.

Todoroki pushes back Bakugou’s bangs, which had been matted to his forehead, and taps the sweaty skin he finds there.

He kind of wants to laugh. His mind, blissfully blank, offers nothing to say. Before, he stared at the ceiling, but now, in this dream, he stares at Bakugou’s hairline and considers absolutely nothing.

Bakugou rouses first, refocusing, and he stares at Todoroki carefully.

“Was that,” he starts, stops, and then grumbles.

“It was good,” Todoroki says this time. An ego stroke instead of a quip. “It was with you, after all.”

“Of course,” Bakugou snorts, a grin in place, and then slowly pulls out of him. Todoroki hisses as he does so, coming down from a euphoric high to feel the emptiness instead.

Shakily, Bakugou takes off the condom and ties it. It’s a bit ugly of a knot, but it’ll do the trick as he gets up to throw it out in the bathroom’s trashcan.

Todoroki hears the sound of running water. Then, Bakugou returns with a warm washcloth in his hand. Quietly, he wipes Todoroki’s body free of sweat and come, leaving Todoroki feeling fresh and fucked-out as Bakugou busies himself around the bedroom.

It’s pleasant. No bad for a do-over, Todoroki decides, and Bakugou returns to punch a pillow and wrap an arm around Todoroki. This takes him by surprise, because Bakugou doesn’t do cuddling in bed, and Todoroki stares at Bakugou who’s staring right back at him.

“What,” Bakugou says flatly.

“Nothing,” Todoroki says. Of course Bakugou in his dream would want to cuddle. “Just looking at you.”

Bakugou snorts and closes his eyes.

He pulls Todoroki a bit closer to his chest. “Go to sleep.”

Dreams are weird, but Todoroki gets to curl up on Bakugou’s bed, cuddled against his bare chest, and has the luxury of tipping up to press a kiss against his collarbone. So, maybe, Todoroki’s allowed to count this as a win.

Maybe he’ll go over to Bakugou’s apartment when he wakes up.




In the morning, Todoroki wakes up on Bakugou’s bed tangled up in Bakugou’s sheets while sleeping on Bakugou’s pillow and jolts to attention in half a millisecond.

He’s either still dreaming or something very bad is happening.

The bedroom door opens and Bakugou’s there, a flush riding high on his cheeks, platter of food in his hands, and Todoroki thinks, what is going on.

“Are you feeling okay?” He demands in the exact same voice and Todoroki wants to clutch his head, because he’s either having déjà vu or dreaming within a dream, again.

There was a movie about this. It doesn’t end well.

“Am I dreaming,” Todoroki mutters to himself, confused, and Bakugou scowls and rolls his eyes and puts the tray down on the nightstand.

“I cook for your ungrateful ass and now you’re acting like it’s a damn dream,” Bakugou snorts. “Some appreciation, huh.”

“I know,” Todoroki says with his hands cupping his face as he thinks. “It’s all my favorites. Thanks.”

Staring at him, Bakugou is left disoriented by the verbal and emotional whiplash.

“I had a good time last night,” Todoroki says quickly, his mind racing to fix all these problems. “And you don’t need to treat me like a baby.”

Bakugou looks at him, mouth slightly agape and eyes squinting, and holds his hands open in the universal what the fuck is going on gesture.

“If you’re going to be this insufferable every time we fuck, you're going to have to change,” he says.

We just fucked once, this isn’t always me, Todoroki wants to shout. Which, in retrospect, isn’t true. He lost his temper too last time. Technically, they both did. But last time doesn’t exist for Bakugou in this moment, just the one time that could have been a dream, and Todoroki holds his tongue.

Whatever. Nothing gets done before breakfast, anyways.

Todoroki grabs the tray. “Thank you for the meal.”




Bakugou notices something is off because he’s not an idiot.

Todoroki can tell, because Bakugou is watching him like a hawk, leaning his hip against the kitchen sink as Todoroki makes sure that he’s got everything set before he heads to work. It takes a split second for Todoroki to decide what to do, which is not running away and is definitely a tactical retreat, especially since Bakugou’s skin looks soft and dewy and his hair glows like amber gold in the sunlight peeking through the window.

“What,” Bakugou says flatly.

Time to make said tactical retreat. He’s been caught staring.

“See you on the field,” Todoroki says, like they’re two sports players and not Pro Heroes embroiled in a convoluted metaphor where Musutafu is the stage, and leaves with a hasty, “I’ll text you later.”

He realizes two blocks later that he didn’t get his goodbye kiss.




Whenever Todoroki is stuck, he tries to look up the answer.

The age of the internet means that information is readily available at his fingertips; it would be too prideful to ignore the wealth of resources he has. When he arrives at his agency, he turns on his work computer, looks over his shoulder despite being the only one in his office, and types in time loop quirks.

Very few cases are reported of actual time loop quirks, since the quirk is rare and villains with the quirk are even rarer. Most articles dispel the theory that it was actually a time loop quirk, instead insisting that it’s rather déjà vu.

Part of Todoroki wants this entire situation to be a dream, so he doesn’t actually have to deal with cleaning up this mess.

The database for registered time loop quirk users means that he’ll have to cross Japan to hunt down each and every single one of them, which totals ten. Some could probably be reached through other means—such as calling a family member at home to ask where the user is—but others are in a close enough circumference that Todoroki knows he’ll have to meet them face to face. Most likely, Eraserhead will have to accompany him. He has to cancel out the quirk. For the sake of, well.

Just in general, he supposes. For the sake of everything in general.

There’s the easy way—Eraserhead—or the hard way—Todoroki himself, fists and flames and ice and all. Hurting innocent civilians is never something he wants to do, willingly or not.

He pulls out his phone and texts his former teacher.

Eraserhead, stuck in possible time loop. Need your assistance at your earliest convenience.

Ah, professionalism.

The worst case is that none of those registered in the database are actually the user. Unregistered quirks become more common the more dangerous they are. People distrust a system that doesn’t benefit them, after all. Todoroki considers this briefly, drums his fingers on his desk, and then realizes that he’s got maybe ten minutes before the first villain attack is supposed to be stopped.

Whatever this is, he has to get out of it.




His intern from Shiketsu thinks that he has godlike intuition.

Or, at least, that’s what Todoroki thinks she’s saying. The generation gap has never proved itself so cruelly as she rattles on, slamming him with weird phrases and hand gestures, and Todoroki nods as he looks at his watch.

Two minutes later, he freezes the final villain of the day. The streaker from the day before isn’t there, so they spend a few minutes aimlessly waiting for an attack that never came, but that doesn’t even seem to bother his intern. After all, Todoroki had looked at his watch, went hm, and then they were off to the next location and time.

He lets his intern talk to the police, it’s good experience for her and a breather for him, and he checks his phone stealthily out of the sight of cameras. Eraserhead’s texted him back, a simple Ok, and a location and time, and Todoroki slides his phone back into his pocket and looks over to his intern.

Professionalism flipped like a switch, she smiles with patented kindness and laces her hands together as she recounts the details. Good, he thinks, and turns easily to oblige a newcomer with a selfie. It’s easy to slip into the rhythm of familiarity, which is why he meets Eraserhead with a box of oranges underneath his arm.

“Do you want some, Aizawa-sensei,” he asks, old habits dying hard.

Aizawa looks at the oranges, sighs, and then opens the door to his apartment even further. Todoroki nods, grateful, and then proceeds to put the oranges in the entryway.

Since he’s here mainly as a Pro Hero and not a student catching up with his teacher, Todoroki is brutally efficient. He explains what he did the first time the loop happens, states that it’s his second iteration, and watches as Aizawa rubs at his eyes and heave a heavy sigh.

Thankfully, Aizawa doesn’t ask how he knows for sure. Todoroki isn’t exactly sure how to explain that to him. Oh yes, Aizawa-sensei, if tonight doesn’t work out, then I’ll be transported right back to the start, with Bakugou fucking me open with his fingers. No pressure. At all.

They get going, moving efficiently with the quickest route to find at least three out of the ten people on the list. If Todoroki’s in a loop for sure, then he’ll know that by the next iteration that he can just rule those three out after Aizawa cancels their quirks. Simple.

His phone buzzes in his pocket.

are you free at nine, Bakugou texts him.

No, Todoroki texts back and almost loses his footing. I’m busy.

Bakugou leaves him on read.




They meet two out of the projected three. It takes hours to track each of them down; neither of them was in their residence, and Todoroki and Aizawa have to ask around without drawing too much attention.

Both can only time loop for a short period, the first looping five seconds to prove his innocence and the second letting Aizawa cancel her quirk because her loop lasts for an hour. They’re in the middle of trying to track down the last one when Aizawa lands on the rooftop, pulls out his cellphone, and shows Todoroki the time.

It’s ten minutes to midnight and Todoroki feels his heart seize.

“We’ve eliminated two of the suspects,” Aizawa says in a cold comfort. “Hopefully, the next loop will fare better.”

“Thanks,” Todoroki has to say, because what else could he say to his former teacher who spent the last four hours hunting down random quirk users to help him, and he runs a hand through his hair.

He pulls out his phone, sees that Bakugou has still left him on read. And despite the fact that Bakugou’s asleep right now, Todoroki sends him a text.

See you soon, he says. Because if he doesn’t go back, he’ll head over to Bakugou’s to celebrate.

And if he does. Well.




It’s midnight and Bakugou Katsuki has three fingers knuckle deep inside of him.

Todoroki jerks as he’s thrusted back into his body at midnight, the same seconds of the old day ticking past, and then Bakugou curls his fingers and Todoroki is jerking for another reason altogether.

His mind is melting, previous first-time nerves seeping away to just indulge in pleasure, and Todoroki feels horrified as he moans when Bakugou’s not even touching his prostate.

Bakugou looks at him.

“Stop fucking moaning like that,” he says.

“Like what,” Todoroki grunts as Bakugou slides his fingers in and out rhythmically.

“Like you’re trying to humor me,” Bakugou says. “Don’t make fun of me, fucker.”

Of course, Todoroki thinks as he lays back and lets Bakugou scissor open his hole, of course Bakugou would think that him moaning is somehow insulting.

“You weren’t moaning before,” Bakugou continues with a heavier push, his fingers swirling around as if searching for something. “I know what I’m doing, don’t be a dick and try to trick me.”

“It’s not fake,” Todoroki hisses defensively through clenched teeth as the pleasure wracks through his body. “I’m not fake moaning.”

“So, you’re just this naturally fucking sensitive?” Bakugou snorts derisively. “I was touching you all over before and you barely reacted.”

Well, Todoroki wants to say, that was before midnight, in his nervous coil of a body, and now is after midnight, in his apparently pleasure-developed-by-Bakugou body, but that all flies out of his mind when Bakugou finally brushes against his prostate.

Todoroki doesn’t scream but it is a very near thing, tampering off into a keen as he clenches down around Bakugou’s fingers. Bakugou’s fingers are warm and good and solid, and Todoroki squeezing his eyes shut as Bakugou rubs again and again until he’s arching off the sheets, his back pulled taut and his hips tilted as if silently begging Bakugou to touch him more. Bakugou obliges, his other hand resting on Todoroki’s cock, and Todoroki gasps and chokes and it’s not enough, nothing with Bakugou is ever enough, and the roar of pleasure that runs between his hole and his cock makes him buck up and down frantically.

Todoroki shakes as waves of pleasure crash over him, coming against Bakugou’s hands.

Swearing, Bakugou takes his hands off entirely, fingers pulling out of Todoroki with a wet squelch, and holds Todoroki through each convulsion. Desperate, Todoroki grabs him as he jerks with sensation, his mind hazy from being fucked again for the third time in a short span of time. For his body, it was yesterday where it hadn’t been touched at all. For his mind, it was barely twenty-four hours ago, and the transition from nothing to too much at once sends him into a tizzy. With a sob, he clutches Bakugou’s biceps as ice juts out of his palms and fire flares out from his knuckles.

Bakugou holds him through it all. Todoroki shakes as the aftermaths of sensation sweep over, threatening to drown him in the intensity, and it’s incredible until he feels the rush of shame drown him like a heavy syrup. He lost control of his quirk like a damn child, over some fingering and a bit of jerking off.

Breathing as quietly as possible, Todoroki holds himself very steady, his face a brilliant shade of scarlet.

“Todoroki,” Bakugou rasps, his voice hoarse and rough as if he’s the one who has been screaming, and Todoroki cracks his eyes open. Bakugou’s face is flushed, his hair damp with sweat, and his pupils are blown to the point where the red of his irises give way to black. “It’s okay.”

Steam rises out of Todoroki, the ice cementing him and Bakugou together melting into droplets of water that slide through his fingers and drip onto the sheets beneath them, and he feels his face cool as he regains control.

Surprisingly patient, Bakugou waits until he’s done.

Finally feeling proper, Todoroki’s expression displaying none of the emotions that he felt before. He’s borderline expressionless, his face smoothed into one of picturesque apathy, and Bakugou snorts.

“You’re insufferable,” Bakugou says.

“And you’re sweaty,” Todoroki replies and traces Bakugou’s temple with cool fingers, cupping Bakugou’s cheek with his hand. Bakugou leans into his touch, his teeth pressing into the flesh of Todoroki’s palm, and Todoroki looks at him and then down.


Bakugou’s cock, leaking precome at the tip, so hard that Todoroki feels sympathy like a punch to the gut, hangs heavy against his thigh.

Todoroki wets his lips.

“Do you want me to take care of that,” he says before he knows what he’s truly offering.

And Bakugou, lips parted in shock, stares at him like a man drowning.

Slowly, Todoroki reaches out to curl a hand gingerly around Bakugou’s cock. His skin is hot, soft as Todoroki strokes him, and twists his wrists to admire it from all angles. Bakugou groans, lips pressed together, and bucks his hips up in Todoroki’s hand. He shakily exhales, breath uneven and fast, and Todoroki kisses him while slowly warming up his hand, squeezing harder as Bakugou gives an appreciative hiss into Todoroki’s mouth.

“Don’t come too fast,” Todoroki can’t help but banter, nerves settling back into his bones, he’s never blown anyone before, and pulls away from Bakugou to put his mouth on the tip of Bakugou’s cock. Then, breathing in sharply through his nose, he sinks down.

It’s hot and smooth against his tongue, thicker in the way that Todoroki has come to acknowledge as being Bakugou, like when he’s filled Todoroki the first time, and Todoroki remembers what he read. Cover his teeth with his lips. Try to enjoy the taste as much as he can. Don’t get too dizzy.

Bakugou’s cock hits the back of his mouth and Todoroki holds him there, trying not to gag, and breathes deeply. Bakugou’s moaning, an arm slung over his face as his mouth, broken and ragged. Todoroki stays here and tries to use this moment to collect his thoughts. Drool leaks out of his mouth and his hand wraps around the part of Bakugou’s cock that he can’t fit, slick with spit as he slides his hand up and down.

With another deep breath, Todoroki sucks as he goes back up, eventually wrapping his lips tightly around the tip of Bakugou’s cock. He’s getting more into it now, sucking and slurping makes him feel like he’s hungry for Bakugou, a dirty rhythm that’s obscene by each squelch and choked off grunt that Bakugou gives.

His tongue flicks over the tip and then looks up. Bakugou’s staring at him, one hand over his eyes with the other twisting the sheets in his hands, and Todoroki makes eye contact with him as he, very bravely, slides down with his tongue sweeping against the broad underside of Bakugou’s cock.

Bakugou moans, squeezes his eyes shut, and bucks his hips up and his cock hits the back of Todoroki’s mouth, slipping down his throat, and Todoroki pushes himself off in alarm with a cough.

“Fuck,” Bakugou says and pushes his hands against his eyes. “Fuck. You good?”

“Yeah,” Todoroki says and grabs Bakugou’s hands, tugging them away from his face. He puts them in his hair, letting Bakugou’s fingers tangle in the strands, and repositions his mouth over his cock. “You can do it, if you want.”

Todoroki’s always been a quick learner. Sometimes, you just have to go in, guns blazing. If he gets beaten, then he gets beaten.

Bakugou’s hand is there, a solid presence against the back of his head, and it’s only when Todoroki is coming up, slow and lazy, that Bakugou’s hand flexes against his scalp to push him back down.

Moaning, pleased, Todoroki shifts against the sheets. It’s too good. He really likes this.

Quick on the uptake, as usual, Bakugou pushes Todoroki down harder, hands gripping him so that Todoroki’s moving faster, sliding up and fucking back up into his mouth almost immediately. Everything becomes a blur, Todoroki keeps moaning as he sucks and tries to remember to cover his teeth, knowing that a single scrape could mess up the entire thing, and Bakugou gets almost rougher as he grows closer.

Loud, helpless around Bakugou’s cock, Todoroki moans like a broken record. Todoroki groans when Bakugou tugs at his hair, a shock of pain that courses through Todoroki like a shock from a live wire, his blood bursting in flames, and his pulse skyrocketing. Bakugou forces himself down Todoroki’s throat, choking the other, and Bakugou’s body, which had been straining with considerable need, suddenly seizes up.

In a panic, Todoroki realizes that he needs to get his mouth off Bakugou’s cock, but it’s too late—

He pulls off Bakugou’s cock and gags, leaning over the side of their bed to cough out the come that dribbles from the back of his mouth onto the saliva of his tongue and past his lips, dripping onto the sheets and the floor messily. Bakugou is at his side, slapping him harshly on the back, and Todoroki feels snot bubble out of his nose and hopes that there’s no traces of come up there as well.

“Premature,” he manages between wheezes and coughs.

“Oh, fuck you,” Bakugou says.




Because he’s not worn out by a dick up his ass, Todoroki actually wakes up when Bakugou wakes.

This is new, Todoroki thinks, and stays very still and slows his breathing pattern to one of deep sleep. This is very new.

Bakugou gets up and hops into the shower. He’s pretty quiet, for a Bakugou in the morning who isn’t shouting at something is a strange Bakugou, so Todoroki is still left wondering why the secrecy. He waits, mouth still sticky, and then decides that he’ll get nowhere by waiting.

When Bakugou comes out with a towel slung low on his hips and another in his hair, he’s greeted by the sight of Todoroki staring right at him.

It’s silent.

Todoroki scratches the remnants of dried come from his lips.

“Idiot,” Bakugou snarls and heads back into the bathroom. He comes back out, brandishing a wet towel like a weapon, and throws it at Todoroki to clean himself up with.

“You’re up early,” Todoroki comments after he wipes his face clean. He swings over the side of the bed, the condom packet unopened and placed carefully on the night stand, and stands up easily.

“I woke up to the sight of your ugly mug and was scared awake,” Bakugou says.

Ah, aftercare, Todoroki thinks dryly as he enters the bathroom. Only Bakugou could come down a guy’s throat and insult him right afterwards.

When he comes out of his shower, Bakugou’s fully dressed. His hair is back to its usual explosion style, going everywhere as he fiddles with his phone on the dresser. Personally, Todoroki doesn’t mind a desperate Bakugou, disheveled with sweat matting his bangs to his forehead, but this Bakugou is good too.

It’s familiar.

Looking up, Bakugou rolls his eyes and puts his phone down. Next to him, two pieces of clothing that are neatly folded up.

“Wear something, dumbass,” he says and chucks them at Todoroki.


“Isn’t this mine?” Todoroki asks as he examines the turtleneck.

“Yes,” Bakugou says and crosses his arms. “Now you can finally take it back.”

He recalls vaguely that Bakugou mentioned that he left something over at his place, maybe two months ago, but Todoroki hadn’t stopped by to pick it up. Huh.

Well, no time like the present. Or, the repeated present.

Or, potentially, hopefully, maybe, a really deep dream.

Todoroki puts on the turtleneck first, which means that he looks like a stereotypical turtleneck-wearing pervert with his dick hanging between his legs, and Bakugou makes a disgusted noise from the back of his throat. Then, he tugs on the sweatpants and all is right in the world.

Now, both fully clothed, two grown men stare silently at each other.

Bakugou’s phone lights up with a text. They’re still staring at each other by the time it fades back to darkness.

Another text, thirty seconds later.

“Are you going to get that?” Todoroki asks. It’s too far away for him to read.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Bakugou snaps, snatching his phone and swiping it open singlehandedly. He taps out a reply. The beginnings of a smile peek at the corner of his mouth.

Slightly irritated, Todoroki picks at his fingernails and wonders if he should have kept up the illusion of sleeping. Maybe he messed up this redo.

Bakugou pockets his phone and Todoroki looks up. They lock eyes and Bakugou scowls almost immediately, scratching his temple.

“Fuck it,” he says, as if his mind is made up. “I’m heading out. Come along if you want.”




So that’s how Todoroki ends up on the back of Bakugou’s motorcycle, arms wrapped around the other’s waist as they speed through the streets. Bakugou gave him the spare helmet but the whipping of wind is exhilarating, akin to when he launches himself up into the air with a wave of ice, and Todoroki considers leaning back to enjoy the feeling.

Last time he did that, Bakugou had yelled at him for almost making them both fall off.

He feels Bakugou move and Todoroki obliges, shifting his bodyweight in tune with Bakugou’s body. Touching Bakugou like this is intimate, being this close that he can feel the beat of Bakugou’s steady heart and the warmth of his body heat contrasting to the cold of the morning.

It feels like they’re the only two people in the world. Todoroki presses against the curve of Bakugou’s spine and closes his eyes.

Eventually, they stop.

It’s by a pier. The air is cleaner here, slightly salty from the brine of the sea, and the sea itself glistens as the sun peeks over the horizon.

“Bakugou-san,” a man shouts from a boat docked. “Over here!”

Sliding off his helmet, Bakugou heads on over. Todoroki hastily does the same, following down the steps towards the boat. The fisherman pulls out his bounty, fresh salmon laid out on a bed of ice, and Bakugou examines them carefully.


The pieces in Todoroki’s mind click. He’s smiling now, fully, and getting a little bit weepy. He blames it on the early morning.

Bakugou looks up at him and stares openly, mouth slightly parted, and Todoroki tilts his head. The sun shines over them both and Bakugou is illuminated, unfairly gorgeous in the morning light, and Todoroki gets an inkling that he knows what Bakugou is thinking when he looks at him.

The fisherman looks at Bakugou, looks at Todoroki, then laughs and points to a specific salmon.

“Sixty thousand yen,” he says and Bakugou turns back at him, a scowl on his face.

“Like hell,” Bakugou snaps.

“Twenty pounds, freshly caught,” the fisherman says with a shrug, picking up the fish and throwing it on the scale. It’s a little under. “Take it or leave it, Bakugou-san.”

“You’re extorting me,” Bakugou crosses his arms. “I only need a pound. And it’s a thousand yen per pound at the supermarket.”

“Then go to a supermarket,” he says. “I can make more by selling them as filets for four thousand yen per pound at the local fish market. I’m giving you a deal.”

Thin-lipped, Bakugou scowls and jabs a finger at Todoroki’s chest. “This,” he says, “is your fault.”

Todoroki rubs at the now-tender spot.

“It’s true,” the fisherman chuckles. “Now that I know that it’s for someone and not Bakugou-san himself, I can charge a little more.”

“A little more,” Bakugou sneers. “You owe me.”

But he’s reaching into his wallet and the fisherman wraps up the salmon with deft hands and gleaming eyes. Bakugou hands over some crisp bills while Todoroki gets the packaged fish placed in his hands.

“Thanks, Bakugou-san,” the fisherman whistles as he counts the bills.

“See if I ever buy from you again,” Bakugou snorts and waves him off. He takes the steps two at a time, stomping all the way back to his bike.

“Thanks,” Todoroki says, because he has manners, and the motorcycle revs in the distance as a warning.

The fisherman laughs as he pockets the bills.

“I should be thanking you,” he says. “Take care, now.”




“How far are we from Musutafu,” he asks as he climbs onto the back of the bike, fish carefully tucked into his coat’s pocket, and Bakugou clicks his tongue.

“Far enough,” Bakugou says. “Freeze the fish. I’d have brought something else to store it before your shitty ass decided to wake up, so now you have a job to do.”

Todoroki’s more awake now, the cold thrumming against his stomach as the fish is secured in a block of ice, and he pays attention to the scenery as well as the hustle and bustle of people waking up.

They tear through one town and another before they get back to Bakugou’s apartment. Two towns over, Todoroki thinks as he gets off the motorbike, but he doesn’t have his phone on him to check the time.

Bakugou rolls his eyes when he sees the block of ice protruding from Todoroki’s midsection.

“That’s why it was so fucking uncomfortable,” he mutters as he unlocks the door to his apartment. “Melt that already.”




Bakugou cooks him the exact meal that he’s enjoyed in bed the past two times, except now he enjoys it in the kitchen, and Todoroki eats it all with no complaints. Looking satisfied, Bakugou eats his own share and lets Todoroki kiss him by the kitchen sink. With no complaints.

It’s shaping up to be a good morning. Todoroki can enjoy this aspect of the reset, of being able to see Bakugou and stare at Bakugou and enjoy Bakugou, without the awkwardness of trying to unpack what happened that morning.

Maybe it’s the anal sex, he thinks. Maybe he should just stick to blowjobs and fingering.

Leaning against Bakugou, Todoroki sucks on his collarbone. He kisses everywhere: Bakugou’s neck, throat, chin, and bites and sucks wherever there is space. He pursues marking Bakugou’s skin with a fervor of a man deprived, teeth coming out to bite down on unmarked skin.

“Hey,” Bakugou warns, his Adams’ apple bobbing up and down with each press of Todoroki’s lips against his skin. “I’ll have to cover these up, idiot.”

“It’s okay,” Todoroki says. “At least you’ll have them.”

And Bakugou chooses not to question that, maybe just assuming that Todoroki is going through one of his moods, and maybe he is. Because right now, Bakugou looks good, more at ease than the previous two iterations despite Todoroki pressing marks into his skin, and Todoroki briefly contemplates existing like this for forever. Trapped in a time loop of spending every day with Bakugou, no hero work to keep them apart, no unforeseen tragedy that could be looming over their shoulders. Just the two of them, put in a loop of villain’s choosing, and repeating the same day over and over again. 

Still, later, he slips out his phone and texts Aizawa.

Eraserhead, stuck in a time loop. Third iteration. Need your assistance at the earliest convenience.




He sends his subordinates to clean up the villains at the right times and the right places. Then, nervous that he might be doing something wrong and that his people could get hurt, Todoroki texts five of his former classmates asking them to patrol around the areas at these times.

Thankfully, no questions are asked. Just simple ok’s, which are a blessing because Todoroki has to rush to his apartment to put on a set of underwear and change into something more appropriate than sweatpants. There’s something about not wearing underwear and meeting your formal teacher that screams not a good idea.

Aizawa opens his door at ten in the morning, looking rumpled and like he hasn’t slept again, and grumbles as he lets his former student inside.

“Sensei, I brought you coffee,” Todoroki says and thrusts a cup at Aizawa, still piping hot from the café just two blocks down from his apartment complex.

Who takes one look at the cup, tilts his head back, and chugs it while making a series of pained noises.

“Two creams, one sugar next time,” Aizawa says as he throws the empty cup into the trash. “And I think you’ve burned the inside of my body.”

“Noted,” Todoroki says. Next time, then.

“And I mean in the future next time,” Aizawa says with an irritated glint in his eyes. “We’re breaking you out of the loop today.”




They track down two others by midday, which makes four out of ten. Privately, Todoroki worries that the villain isn’t even registered. Aizawa’s probably thinking the same thing every time his eyes flash red, but they don’t know if the quirk user is actually the villain until the clock strikes midnight.

Besides, if they’re not lying, then their quirks don’t have the capacity to loop Todoroki throughout a day. One of them said that her quirk loops only physical objects for five minutes, which is how she prepares the drinks at the café swiftly. The other loops a bouncing ball falling for ten seconds, the ball reaching the same height with every bounce, and looks at them like they’re idiots even as Aizawa cancels his quirk.

Now, in the station, tickets in their pockets, they’re waiting for a train.

“The rest are farther away, huh,” Aizawa says.

“Yes,” Todoroki says as he examines the list. It’s a six hour trip and then they’ll have to go scouting. It’ll be ten by the time that they hit Hakodate, which means that they have roughly two hours to track down one person. “Thanks, sensei.”

“It’s troublesome,” Aizawa says with his hands in his pockets. “But it’s fine. If we can take the overnight train back, then that’s reward enough.”




Halfway to Hakodate, Bakugou texts him.

are you free at nine

Todoroki wishes he was free at nine. I’m on my way to Hakodate right now.

? y

Troublesome quirk. Todoroki says, which isn’t a lie. Did you need something?

It takes ten minutes for Bakugou to text him back after leaving him on read.


Another ten minutes go by as Todoroki maps out the route to the house that they’ll be going to. He’s got a sinking feeling where he thinks that villain who is doing this wouldn’t just be waiting at their home for two Pro Heroes to stop by, but Aizawa’s accompanying him this far and he doesn’t want to have any regrets.

take care flashes on his screen, the message from Bakugou, and Todoroki remembers the marks on his skin that Todoroki had left. Wine-deep, some beginning to purple by the time that Todoroki left Bakugou’s apartment. A reminder of what he did.

Please, Todoroki thinks. Please let this end.



It’s midnight and Bakugou Katsuki has three fingers knuckle deep inside of him.

Todoroki jerks at the sensation, having last fallen asleep on the overnight train back to Musutafu, and looks up. The smooth column of Bakugou’s neck is without marks.

He wants to scream.

“Bakugou, wait,” he says and wraps a hand around Bakugou’s wrist.

“What,” Bakugou says but his fingers stop.

It’s the fourth time, Todoroki thinks, and he should be able to tell the total asshole that he’s emotionally chained himself to that they’re in a time loop.

But, instead, what comes out is: “I don’t like pain.”

“Okay?” Bakugou pulls his fingers out. “The point of preparing you like this is that you don’t feel pain, idiot.”

“I’ll feel better if you prepare me more,” Todoroki says as if he’s speaking from experience. Knowing the furrow in Bakugou’s brow means that Bakugou thinks something up, something wrong, Todoroki hurriedly rushes to fix it. “I looked it up.”

“I thought I was preparing you enough,” Bakugou frowns. “You’re loose.”

“Thanks,” Todoroki rolls his eyes.

“You weren’t this fucking pushy ten minutes ago,” Bakugou mutters but reapplies the lube across his fingers.

He inserts one finger, then another, and finally back to three. This time, however, he ducks his head in between Todoroki’s legs and licks around the rim where his fingers are stretching Todoroki open. Surprised, Todoroki moans. Eyes blown wide, he falls back down and stares in absolute bewilderment as Bakugou wets the rim of his hole with each rhythmic stroke.

“Okay?” Bakugou asks.

“Bakugou,” Todoroki’s voice cracks over each syllable, “I—”

Curling his fingers, Bakugou brushes against Todoroki and his complaints are choked off with a whine that devolves into huffed moans, his fist in his mouth as he shudders and jolts.

“I’m just doing what you said,” Bakugou says cheekily. Pulling away, Bakugou repositions Todoroki onto his stomach and shoves more pillows underneath his hips. Strong hands spread Todoroki open and he tenses up in anticipation when Bakugou dips down to bury his nose and mouth in between.

Any complaints that Todoroki may have are choked off with a whine that devolves into huffed moans. He keens and grabs another pillow, shoving his face into it as he tries to shaky prop himself up on his elbows. Maybe he just needs to die before he suffers this embarrassment, coming like an oversensitive whore on the technical first night of losing his virginity, moaning and whining like he’s been at this rodeo before while Bakugou gets to stay cool and collected with a tongue in Todoroki’s ass. There’s hardly any resistance in his mind anymore, already so used to the penetration, and his body opens up readily as Bakugou prepares him. His hole is messy and wet, dripping with saliva as Bakugou eagerly eats him out, and his legs tremble with each slow and sure slide of Bakugou’s tongue.

Before he knows it, he’s rolling his hips in time with each of Bakugou’s thrusts, desperate to get more of that tongue inside of him. He’s moaning and groaning, muffled by the pillow, and Bakugou’s mouth comes off of him for long enough to leave him dizzy.

“Fuck that,” Bakugou says, yanks the pillow from underneath him, and tosses it over his shoulder. Then, he grabs Todoroki and drags him back. Todoroki goes with a flailing of limbs, uncoordinated in his arousal, and Bakugou holds him still with two hands on his waist and traps his legs.

“Take it,” Bakugou orders and shoves his tongue inside of Todoroki’s hole again.

Immobile and weak with pleasure, Todoroki has no choice to obey.

Bakugou’s presence demands his attention and Todoroki moans like a broken record, voice getting scratchy and hoarse as the minutes blur together, oversensitive tears pooling at the corners of his eyes and staining the silk sheets underneath him.

His cock, hanging heavy between his legs and swaying with every roll of his hips, begs to be touched. Bakugou’s hand is simply a featherlight touch, and Todoroki comes so violently and loudly that he feels a part of him break as he convulses against in Bakugou’s hands as he dissolves into nothing.

Almost as if he’s stunned, Bakugou lets him go.

This isn’t him. This is his mind after the damn reset after reset after reset. But Bakugou doesn’t know that, because Bakugou is looking at him as if he’s seeing him for the first time and Todoroki hardly has enough brain power to process what he’s seeing out of the corner of his eyes over his shoulder.

Todoroki slides forward, head banging against the headrest, and decides that he’d very much like to throw in the towel and hope that someone else is trapped in this absurd time warp and is looking to take down the villain. His mind is syrupy slow.

And he needs a moment to catch his breath and just think.

The first push of Bakugou’s cock makes Todoroki moan, overwhelmed with sensation, and Bakugou’s arms tremble as he tries to hold himself still. He’s going as slow as possible as he penetrates Todoroki’s body, the pressure overwhelming, and Todoroki is close to full out sobbing by the time that Bakugou bottoms out. It’s easy for Bakugou to slide in and out of him, he’s so loose from spit and lube and Bakugou’s fingers, and Todoroki can barely hold on as Bakugou tenderly fucks him.

His cock, rubbing against the silken pillows underneath him, begins to fully harden.

Like this, where Bakugou only needs to focus on taking, Todoroki gets to admire the flex of his arms and the athleticism that comes from molding his body into a living weapon. Bakugou fucks like he knows what his body is capable of, each push and pull demanding more and more, and eventually Bakugou snaps his hips and the quick force against his prostate makes Todoroki gasp.

After that, each thrust targets his prostate specifically, Bakugou snapping his hips in an animalistic way that Todoroki can only just begin to appreciate, precome dribbling out of the tip of his cock with each punctuated drag. Bakugou fucks him, groaning and grunting with each clench of his hole, and it’s only the sounds of their moaning and the slap of skin against skin that fills the room.

Pleasure shoots so sharply up his spine, mounting like a volcano set to burst, and Todoroki comes again, untouched except for the friction between his cock and the pillow, Bakugou’s name on his lips like a prayer.

Slowly, his head heavy as if it was filled with cotton, Todoroki returns.

Bakugou’s still thrusting but he collapses onto Todoroki, chest pressing against the slick of Todoroki’s back as he wraps his arms around Todoroki’s upper chest. He bites at the back of Todoroki’s neck, the broad span of his back, as his hips keep snapping like a machine. Pleasure bursts through Todoroki’s tired body, flecks of passion that dissipate just in time for the next one to come in, and Todoroki reaches behind him to hold onto Bakugou. Just to have something.

“Todoroki,” Bakugou says, mouth against the meat of his shoulder, “I’m going—”

“Yeah,” Todoroki says, breathless, “go ahead.”

Given permission, Bakugou moans his name as he comes, throbbing inside Todoroki as he fills the condom. His hips jerk as his orgasm crashes over him and he pants, groaning loudly as he twitches. Gracefully, Bakugou manages to pull out and flop down on his back next to Todoroki, chest heaving with exertion as he gulps in a breath.

Todoroki, on his stomach, reaches out. It takes some fumbling, but eventually their fingers lace together.

Satisfied, he falls asleep.




He wakes up with purpling bites all around his back and Bakugou is already there, tray carefully balanced on the nightstand next to the bed.

Todoroki rolls over, still swept up in silk sheets and around pillows, and the smell of the all too familiar breakfast makes his stomach seize.

“Again,” he mutters under his breath.

Bakugou stiffens and Todoroki jolts up, eyes wide.

“I was dreaming,” he says quickly, the lie pounding in his chest. His skin feels tight, as if pulled taut over his bones, and the prickling sensation in his gut crawls up his spine as he tries to control himself.

“About what,” Bakugou says, his arms crossed.

“It’s early,” Todoroki says instead, a distraction, and he plays with the edge of the red sheets encasing his body. “Can I eat first?”

It takes a while of complete silence while the question hangs in between them. Eventually, Bakugou sighs, scrubbing his hand through his hair, like he wants to argue but spent so much time preparing this event that he doesn’t want to ruin it for himself, and Todoroki’s heart sinks slowly in his chest.

He can’t bring himself to touch Bakugou’s hand, but he’d like to.

“At least brush your teeth first,” Bakugou demands, which is a first, and then storms out of the bedroom.




Breakfast is a droll affair. Todoroki imagines the motorcycle adventures of the last loop, the crisp air of the morning, the warmth and solid of Bakugou’s body against his, fully clothed yet still so intimate.

It’s unfair, he realizes as he picks up a bit of the salmon. He gets to experience all of these moments, private little pockets inside of his memory, and Bakugou doesn’t even remember any of it.

The breakfast is finished, sitting heavy in his stomach, and Todoroki stands naked in Bakugou’s bedroom. He had already wiped down his body with a warm washcloth and, now free from the stickiness of lube, he heads on over to the closet to pull out his turtleneck and sweatpants.

Armed with only a neatly stacked tray of dishes and bowls, Todoroki heads out towards the kitchen.

Bakugou’s sitting at the kitchen table, head propped up as he watches the news from the TV in the living room. He mutes it as soon as Todoroki enters. There’s the clatter of fine porcelain china into his sink as Todoroki hastily washes them, using too much dish soap and not enough water, and puts them on the rack to dry.

Finally, Todoroki turns around.

“I’m stuck in a time loop,” he confesses, hands up in the arm. “I repeated this day with you three times so far. This is the fourth time.”

Bakugou stands up, fluidly moves like a man on a mission, and punches him in the face.




Their scuffle doesn’t last long. Todoroki goes down after Bakugou punches him, legs already shaky and body sore, and Bakugou straddles him while gripping his turtleneck. He tugs Todoroki up forcibly, fabric bunched in his fingers, and Todoroki startles when he realizes that Bakugou’s eyes are too shiny to be dry.

“Fuck you,” Bakugou spits. “Fuck you, jackass! Fucking with me like that! Fuck you!”

“Sorry,” Todoroki apologizes, which sends them both into a spin. Determined, Todoroki touches Bakugou’s wrist with shaking fingers. “I’m sorry.”

Bakugou stares at him, eyes hard. Todoroki waits, heart pounding in his chest.

Suddenly, Bakugou lets Todoroki go. He stands up, his anger dissipating as swiftly as it came, and extends a hand.

“That hurt,” Todoroki says as he touches the back of his head, as if his head hitting the tiled floor pained more than the grateful relief he feels spreading through his body. “Almost gave me a concussion.”

He takes Bakugou’s hand before the other can retract the offer.




They go to Todoroki’s apartment first so Todoroki can grab a fresh pair of underwear. Then, it’s to Aizawa’s, Bakugou holding a steaming cup of coffee in his hand.

Two creams, one sugar.

At eight, Aizawa opens the door, eyes bleary.

Todoroki grabs the cup of coffee out of Bakugou’s hands. “Sensei, I’m in a time loop. You told me how you preferred your coffee last loop. I’d like it if you could help break me out.”

Aizawa takes one drink, makes a considerably pleased noise, and then realizes what Todoroki just said.

“So I did,” Aizawa mutters. “Damn it.”

He leaves the entryway for both of them to come in.




Bakugou’s stiff next to Todoroki, only one push away from being sent into an explosion as Todoroki calmly writes down the list of people who are recorded as being in possession of a time quirk. There’s one that’s a full day trip away, Todoroki hopes that it won’t come down to that.

To be fair though, it’s not like Todoroki has been squandering the loops away. They’ve eliminated five out of the ten known quirk users. Privately, Todoroki suspects that Bakugou has more of a problem that Todoroki hadn’t asked him for help, instead turning to Aizawa, and the assumption makes him exasperatedly fond.

“So why is this bastard targeting you?” Bakugou says, arms crossed in irritation.

“If I knew, it’d be helpful,” Todoroki says smoothly. “Might help me figure out who it is.”

“It’s probably not one of these fucks,” Bakugou says and holds his hands out conversationally. “I doubt that someone looping you for an entire day would be registered.”

“We never know,” Aizawa says. “It’s a reasonable assumption, Bakugou, but a methodical approach may be best.”

He looks up, eyes squinting at Todoroki. Either out of fatigue or suspicion, Todoroki can’t never quite figure out what his teacher is thinking. “What is the loop like for you? Painful?”

“Uh,” Todoroki says while Bakugou stiffens next to him. Red slowly overtakes Bakugou’s face and Todoroki’s face is saved only by his quirk. “No.”

“Then it’s alright to be methodical,” Aizawa says and scrubs his eyes with a hand. “Plan out an efficient route for three of those; they’re all near Osaka. Since we’re starting earlier in the day, it’ll be easier to find them.”

“That’s the plan,” Todoroki says. “That’s what you said yesterday before we went to Hakodate.”

Aizawa mouths yesterday, Hakodate with a derisive snort and disappears back further into his apartment.

It’s quiet between the two of them, two grown men slumped on a lumpy couch, and Todoroki itches to touch Bakugou. He slides his hand over, fingers dancing around until finally their pinkies touch, and Bakugou looks up with an annoyed expression.

What,” he says icily.

“Being with you is nice,” Todoroki says lamely. “I like it.”

“Then you should have asked me for help last time.”

“I didn’t want to bother you,” Todoroki admits. It had been a private feeling, the anxiety bursting in his chest, because he didn’t know what the outcome would be like. Frankly, lying to Bakugou made his chest hurt. But getting Bakugou wrapped up in his mess? Asking Bakugou to help clean up his mess? His pride took a beating, suffered and shivered as it scampered back into the dark recesses of his mind, and he had to hold his tongue before he verbally pushed Bakugou away from him.

“You should have,” Bakugou mutters churlishly. “Better than making me think you were cheating on me.”

“Cheating,” Todoroki repeats dryly.

“You fucking came twice,” Bakugou hisses and Todoroki flinches as if physically struck, “and then acted like breakfast in bed was something you were used to.”

“Well,” Todoroki says thoughtfully, “I suppose it is by now.”

“That was the last time I cook for you,” Bakugou declares.

“How much did the fisherman charge you for the salmon?” Todoroki asks instead, changing the topic seamlessly.

“Fuck off,” Bakugou says flatly. “You know about that too?”

“Answer the question,” Todoroki goads.

Bakugou wrinkles his nose. “Bought a ten-pound salmon for fucking twenty thousand yen, why?”

“Ah,” Todoroki says, smug. “He charged you three thousand yen per pound when I went with you.”

“What,” Bakugou clicks his tongue. “Fucking bastard.”

“It’s because he knew that we were dating,” Todoroki says, smug again, like the cat who got the cream.

“You told him?” Bakugou says incredulously, as if his reputation is ruined, and Todoroki rolls his eyes. He’s offended. Bakugou should be delighted to be dating him.

“No,” he says, “you were just obvious.”

“I’m not obvious,” Bakugou hisses.

“You were practically telling Aizawa-sensei that the loop starts out with us having sex with how red your face got,” Todoroki says and Bakugou shrieks, grabbing a pillow and smothering him with it. Todoroki sees a flash of Bakugou’s face, bright red, before his vision is overtaken by a grey pillow. The case is well worn with a few loose threads.

When Bakugou’s done trying to commit murder, Todoroki takes the pillow off and—

Oh. That’s why.

“Sensei,” Todoroki greets.

Bakugou fumes, face burning.

Standing in the doorway and wishing that he didn’t just hear what his former students were up to at midnight that morning, Aizawa contemplates death.




They’re waiting for a train.

Todoroki bought Bakugou some fruit tea from the vending machine, so Bakugou’s slightly placated with the straw in between his lips. Bakugou’s not sulking—well, maybe he is, but Todoroki knows that Bakugou would rather die than admit that—but Todoroki would have bought him the tea anyways.

Spoiling Bakugou with little favors seems appropriate after that morning.

They’re already been identified, so the disguise that Bakugou insisted on them both wearing is pointless. Wearing a beanie and sunglasses indoors doesn’t make them less conspicuous, especially when the edges of Todoroki’s hair and scar stand out like a beacon.

Not to mention, it is rush hour.

Sometimes it’s a blessing though, because everyone is so sleep deprived and tired and just wants to get to work that even top Pro Heroes can’t draw their attention. Other times, it’s a curse; one person recognizes them and suddenly a small mob has formed, all trying to get a selfie or an autograph.

This time, it’s a mix. One person identified them, asked for a picture—not a selfie, because they had massive bags underneath their eyes—and then quietly and calmly left.

Nice of them to do only a gentle invasion of their privacy.

The bullet train arrives on time, screeching to a halt.

Todoroki grabs Bakugou’s hand and laces their fingers together as they board the train. Aizawa’s around somewhere, blending in all too well with the throngs of tired businessmen. Last time they saw him, he was hunched over with his hands in his pockets, looking like he is in desperate need of a chiropractor.

Aizawa had looked at them, snorted, and then disappeared to keep a watch on them from a distance. Probably. Todoroki doesn’t know.

Bakugou slides into their seats to take the one by the window. Todoroki follows, plopping down in the middle. He traces the back of Bakugou’s knuckles with a finger, dipping in and out of the curves in mild amusement.

By the time that the train begins to move, Aizawa takes his seat by the aisle. He looks at them, rolls his eyes, and tilts his head back.

Promptly, he passes out.

“Huh,” Todoroki says then turns his attention back to Bakugou. It’s a rare occasion, being in public where people ignore the two grown men holding hands because there’s another much older man who looks like he’s two stages from death, and Todoroki intends to make full use of it.

He holds Bakugou’s hand, looks at him, and then cautiously leans into Bakugou’s space. Approaching Bakugou is an art, a push and a pull in a rhythmic wave that’s either one step forward or two steps back, and Todoroki’s been around Bakugou long enough to know the proper techniques. Bakugou looks at him sharply and Todoroki stares, holding his gaze steadily.

“Ugh,” Bakugou says quietly and shifts.

There’s no barrier between them and Todoroki uses this opportunity to wiggle in closer, the top of his head tucked in underneath the curve of Bakugou’s jaw. Breathing in deeply, he enjoys the feeling of Bakugou next to him, the quiet hum of the train, and his conscious fades with Bakugou’s arm around his shoulders.




Doing missions with Bakugou is a thrill, because they hardly ever get the chance to bring down a villain together in a way that isn’t overkill or fighting for their lives, and Todoroki might have accidentally launched Bakugou up into the sky with his ice in his excitement.

He gets to enjoy the way that Bakugou’s limbs pinwheel briefly, before explosions pop off and Bakugou stabilizes himself midair.

“There are laws to prevent this,” Aizawa mutters as he jumps from a rooftop to another rooftop. Bakugou rejoins them and spins to kick at Todoroki, which is blocked by an easy grab and Todoroki gathering him bodily up in his arms. “Now’s not the time to attract attention.”

“Yes, sensei,” Todoroki says, as if Bakugou is the one at fault, and Bakugou claws at his face all the way to the first destination.




Pro Heroes in Osaka are different than those in Tokyo, which means that the trio run into a few after stopping a villain and get into what is essentially a turf war.

Todoroki’s expressionless, annoyed with each beat of his heart as the man rants at him, and envisions a happier future where he and Bakugou can eat slices of cheesecake on the beach. Aizawa’s looking off into the vague distance, eyes unseeing as he scratches his ear, and Bakugou is already making fun of one of the sidekicks’ shoes.

“They’re hideous, just like your eyebrows,” Bakugou says, picking apart the sidekick’s insecurities with the precision of a brain surgeon. The sidekick gapes, yelling something about Bakugou’s horrible personality that’s ill-fitting a Pro Hero, and Bakugou puffs his chest with pride before insulting the intelligence of the sidekick again.

“These are my criminals to stop,” the Pro Hero says.

Todoroki wrinkles his nose. Crimes are crimes. It’s his job to stop them if he sees them, regardless of time or place. “Being upset because I stopped civilians from being hurt is pointless. You should be ashamed.”

“Let’s go,” Aizawa says before the Pro Hero can respond. He puts a hand on Todoroki’s shoulder. It’s reminiscence of their school days. “We apologize for being on your grounds.”

“Maybe if you guys worked harder, we wouldn’t stop the villain before you,” Bakugou sneers and makes an obscene gesture. But he’s leading them away, purposeful steps in front, and Todoroki follows with annoyance settled deep into his bones.

Aizawa sighs when they’re far enough, slipping his protective goggles over his eyes. “Let’s go.”

He jumps up onto a rooftop.

Conspicuous underground Pro Hero, Eraserhead.

Bakugou tugs Todoroki by the hand before he can join Aizawa up on the rooftop. Quietly, in the space of a small alleyway, the two of them stare at each other. Bakugou is studying him, eyes roaming around, searching for something, and it’s a bit unnerving despite how much Todoroki likes Bakugou’s attention on him.

The previous annoyance Todoroki feels seeps out, little by little with each pass of breath in and out of his body, and is replaced with a thrum in his veins.

Bakugou crowds Todoroki against the granite of the building and kisses him hard. Just once, no tongue. Just the press of their two lips sliding against each other as Bakugou twists the collar of his outfit in his hands.

“Hm,” Bakugou says, pulling back and licking his lips. Then, he’s gone, leaving as fast as he came in. A whirlwind compressed into a human body.

Dazed, Todoroki bursts up with a flash of ice.

He almost falls when he lands, stumbling on his feet, and Bakugou snorts as Aizawa rolls his eyes.




The first woman loops the three of them back to the front of the start of the hallway, dazed and blinking ten seconds earlier, and she beats a hasty retreat.

To be fair, Todoroki muses as Aizawa wraps his capturing weapon around her body, opening the door to see three Pro Heroes would frighten anyone. She screams underneath the gag, tears gathering in her eyes, and Todoroki feels kind of bad.

Aizawa cancels her quirk and lets her go. She sucks in a breath now and screams again, earsplittingly loud, so Todoroki brings out his Pro Hero license and introduces himself.

“I’m Pro Hero Shouto, currently ranked at 3rd place,” he says. “My birthday is January 11th, which makes me a Capricorn in the Western zodiac. My hair is natural, most likely due to my quirk, which is Half-Cold Half-Hot. My blood type is O. I have three siblings and I write to my mother every week updating her on my life.”

“And he’s taken,” Bakugou interjects, grabbing Todoroki and dragging him close.

“Yes,” Todoroki agrees.

Aizawa’s capture weapon falls as cloth around her body, ribbons that were so restrictive are now loose, and she stares at Todoroki with her eyes still wide in shock.

“I’m an Aries,” she says after a long pause. She wipes the tears from her eyes. “I don’t think we’re compatible.”

“Oh god,” Bakugou says.




They stop at a café to get lunch. Aizawa puts eyedrops in while they wait in line and orders a single black coffee by the time that he gets to the front. Todoroki orders for himself and Bakugou, who has claimed a booth. It’s a calm affair, some people recognize him on principle that he is the third best Pro Hero in the country, and he obliges in autographs but not selfies.

Too much corporation promotion, no matter how out of context it is, sets Bakugou on edge.

Bakugou steals some of his fries and Todoroki retaliates by shoving a fry into his mouth every time he talks, causing some choking and spluttering and death threats that Todoroki easily ignores. He puts a dollop of ketchup on the next fry and Bakugou glares and clenches his jaw. Todoroki smears the sauce around Bakugou’s lips as he smooshes the delicate potato against Bakugou’s teeth.

“If there’s a next loop, don’t bring me along,” Aizawa says.




By the time the last train to Tokyo from Osaka leaves the station, they’ve cancelled out all three quirks.

Aizawa’s looking over the last two names on the list, deep in thought. There’s the one that takes all day from Tokyo, perhaps five hours from Hakodate, and Todoroki’s chest clenches again at the thought of going all the way there. He hopes that he doesn’t have to go.

It’s seven in the evening when he realizes that Bakugou hasn’t texted him. Naturally, of course, because Bakugou is in the seat next to him and their pinkies are touching as Bakugou looks out the window. Todoroki looks at him, taking in the curve of his neck, the cut of his jaw, and the steel in his eyes. He’s tensed all over, as if sitting still for so long gives him a heartache, and knowing him, it probably does. Todoroki has seen him fight, has seen him snap his own wrist firing off an explosion, has seen him break his own bones to keep civilians safe. He’s lethal in a fight, body willingly groomed into a weapon, but he looks like any regular civilian in the tint of the train car window.

Todoroki supposes that it is true. When Bakugou Katsuki does not talk, he is actually quite handsome.

Bakugou’s eyes slide over to his, making eye contact through the reflection of the window. “What,” he says.

“What’s at nine,” Todoroki asks, apropos of nothing, and Bakugou turns to look at him with a furrow expression.

“I don’t fucking know,” he says. “Why?”

“You’ve texted me every loop asking if I’m free at nine,” Todoroki explains.

Bakugou furrows his brows, thinks for a second, and then shrugs. “I don’t have anything going on today.”

“Oh,” Todoroki says lamely. The next words fall out before he can catch them, spoken carelessly in the space between them. “So you just wanted to meet me?”

Todoroki expects Bakugou to deny it.

He doesn’t expect this: Bakugou, looking at him, quiet and pensive. Bakugou, his eyes flickering from Todoroki’s eyes to his hands, where it’s just their pinkies touching. Bakugou, sliding their hands together.

“Probably,” Bakugou says, voice low and quiet. “Yeah, that was probably it.”

Oh, Todoroki thinks as warmth prickles throughout his entire body.

“Me too,” Todoroki says.




They end up back in Todoroki’s apartment, having parted from Aizawa at the station. Aizawa grumbles something about how he spent the entire day as a third wheel, the things he does for them, and Todoroki supposes that a cup of coffee won’t do next time.

Bakugou’s tired by nine, eyelids struggling to stay open by ten, and drunk on exhaustion by ten-thirty. Todoroki sits next to him on his couch and he puts on Bakugou’s favorite show, something about contestants and cooking, and they hardly watch it as the time to midnight ticks on.

“I want to beat the shit out of them,” Bakugou says finally, still looking at the television.

He’s not talking about the contestants. Todoroki smiled kindly. “Yeah, me too.”

And that’s how it is—the relationship between the two of them, built on mutual trust and respect, jaws set in a tight line as they considered how powerless they were. They would never truly know if the loop was broken until midnight, but the interactions with those quirk users of that day set the heavy disappointment deep into their bones. It’s anticlimactic if the loop is broken this way. Hardly anything that they do is ever this easy.

He gets why Bakugou’s mad. They could run around the city trying to break the loop and have no idea who or how or when or why, while the bastard’s probably laughing himself sick, enjoying a Todoroki Shouto trapped in a loop.

“So,” Bakugou says, carefully unconcerned, “no one’s approached you?”

And Todoroki tries to think. It’s very hard to think, actually, because Bakugou’s shifted towards throwing his legs and arms over Todoroki as if staking his claim. He’s got a lap full of Bakugou, the other’s head tucked underneath his chin, and his hand is a solid stabilizer against the small of Bakugou’s back.

“Not that I can recall,” he muses. “My days are usually spent looking at you.”

“Your day,” Bakugou corrects.

“My day,” Todoroki takes it easily. “The first day, I was on patrol.”

Bakugou makes a noise at the back of his throat. A silent go on.

“I stopped five villains. I don’t do it anymore during these loops, because they’re not the sort that are particularly hard to take down.” Todoroki frowns after he says that, wondering if he’s truly that easily replaceable, caught up in his own personal drama that he’s able to take an entire day off and the world still turns.

“And then I got oranges from Nakahara-san,” Bakugou makes a noise in the back of his throat like Todoroki thought he would at the mention of her name. “And you come over and peel some.”

“Wow,” Bakugou says dryly. “What are we.”

“And you leave around ten,” Todoroki finishes his tale.

“Let me check something,” Bakugou frowns as he shifts in Todoroki’s lap, reaching out to the coffee table for his phone. Todoroki slides it to him easily with his ice, and Bakugou grunts his thanks as he opens it up.

Watching Bakugou type over his shoulder, Todoroki watches the explosion of messages. Makes sense; Bakugou Katsuki does not text, much less past nine at night.

“Tell me the five people, again,” Bakugou orders and Todoroki recounts them as best as he can. He starts out with the purse snatcher, talks briefly about the streaker, the boys who tried to push an old man into a river, the man who tried shoplifting and used his quirk in retaliation when caught. He finishes his list with the final villain who smashed a man’s face against the window of a shop, glass shattering everywhere under the force of the blow.

It takes a while for Bakugou to look up, but he shows Todoroki a text.

HORNS: yikes i dont remember a streaker

ELECTRICITY: sometimes u gotta show ur big balls to the world

KIRISHIMA: Bakugou, I don’t think that there’s a report of a streaker? I found the rest of them though.

Todoroki stares at the text. Then, he looks at the time.

10:54 PM.

Bakugou easily swings off of him, both of his feet planting themselves gracefully on the ground, and heads towards the doorway. Todoroki follows, heart hammering in his chest, and he almost falls over with how quickly he tries putting on his shoes.




It would make sense. A streaker having a time loop quirk; you’d get the thrill of spending an entire day being a deviant and then never having to suffer the repercussions. They’ve got an hour before midnight and Todoroki hurriedly explains that he should have seen it coming, the only thing that had changed in the loop, and he should have known. But Bakugou doesn’t hear him or, even if he does, chooses not to blame him.

Two men, aimless on a mission.

Todoroki struggles, his mind slowed by the overlap of memories of the previous loops, and he begins to describe what he remembers. Remembering the perpetrator hurts, like he’s remembering a bad dream, and he finishes his description lamely.

“Damn,” Bakugou says as they run through the streets. “No name?”

“He wasn’t wearing clothes,” Todoroki says pointedly. “He didn’t have identification; the police took him away to the station for questioning.”

“Fuck,” Bakugou snarls. “Smart bastard.”

Smart bastard indeed. There’s no way of knowing where he could be; they could search the entirety of Musutafu in futility, and Todoroki would be thrusted back to midnight, leaving behind a Bakugou that knows and returning to a Bakugou who doesn’t.

And Todoroki doesn’t want to leave this Bakugou.

“Bakugou,” he shouts and Bakugou turns, skidding to a stop, and they reach out for each other. Todoroki grabs him by the wrist and tugs, both of them turning as an item, and they’re running down another street.

He saw someone that looked vaguely like—

A woman turns when Todoroki harshly grips her shoulder. The force of Todoroki’s pull startles her and she flails, knocking her cap off her head. Long, ink black hair spills out from the cap and falls down over her shoulders. Todoroki’s heart sinks.

“Thought you were someone else,” he says lamely and her shock transitions into shaky anger into smooth acceptance, because it’s Pro Hero Shouto and Ground Zero, and they must be doing something important.

“It’s no trouble,” she says and smiles as Todoroki bends down to pick up her cap. That’s when Todoroki sees someone beating a hasty retreat, face obscured by a baseball cap, and Bakugou moves before Todoroki does.

“Here,” Todoroki says and shoves it into her hands, nodding once before rushing after Bakugou.

Moving like a shark with blood in the water, Bakugou is a terror to be chased by. The whipping of the wind is inconsequential as they tear down through the streets, the seconds turning into minutes turning into hours that they don’t have, and the person they’re chasing is slippery like a snake.

It’d be over if they could use their quirks but there are too many civilians.

This close, Bakugou’s explosions would deafen those around them. This close, Todoroki’s ice and flame would rip apart an entire street. This close, they would be a force of nature.

So, even with the future in the balance, the weapons inside of them stay sheathed. They don’t need to come out now.

Runners run. Hunters hunt.

Bakugou jerks, taking a different street, and Todoroki continues in his dogged pursuit of the perpetrator. It shouldn’t take that long now; the head start that the runner had is fading with each stride, and the adrenaline coursing through their veins will leave and sap away their remaining strength. There are cries of Shouto from people who recognize him, hard not to, and a path is cleared for him soon enough.

The small perks of being a Pro Hero, he muses as he runs, his mind clearing slowly with each step.

Bakugou bursts from the corner, tackles the runner to the ground, and Todoroki leaps over the collision. Ice bursts out of his wrist, staggering out onto the runner’s ankles, weighing him down like anchors at sea. The runner struggles, briefly, and Todoroki waits for the adrenaline drop with cold eyes.

Eventually, they stop. Their chest heaves with exertion. Bakugou swings his leg and kicks off the baseball cap, hands shoved into his pockets.

“That’s him,” Todoroki says, not even breathing hard. With another flick of his wrist, Todoroki manipulates his ice to jut out from the runner’s ankles, encircling his wrists and his neck to pin the man down to the cement of the street.

Briefly, Todoroki considers erecting an igloo in order to afford them some privacy. They’ve attracted a bit of a crowd.

“Hey,” Bakugou says as he squats next to the man. “What’s your fucking quirk, shitlord?”

Said shitlord rolls his eyes. “You know what it fucking is, shitlord.”

“Fucking useless perverted piece of shit,” Bakugou says in a rush, anger sweeping through him, and Todoroki pulls out his cellphone to call Aizawa.

“I’m not even a bad guy,” the man crows. “You’re attacking a civilian. My track record’s clean as a whistle, thanks to this ability. Who the hell’s going to believe you?”

Pro Hero Shouto, ranked 3rd, and Pro Hero Ground Zero, ranked 2nd, both stare at him in disbelief.

It’s 11:36 PM. Aizawa’s not picking up.

“Melt the ice, we’ll take him our damn selves,” Bakugou says, palms heating up on the cusp of nitroglycerin output, and Todoroki waves as a thin trail of fire zips out his finger and surrounds the ice collar around the man’s neck. The skin underneath is red from the chill and Todoroki secures his wrists and ankles together.

Bakugou picks up the man like a damn potato sack and they’re running again.




It’s 11:46 in the evening and Aizawa’s not coming to the door.

“Fuck!” Bakugou shouts and kicks the door. He looks at his palms, then raises a hand with his palm glowing bright orange.

“Wait,” Todoroki warns. His ice quickly breaks the window, circling around to blindly fumble with the lock of the door. Then, anxiety creeping through and blurring his judgment, he punches through the door with his ice.

Bakugou looks at him.

There’s no reason to give him such a look because, in terms of destruction of property, this is technically the nicer way to go about it.

“Aizawa-sensei,” Todoroki yells as his heart leaps into his throat. “Are you home?”

There’s no response. They tear through, opening all the doors to the apartment, and there’s no lump of a body in a bright yellow sleeping bag that details their former teacher.

“Fuck,” Bakugou spits.

“Hah!” The villain shouts.

Aggravated, Todoroki grabs him off Bakugou’s shoulders and throws him against the wall. The man hits with a cry, falling down onto the floor. Before he can regain his bearings, Todoroki’s there—his foot against the floor with ice peeking out.

Who are you?” Todoroki shouts, showing his full hand in the last desperate minutes, and the grin on the villain’s face is victorious.

“I wonder,” he says.

“Why did you trap me in here with you?” Todoroki demands.

“You’re the one who locked me up in the first place,” the villain sneers. “If you hadn’t done that, then I wouldn’t have retaliated.” His eyes flash purple in the lowlight. “But you’re not supposed to remember that I looped it at all. After I saw that you weren’t patrolling but showing up at places at the right time, I knew. I’ve spent every loop trying to erase your memory.”

And Bakugou is there, lifting the man up by his neck until his feet aren’t touching the ground and it’s suddenly like they’re powerless teenagers again. The man that they’ve been searching for is right in front of them and they can’t do anything about it, stuck at the mercy of an unregistered quirk user.

“I’m going to find you and I’m going to make you pay,” Bakugou sneers.

“Doubtful,” the man says, choking on the lack of oxygen going through his lungs but dying to have the last word. “You won’t remember.”

Bakugou bares his teeth, hand tightening dangerously. Then, he lets go.

The man drops like a stone, sucking in huge gasps of air. He laughs, low at first and then high pitched in the end.

Todoroki stares. The world fades away, a dull thrum of life as the echoes of the villain’s laughter bounce around his skull. His blood boils as all of the negativity rushes out of him, dry ice sublimating from the top of his skin as blue flames sparkle from his fingertips. He considers doing things he would normally never think of.

Bakugou’s hand wraps around his wrist and the world colors once more.

“Calm down,” Bakugou says, like a hypocrite. “Let’s go.”




Tsuukauchi stares when they drop in, literally, and Tamakawa rushes in and salutes when he comes face to face with the two of them. Still, they listen to a condensed version of the day’s events and agree to try and identify the man. Bakugou had ordered for them to get his fingerprints, hopefully not burned off, and they look at the man’s hands as the villain scowls.

Now, they’re waiting in the break room. The clock on the wall ticks loudly with each passing second and Todoroki’s knee cannot stop bouncing. Bakugou is pacing behind him. There are just a few minutes before midnight.

“Bakugou,” Todoroki says, mournful as he considers the glass half-empty.

“Half-and-half,” Bakugou says, stopping mid-pace.

Todoroki pats the seat next to him and Bakugou hardly hesitates, plopping down easily. His lips are thinned out, eyes on the cusp of being concerned, and Todoroki brings his fingers to Bakugou’s face as he tries to stay in this moment for forever.

“It’s just one more loop if we get the name,” he says, trying to stay determined in the inevitableness of it all.

“Yeah,” Bakugou says and leans into his touch, eyes slipping shut as he nudges the meat of Todoroki’s palm with the upper corners of his cheekbones. Todoroki cups his cheek, fingertips playing with the side of Bakugou’s jaw, and he stops breathing when Bakugou turns his face to press a kiss to the inside of Todoroki’s bare wrist.

The clock in the station ticks, an agonizing reminder.

Todoroki moves, desperate to touch Bakugou, remembering to breathe five ticks later, and twists Bakugou’s shirt in his hands as he sits in his lap. They kiss, languidly, pause, then hurriedly, hands wrapped around each other as if they’re the only things holding themselves together, two souls wrapped around into one as they venture into the darkness unknown. Bakugou’s hands bruise his biceps and Todoroki wants it, craves the permanent reminder, and grips the back of Bakugou’s neck and his shoulder just as tight.

“I’ll miss you,” Todoroki says as the second-hand turns.

“I’m literally the first person you’ll see,” Bakugou snorts, rolling his eyes, but they both know that it’s not the same.

“Masami Kitamura, born on March 3rd, 1983,” Tamakawa shouts as he bursts into the room. Another tick. He yowls when he sees the two of them in each other’s laps, shielding his eyes as his fur-covered face heats up.

“Tell me at the beginning,” Bakugou demands.

The minute-hand turns.




It’s midnight and Bakugou Katsuki has three fingers knuckle deep inside of him.

“Bakugou,” Todoroki says, hissing at the sensation of being filled so intimately, “wait.”

Like clockwork, Bakugou’s fingers still.

The fifth loop is more than enough. Knowing Bakugou, he’d be pissed that it took Todoroki this long to tell him at the beginning.

He’s looking at Bakugou, drinking in his expression, and gets cold feet.

He could tell Bakugou to move his fingers higher and to the left and Bakugou would rub against his prostate and send a rush of pleasure through Todoroki, coursing all the way from his head to his toes. He could enjoy it easily. The coldness in his body would bleed away as he enjoys getting fucked like this, sheets twisting in his grasp as he takes whatever he wants from Bakugou.

And Bakugou would pick up on it, because Bakugou was a clever man and Todoroki loved that brilliant mind of his. Bakugou would try to mask his concern but it’d seep through, like a dam threatening to break, and Bakugou would grit his teeth and stare at him like he doesn’t know who the hell Todoroki is.

Cold continues to seep any possible pleasure out of his veins. Todoroki stares, realizes that he’s become a professional to fucking because he has done this song and dance so many times, and he thinks about the first time, about the tremor in Bakugou’s hands and the pounding of Bakugou’s heart, and feels shame wash over him.

Which is ridiculous. He’s only slept with Bakugou, after all, so it’s not technically cheating. But he thinks of the Bakugou who thought he had been cheating, the tremor in his hands, the way that his eyes were shiny with tears, and he realizes that he kind of really hates it.

“I’ve been in a time loop,” he blurts out quickly. Emotional repression. “And I’m okay.”

Bakugou stares at him and then looks down at the sheets in between them. He blinks a few times, eyes unseeing as he runs through some mental calculations, and Todoroki waits patiently for Bakugou to finish as his heart thrums in his throat.

“What the fuck,” Bakugou says, an eloquent man. “That makes no fucking sense.”

Because, to be fair, it doesn’t. The second part, that is, because just about anyone would lose their damn minds in a time loop that only they remember. The truth of the matter is: Todoroki Shouto is not okay.

“You are going to cook me breakfast,” Todoroki continues. “All my favorites. You’re going to leave early to meet a fisherman two towns over, because you wanted the fish to be as fresh as possible.”

“No, I’m fucking not,” Bakugou says quickly as his face heats up, flush riding high on his cheeks.

Todoroki side-eyes him.

“What the fuck,” Bakugou says after a pregnant silence, which explains exactly nothing of where Bakugou is right now in playing catch up. Todoroki watches, picking at the corner of a pillowcase just so his hands have something to do, and waits.

“Okay,” Bakugou says and meets his eyes. He slowly, carefully, slides his fingers out of Todoroki and leans back. “Tell me.”

Bakugou can flip from personal to business like a switch, objective-oriented to an intense degree that leaves the rest of them playing catchup, but he just looks ridiculous acting all professional with his cock hard between his legs.

“I know his name,” Todoroki says truthfully, his own cock still hard between his legs. Honesty is the best policy, someone told him a long time ago, and it took him a long time to listen to it. “Masami Kitamura. He masquerades as a businessman in the day and occasionally commits acts of indecency, looping back to the start of the day and we’re all none the wiser. He tried to erase my memories last loop.”

“I see,” Bakugou says, still hard. He’s hunched over his body, elbows propped up on his thighs, and his brows are furrowed in the center as he thinks.

“You told me last time to tell you at the beginning,” Todoroki says, because he feels a tad insecure, like he’s the one messing it all up, and he’s nothing but a pedantic piece of shit when it comes to defending himself.

Bakugou considers this slowly, mulling it over in his head. Todoroki can see the gears turning in Bakugou’s head as he considers the alternative timeline: Todoroki, full of knowledge, lying to him, and Bakugou, full of ignorance, being lied to.

Honesty is the best policy.

Bakugou sighs, long-suffering, and clicks his tongue. “Probably have to go to the fucking police department to look him up then.”

There’s the slow, mounting relief that spreads throughout Todoroki’s body. It starts low in his gut then spreads to his chest, eases up the tension in his lungs so he can remember to breathe, and encourages the slope of his shoulders to relax.

Now, mind freed from intrusive thoughts, Todoroki, who is also still hard, stares at Bakugou’s cock. It’s flagging, just a little, and Todoroki feels something stir inside of him at the sight.

No self-respecting man gets that excited seeing Bakugou Katsuki’s cock go from perfect hardness to a little bit more flaccid. Momentarily, he mourns the loss of his dignity. Then, Todoroki discards the feeling of shame completely.

“Do you want me to take care of that,” he says airily, heart pounding in his throat, as he gestures to Bakugou’s lap.

Now, it’s Bakugou’s turn to side-eye him.

“Why would you do that,” Bakugou says sharply.

And Todoroki thinks that if this is the last loop, if they’re able to get out of this moment, that he can’t mess this up.

“I did it before and you liked it,” he says diplomatically. “I want to make you feel good.”

Bakugou sucks in a breath, harsh and sharp, and holds his stare. There’s a tension to him that Todoroki recognizes, the stubborn way that he could argue with a brick wall holds him upright, and he looks down at Todoroki’s lap for a long time.

“I want you,” Todoroki says with an air of finality, dangerously close to snapping and pushing Bakugou down and having his filthy way with him.

“Fine,” Bakugou spits, like he’s being held at gunpoint with a quirk-erasing bullet, and leans back onto his elbows and spreads his legs.

Mildly offended, Todoroki settles in between.

He remembers what he did last time and what Bakugou had liked, fucking his face and using Todoroki for his own pleasure, and he grabs Bakugou’s hands and threads them through his hair. Wetting his lips, he sucks in a harsh breath through his nose and slowly exhales. Time to make it worth Bakugou’s while.

He reacquaints himself with Bakugou’s cock slowly. His hand wraps around the base to jerk Bakugou off as he licks delicately across the top of Bakugou’s cock, drawing out a gasp and a grunt, and Bakugou’s hips shudder as he tries to hold himself still. Wrapping his lips around his teeth, Todoroki sinks down luxuriously slow. Bakugou’s hands push lightly at his head and he goes down further, harder with each push, and soon Bakugou is thrusting up and forcing Todoroki’s head forward with a hand still clenched in his hair. The glans of Bakugou’s cock rub against the roof of his mouth and then slip further down with each inch until Todoroki’s moaning around Bakugou’s cock, his nose in the coarse hair below Bakugou’s navel, and rests there for a second to just breathe.

Don’t panic, he thinks, because panicking means teeth, and he hollows out his cheeks and sucks. His tongue caresses the underside of Bakugou’s cock as Bakugou gets bolder, establishing a rhythm where he snaps his hips to fuck Todoroki’s mouth in short, jerking thrusts, groaning like he’s close until, until—

Again, Todoroki thinks as Bakugou finishes in his mouth and down his throat, tears springing at the corners of his eyes. He tries to swallow as much as he can, coughs and spluttering as come dribbles past his lips and down his chin, and he stays still throughout all of Bakugou’s tremors. His lips press against the hot shaft of Bakugou’s cock as he pulls himself off with a pop, cleaning Bakugou with his tongue and hiding his grimace about the taste.

Bakugou’s eyes, glassy with orgasm, look at him.

His cock drools precome onto his stomach, the unfortunate side-effect of giving Bakugou a blowjob, and the haze of lust lifts off of Bakugou when the other notices.

“Let me,” is the only warning that Todoroki gets before Bakugou pushes him back and dips down for a taste.

Somehow, Bakugou manages to surprise him no matter what. Bakugou’s mouth on his cock is an extravagance that Todoroki has never had the pleasure of experiencing before and his legs come up to clamp Bakugou’s head in between his thighs. Bakugou pushes them apart, leans in to lick the length of his cock with the flat of his tongue, and then mimics his previous actions by wrapping a hand around the base.

And because Bakugou makes everything a competition, he wraps his lips around Todoroki’s cock, teeth carefully covered, and goes down in one smooth motion.

Todoroki snaps his hips up and Bakugou chokes, pulling off, tears springing to the corners of his eyes, and Todoroki can’t help but feel a bit guilty.

But Bakugou recovers, because he holds Todoroki’s hips down to prevent him for thrusting up. His mouth is back on Todoroki, all wet velvet and heat, tongue wriggling against the underside of Todoroki’s cock, and god, Todoroki can see why Bakugou always comes within seconds of Todoroki’s ministrations. He’s moaning so loudly that he can barely hear the obscene slurp of Bakugou’s mouth, a perfectly tight ring against his cock, and Todoroki can’t even buck his hips up to try and get more of that wet heat. He’s moaning and clenching all over, his hips desperate to tilt up, and Bakugou hollows his cheeks and slips even down further. Then, he moans around Todoroki’s cock and the vibrations are enough to send Todoroki tottering over the edge.

Todoroki keens as he comes, the noise bursting out of his chest cavity as if put there by Bakugou himself. Bakugou chokes and pulls off, his body shaking with coughs as he attempts to swallow for his first blowjob. It pulls Todoroki out of his euphoria, coming back to himself, pleasure seeping into his bones and turning them watery, and he feels like this is retribution for his own first attempt.

“You can spit it out,” he says.

Bakugou glares at him and flips him off, swallowing with a great bop of his Adam’s apple.

Perhaps, next time, he will say that only losers swallow. Maybe Bakugou won’t see choking down semen as a challenge then.

“I can do it too, jackass,” Bakugou says, with pained tears in his eyes and a bit of come drying around his entire mouth, and Todoroki rolls his eyes before they kiss. It’s terrible for a kiss but Todoroki’s chest feels lighter than normal.

Bakugou’s tongue is wet and slick and a welcome intruder into Todoroki’s mouth. All traces of peppermint twist or fried rice are replaced by the bitter taste that is him, Todoroki, and the thought of overwriting something from the past in this present, in a loop where so many things stayed constant and something so minor has changed, sends him into a downward spiral of delirious happiness.

He curls his fingers around Bakugou’s ears and plays with the strands of hair he finds there. Bakugou drags him close, naked chests pressed against each other, but they don’t do anything about the proximity, instead choosing to enjoy the warmth of each other’s skin.

Todoroki’s heart soars when they part and Bakugou can’t stop looking at him.

Quickly, Bakugou reaches out and grabs the condom packet. He throws it towards the bathroom door. It thwaps against the wood of the door and falls down innocuously, a flash of pink against the stark white tile of the bathroom.

“I’m tired,” he says and lies down.

Todoroki makes himself comfortable beside him, throwing an arm and a leg over Bakugou just to touch. Todoroki’s fingers play with the tiny scars that litter his body, delves and groves that are uniquely and distinctly Bakugou. He thinks about spending an entire day mapping them all out with his tongue.

Bakugou grumbles and pulls the sheets from out underneath them, mainly clean, and gently covers both their bodies.

The message is clear. Go to sleep. We’ll wake up in the morning and deal with it.

Todoroki falls asleep with his head against Bakugou’s chest.




Mercifully, he wakes up with Bakugou still in bed.

The contentment he feels from being wrapped up in thousand-thread-count sheets and the solid mass that is Bakugou’s body is indescribable; his skin prickles with affection, his face warm with happiness, his bones almost giddy with relief, and Todoroki cracks an eye open.

Bakugou’s looking at him, with a small smile on his face, his eyes soft and affectionate, crinkling at the corners, and Todoroki’s heart beats to a staccato rhythm.

Then, Bakugou realizes that he’s awake and pushes his face far, far away.

“Your breath stinks,” Bakugou says and untangles himself from the bedsheets before Todoroki can even open his mouth. He closes the bathroom door with a loud slam. There’s the sound of a faucet turning on and Bakugou’s yelling about germs and bacteria at five in the morning, and Todoroki slides into the bathroom later to press a cum-dried close-mouthed kiss to Bakugou’s neck.

They take a shower together. Nothing sexual, just a quick efficient scrub down that saves both water and time, and Bakugou threatens to drown him when Todoroki feels his eyes slip shut in exhaustion. In the everlasting pursuit of true efficiency, Bakugou sticks a toothbrush with peppermint twist toothpaste into Todoroki’s mouth and makes him brush his teeth and gargle with the water from the shower head.

Smugly, in the everlasting pursuit of true efficiency, Todoroki steps out of the shower and dries himself off with his quirk.

Bakugou, three seconds from toweling his body off, rolls his eyes.




They take Bakugou’s motorcycle back to Todoroki’s apartment, so Todoroki can wear something that isn’t a turtleneck and sweatpants, and then they head two towns over to greet the fisherman again. He’s just as kind the second time around, technically the first, and Bakugou pays him for a small three pound salmon at four-thousand yen per pound. Todoroki smiles as he encases the package in ice, running along his arm this time, and Bakugou roughhouses the motorcycle helmet onto his head.

Todoroki gets the wise idea that he’ll do the cooking this time around, which is fine, because he can cook. He’s just never had to do anything with a salmon that wasn’t already precut, and so he holds the fish by the tail and turns to Bakugou. He drops it down on the cutting board and brandishes a butcher’s knife, his mouth in a permanent pout as he looks from the fish to Bakugou then back to the fish.

Bakugou ducks his head laughing, his hands flying up to cover his mouth.




Breakfast is served, Aizawa is texted, and Todoroki and Bakugou are out on the hunt for Masami Kitamura.

“He’s male,” Todoroki says intelligently from the back of Bakugou’s motorcycle.

They left Bakugou’s apartment around six-thirty in the morning. Todoroki texted the entire agency to patrol carefully and it’s become a bit of a head hunt—they pulled a picture from social media to act as Kitamura’s unofficial headshot. Bakugou tells his group chat and Ashido spreads it like a wildfire; every Pro Hero in Musutafu is on the lookout for a Masami Kitamura, with a promise to text Ground Zero or Shouto if they find him.

Ashido texted Bakugou right before they left—some friends in shibuya are on the lookout as well should we make it national news

And Todoroki had texted back, on Bakugou’s phone because Bakugou was taking the stairs down to the garage two at a time: Unless someone who works at the station saw him going out of Tokyo, he bought a bus ticket heading out, or he left his apartment via car, let’s not cause a pandemic.

Bakugou’s phone buzzes in his back pocket. Todoroki fishes it out.

HORNS: wwwww ok hey tdrk

HORNS: fusakage at the station told me he’s sending the security footage to my office

HORNS: nekoyami is looking up bus ticket purchases from this morning

HORNS: i’ll update u guys before eight

HORNS: u guys owe me if i get bags under my eyes

YOU: Ashido, you don’t need beauty sleep. You’re already gorgeous.

Todoroki gives a pointed sniffle. Despite the fact that she could have put that all in one text, Todoroki makes plans to buy Ashido one of those ridiculously overpriced designer beanies for people with horns.

Replacing the phone in Bakugou’s back pocket as Ashido screams back via text, Todoroki leans against him. “He’s also shorter than you, which is a feat.”

“You’re such a dick,” Bakugou snorts. “Who was that?”

“Ashido,” Todoroki says. “She’s looking through the tapes at the station.”

“Oh, wow,” Bakugou says, incredulous. “She has the patience and the brain cells for that?”

“Probably not,” Todoroki agrees, “but she’s Ashido, so she’ll get it done.”

And that was the truth of the matter, Todoroki supposes. There wasn’t a lot of things Ashido wouldn’t do for her friends. Bakugou’s got good friends, people who’d lay down their lives if it meant his happiness, and Todoroki gets sucked in under their care by his relationship with Bakugou. Part of him knows that if he messed up so badly that even Bakugou wouldn’t forgive him, and Bakugou decided enough was enough and it was time to leave, the rest of them would follow as well. Loyal to an intense degree.

Todoroki thinks about his own friends. He thinks about Midoriya, who would give up on the world before giving up on them. He thinks about Yaoyorozu, who once got up at four in the morning for his mother’s discharge from the hospital and transported her to his grandmother’s side via limousine and private jet.

He thinks about Bakugou, who is with him, till the end of the line, and doesn’t punish himself by imagining their separation. This time, instead, he focuses on the way that Bakugou’s jaw clenches when he hears that someone’s been hurt, the way that his eyes looked this morning when he was staring at Todoroki, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, and the way that red overtakes his entire body, maybe stopping just past his navel in embarrassment.

He closes his eyes with a smile.

“I’ll tell her you said that,” Bakugou threatens lightly as they wait for the light to turn green. “Make her cry on you instead of me next time.”

“I already told her that she’s unfairly beautiful,” Todoroki replies.

Bakugou chokes.

“I think that of you too,” Todoroki amends, because it wouldn’t be good for Bakugou to not know that Todoroki thinks he’s beautiful. “You’re very attractive when you aren’t talking. Great cheekbones. Nice jaw. Above average, but not that large, cock.”

“I’m fucking swooning,” Bakugou deadpans. They whip through the streets, taking once last corner before they slide to a stop in front of the police station, Akira-style.

It’s pretty cool. Todoroki tells Bakugou as much when they climb off the motorcycle and Bakugou has a cocky smirk on his face after he slides off his motorcycle helmet. He parks the motorcycle, swings the keys into his pocket, and they go from there.

Tsukauchi looks up when they storm into his office, determines whether or not they’re lying, and then pulls up Kitamura’s profile for them. The date of birth comes in handy, well, more of a requirement, really, and they realize that he is registered as Quirkless in the system.

“Smart bastard,” Bakugou says. “How the hell did he manage to do that?”

“Who knows,” Tsukauchi says as he scribbles down an address. “Good news, he’s not registered to drive. Unless he steals a car, he’s limited to the bus and the subway if he wants to leave town.”

Bakugou snatches the piece of paper from Tsukauchi and is already out the door.

Todoroki, because he has manners, thanks the detective.




They take Bakugou’s motorcycle as Todoroki punches the address into his smartphone, his legs acting as the only anchors keeping him tethered to the bike, and he directs Bakugou to Kitamura’s apartment. They stop the motorcycle and take the stairs two at a time, rushing to the fourth floor, and there’s no time to question the morality of the situation when Todoroki freezes the locks to a brittle quality and kicks the door down.

They enter. The only light comes from the window by the entrance and it overlooks the street below them. It’s quiet, tense, and Todoroki takes one step forward.

Bakugou’s arm grabs him while the other launches both of them through glass. Apartment 403 bursts in a sea of fire behind them, glass shattering around them as pieces of debris fall onto the civilians below. Todoroki’s ice juts out of his back like wings, embedded a platform across the street that prevents their fall and acting as a barrier for those below.

“Fuck,” Bakugou says as they land onto the platform that Todoroki set up. Todoroki gasps upon impact, bowing over a knee as his ears ring, and Bakugou swivels to stare at the charred mess.

A woman screams from the apartment above, falling and collapsing in a sea of fire, and there’s three children wailing in the same predicament. Todoroki moves before he can think, ice coming out as he rescues the civilians. Bakugou, on the ground, relaying instructions to the security guard and reducing the bystander effect before he explodes up to the floors above.

He’s got a man and woman around each of his arms, several children clinging to the midsection by the time that he’s back on the ground. He makes two more trips up before more Pro Heroes arrive on the scene, Deku flashing in with a brilliant bolt of green lightning, and the evacuation goes easier after that.

Todoroki prevents the rest of the building from collapsing with ice, makeshift replacement until Cementoss comes in, and Midoriya rubs his forearms as he carefully considers the situation.

“Is it just Ashido looking over the tapes?” Midoriya says, ignoring the cameras as the news stations begin to arrive. “He can’t be allowed to get away with it.”

“The idea is that he resets the fucking day,” Bakugou rolls his eyes. “As soon as half-and-half forgets, then this damned loop will be broken.”

“Okay,” Midoriya says slowly. “Why didn’t he just loop it once so there’s no criminal record and then break out of the loop? Even if Todoroki-kun remembered, it was just one day. It’s unlikely that Todoroki-kun and his paths would cross, much less that Todoroki would have remembered after a week or so.”

“He didn’t think of that,” Todoroki says.

“That’s not good,” Midoriya says as he surveys the number of civilians underneath shock blankets, shivering as first responders talk to them in low, calm voices. “Exploding his own apartment; he’s getting desperate.”

“Yeah,” Todoroki says, lips a thin line. So are they. It’s eight in the morning, an explosion has already occurred, and the lead that they had has already dried up. Bakugou’s agitated but isn’t yelling at the civilians that are looking at the trio and Todoroki remembers how he used to be, spitting and yelling at anyone who needed help. Todoroki feels a shiver of pride run through him.

“I’m going to help Ashido,” Midoriya says because he understands what his role needs to be. It’s all about tracking down the villain before anything else. He lets them handle the cleanup, disappearing again with his quirk thrumming through his legs.

“Unless that fucker’s on foot, he has to have taken a train or a bus,” Bakugou snarls and checks his phone. He rolls his eyes as he scrolls, doubtless through the mass of messages that Ashido has sent him, and then snaps his fingers and beckons Todoroki over.

HORNS: nekoyami said 5 bus tickets were purchased in the early morning

HORNS: i’m sending u the data rn

HORNS: problem is that there are three diff busses, i think 1 is a family of 3, mb

HORNS: you’ll have to figure it out but here you go

HORNS: Attached [lets get this fucker.jpg]

YOU: ok

HORNS: ah, that brevity and levity, ah yes. sry. welcum back bkg.

HORNS: are you guys alright after that explosion?

YOU: fine

HORNS: put tdrk back on i hate talking to u

They open up the image. It loads steadily but it’s a clipped screenshot of the busses and the license plates. Three of them are underlined, trips leaving Musutafu to other prefectures, and Todoroki stares at the times. Two all mid-route right now, but one is starting to leave in a few minutes.

“Let’s go,” Bakugou says and throws a motorcycle helmet at him.

Todoroki blames the explosion for why he’s slow on the uptake, fumbling the catch, and Bakugou ducks his head and shoves on his own helmet before Todoroki can get a good look at his face.




They stake out the bus station, because they got there stealthily and as quietly as two Pro Heroes on a motorcycle could possibly do, and stuff themselves into the security room after flashing their licenses. They watch the security cameras like hawks, the normal guards busying themselves by brushing aside doughnut crumbs and cleaning up old wrappers.

No one looks like Kitamura, all tired passengers waiting for to head over to Chiba, and Bakugou clicks his tongue in sharp annoyance when all of them get on.

The bus leaves the station and they leave just as fast as they entered. They follow the bus for two miles before pulling them over, boarding and demanding to see everyone’s identification. Bakugou’s still got soot streaked over one eyebrow and Todoroki knows that they both look a bit crazed, adrenaline forcing their bodies to move, and they methodically run through everyone before exiting the bus.

“Enjoy your trip,” Todoroki says, pleasantly, and wonders if that tiny bit of public relationships will help bump his ranking above Bakugou. That’d be funny, he thinks. He’d force Bakugou to celebrate their new rankings.

Still, he hops onto Bakugou’s motorcycle and they’re chasing down the next bus. This one is a bit further and Bakugou weaves in and out of traffic, leaning forward as if he’s become one with the bike, and Todoroki tries not to weigh him down as he looks at the route. An unknown number texts him, introduces themselves as Nekoyami, and they asks where they are now.

YOU: We’re trying to catch up to the bus heading to Nagano. Leaving Tokyo now.

NEKOYAMI: I’ll tell the bus driver to stop for twenty minutes. Hope that’s enough.

YOU: Thank you.

“Bakugou,” Todoroki shouts over the whip of traffic, his arms wrapped around Bakugou tightly. “Nekoyami’s making the bus stop right now. We can catch them.”

“Don’t let go,” Bakugou says and flicks his wrist. The motorcycle purrs as they speed up.

Faintly, when everything turns into a blur, Todoroki remembers Bakugou bragging about how his custom-made motorcycle can go up to 700 km/h at top speed, the fastest in the world, and Todoroki had obliged in his bragging to say that Bakugou only deserves the best. It’s safer to go faster on a motorcycle, the inertia will keep sending them forward should a collision occur, and Todoroki’s reflexes are fast enough that even if they were sent flying, he would suspend them in air with glistening ice.

They catch up to the bus, which is now moving, and Bakugou squints at the license plate as they slow down. The company logo matches, the route matches, and the license plate matches.

With all three pieces slotting together, they follow the bus as Nekoyami calls for another stop. The bus slows to a stop and the door opens. There’s Kitamura, panicked, wide-eyed, as he tries to make a break for it.

Todoroki’s ice shoots out of him, jagged in its rush, unrefined and unpolished. Kitamura gets three steps away before his feet are trapped, the ice shuddering up his ankles to his calves to his thighs to his stomach to his chest. In a matter of seconds, Kitamura is encased in a glacial cocoon.

There is an air hole for his nose. Todoroki’s not a monster. And most of the ice doesn’t touch his bare skin. Like he said, not a monster.

Bakugou pants, triumph in his veins, and clenches both fists as he roars in victory. Then, he turns around and gathers Todoroki up in his arms, spinning them around as they both shout, Todoroki with both fists in the air and Bakugou’s hands on his waist. They’re too drunk on happiness to be afraid of what others may think. Todoroki thinks he might even cry, his eyes wet at the corners, and Bakugou gives another triumphant roar.

Todoroki wraps his legs around Bakugou’s waist and they press their foreheads together, just breathing each other in. Todoroki thinks about the past loop, about Bakugou and him in the police station, waiting for the inevitably of midnight, and how Bakugou, brilliantly beautiful Bakugou, helped him catch the villain in less than four hours this time around.

Without thinking, he presses a kiss to Bakugou’s lips. The passengers on the bus pull out their phones to snap a picture.

At 8:57 AM, on the fifth loop, Shouto and Ground Zero have finally won.




There’s the issue of transporting Kitamura, because he’s pretty harmless since his quirk can only work over the span of twenty four hours, and he has very little physical ability. But Todoroki’s got him in a beautiful ice cocoon, which he then changed into a statue of a peace sign. Just because he could.

They’ve got time though, so Todoroki lifts up the ice and gives it legs and that’s how they get Kitamura back to Musutafu’s police station, a glacial peace sign thundering on the highway after a slowed down motorcycle. They draw the attention of everyone—hard not to when there’s a mass of ice that forces an entire highway lane to shut down—but they don’t care.

Aizawa’s waiting for them at the police station, his back hunched over and his eyes long-suffering, and he closes his eyes when they thunder in. Kitamura’s probably got some mild form of frostbite, but he’s looking more green than red, so it can’t be that bad.

Todoroki releases him from his icy cell. Kitamura gives a very undignified wheeze as he empties his stomach onto the ground.

Ah, motion sickness.

“Wait,” he gurgles above his puddle of bile. “You don’t want to cancel out my quirk.”

“Why the fuck wouldn’t we?” Bakugou is disgusted, a few steps away from Kitamura, and Todoroki joins him reflexively.

“My quirk has never been cancelled before,” Kitamura brags. “I don’t know what’ll happen—I’ve done so much research into many-worlds interpretation and the multiverse, but I still don’t know what my quirk is. Are the time loops alternative universes? If so, will they cease to exist? Will the very fabric of time collapse in of itself?”

“I wouldn’t give yourself that much credit,” Todoroki says.

“There’s a timeline where you don’t catch me,” Kitamura says philosophically, standing up and puffing out his chest.

“Again, you give yourself too much credit,” Todoroki says.

Tamakawa slides handcuffs around Kitamura’s wrists and pulls him inside for questioning. Aizawa’s looking skeptical, maybe even nervous, as the three of them wait on the other side of the glass interrogation room.

“His quirk is tricky,” Aizawa says as he scratches his chin, considering Kitamura’s profile slowly. “There’s plenty of time before midnight, so we need to determine what the finer details of it are. If anything happens, I’ll cancel his quirk.”

“Whatever,” Bakugou says, grumpy.

“Also,” Aizawa says, “you guys made national news.”

The euphoria from capturing Kitamura has long since faded, so both Todoroki and Bakugou get to stare at themselves yelling like buffoons as they spin around on the video clip. Bakugou’s mortified because he realizes that he’s missed twenty calls from his mother and he steps outside, already yelling into the receiver before the door swings shut. Todoroki stares at the door, stares at the screen again to see him and Bakugou spinning around, foreheads pressed against each other, and wonders if his mom is watching them in her home. He wonders if she knows that he’s happy.

Perhaps he’ll write it in his letter.




They watch Tsukauchi walk into the interrogation room, asks a bunch of yes or no questions, and then walk out. He joins them behind the one-way mirror and passes the information to Aizawa, who helps him word more yes or no questions to draw out even more information. They go from there.

There’s a potential that they all will be suddenly thrusted into tomorrow, no recollection of what the past few days were like. There’s a potential that they might cease to exist, the universe reorganizing itself after being asked to repeat every single day. There’s a potential that nothing will happen, that they’ll move forward seamlessly into tomorrow where Todoroki and Kitamura are the only ones who know what happened in the past four loops.

It’s a risk that Todoroki is willing to take. He’s tired of today. He wants to wake up the next morning and experience new things with Bakugou—memories that Bakugou will retain. He wants to wake up tomorrow and visit his mother without the threat of villains falling over him. He wants to wake up tomorrow and spend time with his friends.

He wants to wake up and exist in the timeline that is distinctly tomorrow.

Bakugou comes back in, drags Todoroki by the collar out of the room, and thrusts his phone into Todoroki’s face.

“Old hag wants to talk to you,” Bakugou says and leaves Todoroki alone.

Slowly, Todoroki brings the phone up to his ear.

“Hello, Bakugou-san? You wanted to speak to me?” He says, tentatively.

“Shouto!” Mitsuki says cheerily over the phone. “Mitsuki, please.”

They do the same song and dance every single time. Todoroki waits for the day that he gets the nerve to call his boyfriend’s mother by her first name.

“How are you?” Mitsuki asks, careful and pleasant. “Katsuki caught me up on what you’ve gone through.”

“I’m good,” Todoroki says simply, feeing a tad bit awkward underneath her care. He hesitates. “We caught him.”

“I saw,” Mitsuki chuckles. “I had to call after seeing my own son and you on the news, but Katsuki just wasn’t picking up.”

“Yes,” Todoroki says. “About that.”

Mitsuki waits, patient, and Todoroki thinks she’s terrifying.

“I just wanted to celebrate,” Todoroki mumbles lamely into the receiver.

There’s silence on the other side.

“I tried very hard every loop,” Todoroki stresses. “Many day trips were involved to find him. I even went all the way to Hakodate.” Still silence. “The last loop, Aizawa-sensei, Bakugou, and I went to Osaka to try and find three quirk users with the time loop ability. But none of them were him. So, Bakugou, around eleven, figured out who we were looking for. Then, somehow, we found him. But we were only able to figure out his identity minutes before the day was going to be reset and it was very emotional so, this loop, when we finally caught him,” he trails off, not sure how much information he should divulge.

“It was very emotional,” he finishes.

Mitsuki’s silent. In a flash of panic, Todoroki pulls Bakugou’s phone away from his ear and makes sure that she’s still on call. She is, which means that Todoroki’s heart thumps horrifically loud in his chest as he waits for her response.

“It sounds like you had a hard time,” she finally says. “Thank you for staying with my son through it all.”


“Shouto, you don’t need to rationalize your actions with Katsuki to me,” Mitsuki says very simply. “I just called to tease him and make sure that you were alright.”

“Oh,” Todoroki says.

Mitsuki hums into the phone. “Have you eaten?” She asks after a moment.

“Bakugou cooked me breakfast,” he says.

“Are you cold? You weren’t wearing enough in the news.” She says.

“My quirk aids in thermoregulation,” Todoroki says.

“Did you finish your work for the day?” Mitsuki asks.

“It’s nine in the morning,” Todoroki says weakly. He’s notorious for not wanting to do paperwork and occasionally lighting his trashcan on fire in aggravation and sheer boredom. “I’ll try to get most of the forms submitted before tonight.”

“Okay,” Mitsuki says, satisfied. “Go to bed early tonight, alright?”

“Yes,” Todoroki says. A pause. “Mitsuki-san.”

“Charming,” Mitsuki says, a smile in her voice. “Can you get Katsuki on the line now? I’d like to talk to him again.”

“Of course,” Todoroki says and opens the door.

Bakugou looks up, sees him pointing to his cellphone, and scowls as he takes it from him.




By noon, Aizawa cancels out Kitamura’s quirk.

Nothing happens. It’s rather anticlimactic.

“I’ll have to stay with him and cancel around midnight, just in case,” Aizawa says, because nothing happens, and that always is cause for concern. It’s almost preferable that something does happen, even though the point of Aizawa’s quirk is to ensure that nothing can happen. Leaving the two of them, Aizawa pulls out his phone and texts someone.

Todoroki tries not to snoop. That’s probably why he wasn’t around at eleven.

Bakugou sighs.

“You want to go?” Bakugou says. “You probably won’t be able to get any work done.”

“Sure,” Todoroki agrees and privately apologizes to Bakugou’s mother, who he has just lied to. “Where do you want to go?”

Bakugou pulls out his motorcycle keys. “Anywhere.”




They skip town.

The world fades away. Todoroki gets to just enjoy the thrum of the engine, Bakugou’s broad back, and the wind whipping and dulling all other sounds. It really is just the two of them; they disappear, slip through the cracks and bypass the media as they travel. Aimless, directionless, just wanting to spend a second longer with each other.

They stop by the beach. Neither of them is properly dressed for sand in their shoes and socks, so they just look over the glistening sea as their pinkies touch.

They go on a hike, because Bakugou wants to, and they breathe in the thin air at the summit. They go to a planetarium, because Todoroki wants to, and Bakugou crosses his arms as Todoroki stares at project constellations. They go into a Vietnamese restaurant and ignore the other patrons, drawing attention when they enter and regaining it when Bakugou dumps an entire bottle of Sriracha into Todoroki’s pho.

When it’s nine and Bakugou’s eyes are getting droopy and he’s laughed enough at Todoroki’s suffering, they head back to Nakahara’s shop. Unimpressed, because she’s just about to flip the sign from open to closed, she lets them in regardless and hands Todoroki a box of oranges.

“My mom gave me too much,” she says in lieu of explanation. She stares at Bakugou.

“He thinks that you are the best local grocery store,” Todoroki confides into her as Bakugou scrutinizes the cabbages.

“Does he,” Nakahara says, unimpressed.

“He’s very sorry,” Todoroki says. “He really likes how sweet your watermelons are.”

Nakahara stares at him. Perhaps he could have worded it better.

But she calls Bakugou over to the cashier and hands him a box of oranges too. A peace offering, maybe, and Bakugou looks at it as if puzzled.

“It’s a gift,” she says slowly, as if Bakugou’s particularly thick. “Do you know what those are?”

“Of course I fucking do,” Bakugou snarls. “Now I’ll have to fucking figure out how to take these back.”

Todoroki holds both boxes in his grasp as they head back to Todoroki’s apartment.

Inside, Todoroki pulls out an oversized shirt and some baggy shorts from his closest, stuff that’s shrunken in the wash. He tells Bakugou this, voice carefully unaffected, and Bakugou snatches both items of clothing and disappears into his bathroom.

Bakugou emerges wearing the shirt, black briefs, and nothing else.

Todoroki stares at Bakugou’s bare legs, sun-kissed strong powerful thighs and chiseled calves, and contemplates lying down for the sake of his health.

They lie down on Todoroki’s bed, covered in a swath of quilts. Bakugou’s on top of the bedspread and his eyes close, open, and close again. Todoroki looks away from his face, to his legs, and back to his face. He can’t decide which one is more dangerous.

“What’d you talk to your mom about?” Todoroki asks Bakugou’s legs.

“Ugh,” Bakugou clicks his tongue. He pauses. “She asked me what the fuck I made for you for breakfast.”

“Ah,” Todoroki says and reaches out a hand to touch Bakugou’s thigh. “I liked it.”

“That’s what I told her,” Bakugou grumbles. “I said, Todoroki fucking liked it, and she questioned my abilities, so I told her that I learned them from her.” A toothy grin, triumphant. “Then she yelled at me.”

“She was much more civil with me,” Todoroki frowns, but he also never questions Bakugou’s mother or insults her. So it’s really comparing apples and oranges at this point.

Speaking of oranges, he’s peeling some of the mandarins right now. He gives a slice to Bakugou, who takes it and pops it into his mouth.

“That’s because she likes you,” Bakugou crosses her arms. “God knows why.”

“Most people like me,” Todoroki says, offended.

“Yeah,” Bakugou agrees as he plucks another mandarin slice from Todoroki’s nimble fingers. “Most people are wrong.”

“Hey,” Todoroki warns. Bakugou puts a bit of mandarin against Todoroki’s lips and it slides smoothly. He’s read somewhere that mandarin slices feel like lips. Todoroki obliges and opens his mouth to eat. Then, annoyed, feeling like his silence was bribed, he slides his hands up and down Bakugou’s impressive legs.

“If only you didn’t speak,” Todoroki mourns into Bakugou’s legs.

“Fuck you,” Bakugou says and jerks his knees up. “Go to sleep.”

They nap for an hour and a half, waking up moments before midnight. There’s a text from Aizawa that reads w kitamura around 11:44, and they relax as the fate of their future is in Aizawa’s hands.

“Hm,” Bakugou says sleepy, rubbing at his eyes. He’s curled up next to Todoroki, their legs intertwined, and he presses the tip of his nose against the curve of Todoroki’s jaw. “What time is it?”

“Five minutes,” Todoroki says and laces their hands together. He turns so he can look at Bakugou. The serendipity of the day fades away and is replaced by worry.

“Stop thinking,” Bakugou complains and reaches out a thumb to press against the tight skin in between Todoroki’s eyebrows. Bakugou’s such a hypocrite these days. Todoroki reaches out his own thumb to press roughly at the wrinkles between Bakugou’s eyes and they scuffle, very briefly, because the minutes are ticking down.

Another text, Aizawa. still w kitamura. It’s 11:58.

Bakugou sighs and pushes his hands into his face. Todoroki waits patiently, although his hands slide up and down Bakugou’s thighs in a manner that he hopes isn’t distracting.

His hands are batted away by Bakugou. Okay, he thinks as he holds them in his lap. Very distracting.

“The waiting sucks,” Bakugou grumbles. “Imagine that fucker, laughing all the way in his cell.”

“Do you want to go to him?” Todoroki asks.

“Now?” Bakugou frowns, with barely two minutes left on the clock.

“If it’d make you feel better,” Todoroki offers.

“No,” he grumbles, most likely for the same reasons that they spent the entire day together. That fucker already took up more than enough of Todoroki’s thoughts, in Bakugou’s loudly stated opinion, and the only one that really should have mattered to Todoroki is Bakugou.

“Have you ever watched that movie,” Todoroki says because he rambles when he’s nervous. “The one with the dreams within a dream?”

“Oh god,” Bakugou says, because Todoroki’s nervous.

“There’s a scene where they’re waiting for a train,” Todoroki says. “And they’re lying down on the tracks, hands clasped like this.” He takes Bakugou’s hands into his own, crossed at the wrists. “And it’s a bit of a metaphor—so, you’re waiting for a train.”

“Am I now,” Bakugou says.

Unbothered, Todoroki continues. “A train that will take you far away. You know where you hope the train will take you, but you can’t be sure. Yet it doesn’t matter. Why?”

Bakugou stares at him, pensive, eyes searching. “So, I’m waiting for this train, full of expectations and hopes, but now I don’t care about it anymore.”

“Right,” Todoroki says.

“And you want to know why I don’t care about this fictional train anymore,” Bakugou says slowly.

“Um,” Todoroki says, because it does sound a bit stupid.

Bakugou pauses. “I’ve seen the movie, you prick.”

“Oh,” Todoroki says.

“Because we’ll be together,” Bakugou recites the answer dryly with his eyebrows raised. “So it’ll be fine if the loop resets, because you and I will be together. Is that what you’re trying to say?”

“Yeah,” Todoroki says weakly. “No good?”

“You’re such an idiot,” Bakugou says, dangerously fond, and tightens his grasp on Todoroki’s hands.

Then his entire body seizes.

“What’s, Bakugou,” Todoroki says, heart pounding in his chest, “what's wro—”

Bakugou’s silent body, a scream stuck in his throat, convulses and Todoroki grabs his phone, hands slippery with cold sweat.

Aizawa, at the break of the new day, texts him. done.

The loop is broken and Bakugou isn’t celebrating with him. Instead, Bakugou’s in pain, teeth clenched as he jerks up and down, eyes squeezed shut as drops of sweat bead on his forehead. Todoroki cups his face and holds him through it all, worry radiating out of him in thick waves. Bakugou bucks up and Todoroki presses down, pinning his body to the sheets as he wonders if he should call medical. Or Aizawa. Midoriya. Yaoyorozu. His mom.

Finally, Bakugou stops moving. Todoroki checks underneath his nose, puts his fingers at Bakugou’s pulse point underneath his jaw, listens to his heart. He’s still breathing, and his heart is beating, so he’s not dead. Todoroki cups Bakugou’s face in his hands and waits.

After what feels like an eternity, Bakugou opens his eyes.

Tears stream down the sides of his face as he stares at Todoroki, unseeing. Then, the light and fire returns and Bakugou bats Todoroki’s hands off of him, wiping at his eyes.

“Bakugou,” Todoroki says, relieved.

“Fuck,” Bakugou says. “I remember.”

“You,” Todoroki blinks. “You what?”

“I remember,” Bakugou says carefully. His face is on fire, out of embarrassment or something else, Todoroki can’t quite tell. “That’s what that was—I got my fucking memories back.”

“Oh,” Todoroki says as their phones light up from texts. People are remembering, if something in their lives changed in the past loops, but Todoroki doesn’t even care about that. He has Bakugou back, a Bakugou who remembers, a Bakugou whose face is furiously red from the memories. The Bakugous that he thought he lost are all here, compiled into the man in his bed, compressed into pockets of memories that fill in the gaps. He’s not alone anymore.

“I put my tongue in your ass,” Bakugou bemoans, mortified.

Todoroki’s suddenly so exhausted, weary all the way down to his bones, and he collapses on top of Bakugou giddy with relief. He squeezes him tight.

“Welcome back,” he says. “We did it.”




It’s two minutes past midnight and Bakugou Katsuki is wrapped up in his arms, eyelids heavy and droopy from exhaustion.

They go to sleep.