Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The red cup floated three inches above Uraraka’s hand, spinning slowly like it was trying to pick a song.

“Okay, but tell me this isn’t impressive,” she said, eyes a little glassy, smile full of mischief.

Midoriya squinted at it, slightly concerned. “I mean… yeah. Super impressive. But definitely not a skill to flex in public.”

She snorted and let the cup drop back into her palm with a soft plop. “Please. Everyone here is either drunk, high, or watching someone fall in love with a lava lamp. No one’s gonna notice one little levitation.”

Around them, the party raged — sweaty undergrads packed into a house that definitely wasn’t up to code.

LED lights strobed in rainbow seizure-mode. Music thumped like someone had lost a fight with the aux cord.

The couch they were on had at least three mysterious stains and the faint smell of sage and nacho cheese.

“Besides,” she continued, casually swirling her drink with one finger without touching it, “I’m not doing anything. I’m just... Slightly nudging gravity. With intention.”

“That’s still a spell. Aizawa would scold you.”

Across the room, a loud bang drew their attention.

At the folding table, Kirishima whooped as Kaminari slammed a shot glass down hard enough to rattle the cheap plastic.

Bakugo stood behind them with his arms crossed, glowering like someone had ruined his hunt.

Midoriya nudged his chin in that direction. “Think he’s having fun?”

“Fun is a strong word,” Uraraka said. “But he hasn't punched anyone yet, so I’m counting it as a win.”

They watched Bakugo glance at the front door once again, like he was waiting for an opportunity to make a break for it.

Midoriya sipped his drink. “Remind me why we brought the Slayer to a house party?”

“Because he needs a break. And also because he’s terrifyingly hot when he’s brooding near string lights.”

“Fair.” Midoriya paused. “Wait, what? Since when do you think he's hot?” 

Bakugo suddenly turned away from the group to walk toward Midoriya and Uraraka. But of course, Kirishima and Kaminari followed.

“You two look cozy,” Kirishima said once they were close enough, grinning wide. “This a date or a ritual?”

“Can’t it be both?” Uraraka said, poking Kaminari in the ribs as he tried to swipe her cup.

Bakugo sat on the armrest beside Midoriya, scanning the room, eyes sharp even under the haze of alcohol. “If this is a ritual, it’s the most pathetic one I’ve ever seen.”

“I’ll have you know,” Midoriya said, mock-solemn, “this couch has deep historical significance.”

“Yeah,” Kaminari said, already trying to float the empty cup himself. “It’s where Ocha first threatened to hex my dick off.”

“That was a warning shot, Denny,” Uraraka said sweetly.

Bakugo didn’t laugh, but he smirked—until his body tensed, just slightly.

Midoriya noticed.

“What?” Midoriya asked, straightening.

Bakugo’s eyes shifted to the front door. “Vamp. Probably ours.”

Everyone stilled. Even Kaminari.

And then—he walked in.

Shoto Todoroki moved like the room didn’t exist. All black: black jeans, black boots, a loose black tee under a leather jacket.

Silver glinted from rings on his fingers, and his nails were painted obsidian, matching the tattoo ink that curled up his throat and down the backs of his hands in elegant, impossible shapes.

He wasn’t looking at anyone else.

Bakugo’s whole body responded—like a string pulled tight.

Todoroki crossed the room with lazy grace and slid into Bakugo’s side, their bodies aligning like magnets.

He leaned in close, voice soft enough to vibrate in the Slayer’s bones. “Hi.”

“You’re late,” Bakugo murmured, already reaching for him, kissing him like no one else existed. “What took so long?”

“My family called a meeting.” Todoroki’s hand slid over Bakugo’s, effortlessly lifting the cup from his grip. “Took longer to get out than I thought.”

Todoroki lifted Bakugo's cup to his lips to take a sip of it.

Then made a face like he’d just accidentally tried anemic blood. “Gross.”

Bakugo scowled. “Gimme that.”

Todoroki held it out of reach. “You don’t even like alcohol.”

“I was trying to be normal.”

“You’re terrible at it,” Todoroki said fondly, setting the cup down on a windowsill. “And I happen to like you abnormal.”

Bakugo snorted, half a smirk breaking through. “You’re a goddamn idiot.”

“And somehow you still love me.”

“Shut up,” Bakugo said, but didn’t pull away when Todoroki hooked a pinky through his belt loop and leaned in a little closer.

Todoroki turned to the rest of them, expression softer now. “Hey.”

Kirishima gave him a chin nod. “Looking sharp, dude.”

“You don’t look like someone who just escaped the clutches of Evil Dad,” Kaminari added, poking at one of Todoroki’s rings.

“I took the back exit,” Todoroki said simply, sliding his arm around Bakugo’s shoulders. “No one noticed.”

But Bakugo noticed him. He always did.

Kaminari had already started spinning one of the rings on Todoroki’s hand like he was tuning a radio station.

Bakugo slapped his hand away with a scowl. “Quit messing with him.”

Kaminari blinked. “Jeez, territorial much?”

But before he could fully withdraw, Todoroki was already placing his hand back in Kaminari's, palm up.

“It’s fine,” Todoroki said, tone perfectly even. “He does this.”

Kaminari grinned, already resuming his mission of adjusting Todoroki’s jewelry like it was his full-time job. “Yeah, and if I don’t keep them lined up, they lose their vibe. It’s very delicate.”

*

Bakugo could barely keep his eyes off him.

Todoroki always had that effect.

Even when he wasn't doing anything special—just existing, just leaning casually into Bakugo’s side like he belonged there.

Which he didn't. Not in this world. Definitely not in Bakugo’s.

And definitely not like this — out in the open, under flickering lights, surrounded by drunk undergrads who didn’t realize a vampire was pressed against a Slayer like it was the most natural thing in the world.

But Todoroki never seemed to care. He touched Bakugo with quiet confidence, like the rules never applied to him — like he’d already decided they didn’t matter.

And Bakugo let him.

Even now, with noise crashing around them and heat soaking into his skin, all Bakugo could feel was him. Cool fingers against his arm. That slow pulse of presence that curled in his gut and tightened like a snare.

He hadn’t touched him in days. Not the way he needed to.

That ache was setting in again. Low and sharp, winding through him.

Hunger. Heat. Frustration.

Not just want — but need. The kind that settled in his chest and didn’t leave.

He stood abruptly, muttering something vague about needing fresh air. Todoroki waited exactly five heartbeats—Bakugo counted—before slipping away from the group.

They moved through the crowd unnoticed, Bakugo stalking ahead, Todoroki ghosting silently behind him like a shadow.

Upstairs, the roar of the party dulled to a distant hum beneath their feet.

Bakugo shoved open the door at the end of the hall, dragging Todoroki inside by the front of his jacket.

He kicked the door shut, muffling the world outside.

Bakugo tugged Todoroki in roughly, his back immediately pressed against the wall.

He kissed him fiercely, needing the cold burn of Todoroki’s mouth—cool lips, sharp edges of teeth, a thrilling reminder of exactly what Todoroki was.

Bakugo’s shirt was already halfway off, muscles flexing eagerly beneath heated skin.

Todoroki let him pull, let him devour — and then, between kisses, he said softly against his mouth, “You really can’t go two days without me, can you?”

Bakugo growled low in his throat. “Shut up.”

Todoroki returned the kiss, slow and precise, calm even as his body pressed flush against Bakugo’s, pinning him to the wall with a deceptive gentleness.

His fingers slid under Bakugo’s shirt, tracing the familiar lines of his abs, his chest, the fluttering pulse at his throat. “You practically dragged me in here. What was it? My voice? The jacket?”

Bakugo bit at his lower lip, hard enough to make him hiss. “You know what it was.”

“Hmm,” Todoroki hummed, eyes flashing with something sharp and amused. “You’re really warm.”

“Warm-blooded, you mean.”

“You’re desperate,” Todoroki said, smiling now. “It’s cute.”

Bakugo shoved him. “Say that again and I’ll kill you.”

Todoroki tilted his head, lips brushing his jaw. “You’re welcome to try.”

The room was simple—an unmade bed tangled in sheets, scattered clothes from someone else’s life, and the massive, ornate mirror that dominated the far wall.

Todoroki spun him around effortlessly, guiding Bakugo toward the mirror with practiced ease.

Bakugo shivered as Todoroki’s cool palm pressed against the hot skin of his stomach, fingers dragging downward possessively.

Bakugo froze in front of the mirror.

Only Bakugo stood there, flushed, disheveled, breathing hard with pupils blown wide.

No Todoroki. No hands trailing over him. Just empty air.

Bakugo swallowed thickly, transfixed by his own startled, needy expression in the mirror. “Never gets any less fucking weird.”

Todoroki bit down softly at the curve of his neck, sharp enough to sting but not enough to draw blood—yet.

Bakugo jolted visibly, eyes wide as his hips bucked involuntarily into nothing. “Teeth off the artery, you asshole. We’re still technically in public.”

Todoroki huffed a low breath against his neck, amused. “You think I can’t be subtle?”

His fangs never broke skin—but Bakugo felt the promise in the pressure. A quiet threat dressed up as a kiss.

All that power, practically superhuman strength, centuries in his gaze—and he used it to listen.

Used it to hold Bakugo exactly how he liked to be held. No tighter. No deeper. No blood spilled unless it was asked for.

“Don’t look away,” Todoroki commanded softly, voice velvet-edged and familiar.

Bakugo gritted his teeth defiantly. “Bossy bastard.”

Todoroki chuckled darkly against his shoulder. “And you love it.”

His hands moved lower, confidently, knowingly, fingers tracing every sensitive spot Bakugo had.

He briefly palmed Bakugo through his jeans, before his hand slid into Bakugo's briefs.

“Look at yourself,” Todoroki murmured, lips grazing the shell of Bakugo’s ear. “Watch how your body responds to me.”

“Don’t need commentary,” Bakugo muttered, but he still looked — watched his own flushed reflection in the mirror, jaw tight, lips parted.

Todoroki unfastened his jeans with unhurried ease.

Bakugo braced himself against the glass, chest heaving. He knew what was coming — felt it in every hair-trigger nerve under his skin.

And then: Todoroki’s fingers, slick with spit, sliding behind him.

Bakugo flinched. “Tch—warn a guy, damn.”

Todoroki’s hand curved around his ass, slow and steady. “You’d argue either way.”

“Damn right I would,” Bakugo snapped, but his voice was already fraying at the edges.

Todoroki's hand then slid down, before dipping inside of him. Fingertips teasing him open, slick and practiced.

Bakugo’s knees buckled. His cheek hit the mirror, breath fogging the glass.

“You love seeing this,” Todoroki purred, teeth scraping gently down Bakugo’s shoulder. “How wrecked you are. How shameless.”

“Shut up,” Bakugo gasped, fighting a moan.

He couldn’t look away, hypnotized by the sight of himself—open, vulnerable, utterly undone by hands no one else could see.

Todoroki pressed closer, cold skin meeting burning heat, lining himself up with meticulous precision. Then he drove forward in one smooth thrust.

Bakugo’s entire body arched forward, slamming against the mirror as a strangled cry tore from his throat.

The glass rattled beneath his palms, reflection staring back in wild-eyed disbelief.

“Open your eyes,” Todoroki breathed into his ear. “Watch.”

Bakugo did—watched his face twist in ecstasy and shame, watched himself break again and again with every devastating roll of Todoroki’s hips.

Cold hands wrapped possessively around him, cool mouth painting red marks across his throat.

“You’re so fucking beautiful like this,” Todoroki whispered, voice thick with reverence and something darker.

Bakugo trembled under him, every muscle tight, burning with tension he couldn’t shake loose.

He was still braced against the mirror like he couldn’t let himself fall — like collapsing would mean losing.

Todoroki moved slower now. Not lazy. Intentional.

Bakugo hated how much he needed that.

Todoroki mumbled, “Fuck, you feel good.”

“I said stop talking,” Bakugo growled, the sound raw and uneven.

“I heard you,” Todoroki said calmly, still moving inside him.

“Then shut the fuck up and—”

Todoroki leaned forward, lips brushing his ear. “Just let me love on you.”

Bakugo snarled — low and desperate. “Don’t get soft on me now.”

“I’m not,” Todoroki whispered, kissing the sweat at his temple. “You’re still going to come undone in my hands.”

Bakugo’s fingers clawed at the glass. His voice cracked around the next breath. “I hate you.”

“I know,” Todoroki said, kissing the words right off his mouth. “And you love me anyway.”

Bakugo didn’t answer — not out loud.

But his body betrayed him.

The way he leaned back into Todoroki.

The way his hands stopped shaking when Todoroki threaded their fingers together against the glass. Bakugo’s hand gripped Todoroki’s tightly—but in the mirror, it looked like he was clutching at nothing.

The way his head tipped back, baring his throat in surrender.

Todoroki held him steady as he broke — and stayed there while he came apart.

When it was over, Bakugo didn’t move right away.

Still braced on the mirror, chest heaving. Still holding onto the last scraps of his armor, even though Todoroki had already seen what was underneath.

“You breathing?” Todoroki murmured.

“Fuck off,” Bakugo rasped.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

He kissed Bakugo’s shoulder — slow, quiet. His hand still wrapped gently around Bakugo’s.

And Bakugo, still facing the mirror, let out a shaky breath.

***

Chapter Text

They were just pulling their shirts down when the crash hit.

A violent slam from downstairs—wood splintering, glass shattering.

Then the screaming started.

Bakugo’s head snapped up.

“That sounded like—” Todoroki began.

Bakugo was already gone.

The party had turned inside out.

Students flooded the hallway, shoving and stumbling over one another to escape.

Someone screamed about a thing in the living room. The lights flickered. Smoke curled under the ceiling like a warning.

Bakugo stormed down the stairs three at a time, parting the chaos like a blade.

And then he saw it.

Midoriya, standing tall between Uraraka and the monster, arm stretched out protectively.

And Kaminari, deadpan, leaning just slightly toward the threat like he was trying to decide whether it was worth his time.

The demon was hideous.

A lurching, sludge-colored beast with too many teeth and limbs that bent like someone had assembled it wrong. Its skin peeled in flakes, slick and raw.

It sniffed the air and hissed, tongue lolling.

Kaminari, unimpressed, crossed his arms. “You don’t even wait to be summoned anymore? Wow. Standards have just... plummeted.”

The demon snarled.

“Back in my day,” Kaminari added, tilting his head, “demons used to haunt opera houses or challenge Slayers to duels. You’re just... embarrassing.”

“Kami,” Kirishima said sharply, grabbing his shoulder, “I beg you to remember your own mortality.”

Kaminari blinked slowly. “Ugh. Right. So limiting.”

The demon lunged at them.

Bakugo was faster.

He moved like lightning with a grudge—cutting through the room with lethal purpose. His first blow sent the demon flying into a coffee table, which exploded into splinters.

People scattered. Screams rose.

Bakugo didn’t flinch.

He was already moving, fists up, stance tight. That low, focused grin curling across his face.

The demon shrieked and charged again.

Bakugo welcomed it.

This was choreography burned into his bones: duck, jab, sweep the legs, drive a knee into its chest, spin, kick, crush.

He was art in motion. Brutality with rhythm.

Todoroki descended the last few steps and leaned on the railing, calm as ever.

Arms crossed. Eyes locked on Bakugo like the fight was unfolding in slow motion just for him.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

Midoriya glanced over. “You're not gonna help him?”

Todoroki didn’t look away. “He doesn't need me. And he likes it better this way.”

Bakugo vaulted off the porch, landed in a crouch, and pulled a dagger from his belt with one fluid motion.

Steel caught the light.

The demon hesitated.

Too late.

One clean slice, and it dropped—collapsing into ash, bone, and something blacker, carried away on the wind.

Bakugo straightened, rolled his shoulder like he was loosening up for round two. Not a scratch on him.

From the doorway, Todoroki exhaled.

Like he’d just seen something unholy.

Midoriya blinked at him. “You’re in love with a man who dismembers demons for fun.”

Todoroki shrugged, lips twitching. “Obviously. I mean... Look at him.”

Bakugo stepped inside, brushing soot from his fingers. “Everyone in one piece?”

Kirishima gave him a thumbs-up. “Uraraka shielded the crowd. Just scrapes and bruises.”

Kaminari sighed deeply. “Can’t even have one normal night. That guy wasn’t even old. Barely out of his demon diapers.”

Bakugo looked around—the busted furniture, the broken window, the wreckage of another normal evening.

Then looked at Todoroki.

Who was still staring at him like he'd invented gravity.

“What,” Bakugo muttered, dragging a hand through his hair.

Todoroki smiled. Slow. Pleased. A little dangerous. “You’re just very good at your job.”

Bakugo grumbled something that sounded like “shut up,” but his ears were pink.

He didn’t mean it.

*

“Okay,” Bakugo muttered, cracking his neck as he strode out the busted front door. “I’m starving.”

“You’re always starving,” Kaminari groaned from somewhere behind him.

“Because fighting burns calories, dumbass,” Bakugo called back.

“I vote pancakes,” Kirishima said brightly, already slinging an arm around Kaminari’s shoulders as they headed toward the sidewalk. “Hunt night means we go full breakfast-for-dinner. That’s the rule.”

“I miss being immortal,” Kaminari grumbled, letting himself be dragged. “Food was optional back then. Eating is such a boring human hobby.”

“Yeah, well,” Kirishima said, giving him a playful shake, “humans don’t survive on dramatic sighs and eyeliner alone. You gotta eat.”

Kaminari whined. Loudly. “Todo doesn’t eat and nobody yells at him.”

From behind them, Uraraka laughed. “Because Todoroki gets special boyfriend privileges.”

“Also,” Midoriya added helpfully, falling into step beside her, “he’s mastered the silent judgment thing. I feel guilty just thinking about criticizing him.”

Todoroki, at the rear with Bakugo, said absolutely nothing.

But Bakugo glanced sideways and smirked. “You do have that disappointed-dad stare nailed down. It's very human of you.”

Todoroki tilted his head slightly. “It keeps people from stealing my rings.”

Up ahead, Kaminari’s voice rose indignantly. “I heard that!”

*

They reached the sidewalk, cool air curling around them like leftover tension.

The chaos behind them had quieted—sirens somewhere in the distance, probably called by a neighbor who heard the demon screeching and thought it was a raccoon fight on meth.

They headed toward the parking lot.

Bakugo reached out without looking and grabbed Todoroki’s hand.

Todoroki let him.

Fingers cool, pale, callused at the fingertips from hundreds of years of training. Of fighting.

He didn’t usually show affection in front of others, but now… his thumb stroked once across Bakugo’s knuckles. Like it was just muscle memory.

“You did well back there,” Todoroki said quietly.

Bakugo scoffed. “I always do well.”

“I know.” Todoroki paused. “Do you need to report it? To your Watcher?”

“Nah. That’s usually Deku's job. He likes the paperwork. Makes him feel important.”

Todoroki hummed, noncommittal. But he stopped walking, tugging Bakugo to a pause near the edge of the parking lot.

“What—?”

Todoroki took Bakugo’s hand gently in both of his.

There was a small cut across Bakugo's palm—probably from the broken window. It was nothing.

But Todoroki stared at it like it was something.

And then, without a word, he brought Bakugo’s hand to his mouth.

His lips brushed the skin. Just a kiss. Then he licked a slow stripe over the cut.

As he did, he whispered something—soft and strange.

A thread of syllables in no tongue Bakugo recognized.

Bakugo didn’t flinch.

He just watched—felt a slight tingle, then a pulse of warmth as the wound slowly faded into nothing.

Like it had never been there.

“You’re so dramatic,” Bakugo said, voice lower now.

Todoroki met his eyes. “You love it.”

He wasn’t wrong.

By the time they reached the parking lot, Midoriya was unlocking his SUV, the others already piling in—Uraraka in the passenger seat, Kirishima and Kaminari wrestling for control of the aux cord in the back.

Bakugo stopped beside them.

“We’ll follow you,” he said, already turning toward his bike.

Midoriya nodded and waved them off, too busy lecturing Kaminari about not queueing the vampire club mix playlist again.

Bakugo swung his leg over the black motorcycle—matte, sleek, all muscle and hum.

The kind of thing that rumbled under your bones.

Todoroki followed, calm and fluid, sliding his arms around Bakugo’s waist from behind, pressing comfortably close.

Bakugo immediately twisted back to jam a helmet down over Todoroki’s head, adjusting the strap with determined hands.

Todoroki’s expression darkened immediately into a pout. “You realize how unnecessary this is, right?”

Bakugo scowled, tugging the strap tighter. “You realize I’ll duct tape this to your head if you don’t stop complaining, right?”

Todoroki huffed softly, unimpressed. “A crash wouldn't kill me, Suki.”

“Yeah? Well, brain damage would still be a pain in my ass,” Bakugo muttered, tapping the helmet lightly in final emphasis.

Todoroki’s frown deepened, his voice dropping into something that sounded suspiciously close to whining. “But... It messes up my hair.”

Bakugo snorted, pulling his own helmet on. “You're an idiot.”

Todoroki leaned in just a little—visor nearly bumping Bakugo’s—and muttered, voice low and slightly muffled, “You just enjoy bossing me around.”

Bakugo smirked beneath the helmet. “Yeah, and you make it real easy. But mostly I just enjoy you half alive and annoying me.”

Todoroki sighed dramatically, but the corners of his mouth lifted into a subtle smile.

Bakugo’s hands found the handlebars. The bike growled to life beneath them, engine purring like it knew who was riding.

Bakugo revved the engine once.

And they peeled into the night—leather, steel, and the taste of blood magic trailing behind them.

*

The road stretched dark and wide in front of them, lined with nothing but late-night streetlamps and the red glow of Midoriya’s taillights.

Bakugo followed two car lengths behind, his motorcycle humming low beneath him, tires whispering against the asphalt like they were part of the night itself.

Todoroki's arms were wrapped loosely around his waist, comfortably, like he belonged there.

Every so often, Bakugo dropped one hand from the handlebar and pressed his palm flat against Todoroki’s forearm.

Just a touch. Just a reminder that Bakugo was thinking of him.

Todoroki didn’t say anything.

His chin rested lightly against Bakugo’s shoulder, eyes half-lidded as the streetlights washed over them in pulses of gold and shadow.

He looked like he was watching the world for the first time.

And maybe, in a way, he was.

Bakugo breathed out slowly, feeling the chill of Todoroki’s body against his back—cool even through the fabric of his hoodie.

Not cold like a corpse. Cold like marble in moonlight.

Perfect. Still.

And so stupidly out of place in Bakugo’s world.

It was coming up on five years.

Five years since Aizawa pulled him aside after school with that tired, unblinking stare, and said those words that made absolutely no sense: “You’ve been Chosen.”

Like it was jury duty.

Like it was an honor.

The previous Slayer had died in some back-alley brawl with a hell beast the news reported as a bear attack, and apparently, the cosmic lottery had landed on him next.

Bakugo fucking hated it.

The training. The secrecy.

The way his bones started doing things bones weren’t supposed to do. The speed. The strength. The dreams.

A Watcher to train him. A destiny to fulfill.

Evil to fight.

And no say in any of it.

Five years ago, he hadn’t even known vampires were real.

Now he was dating one.

And not just any vampire.

Todoroki Shoto: half-human, half-monster.

Born into one of the most powerful bloodlines in existence.

Pale as snowfall, with veins that pulsed with centuries of violence and winter. Eyes that didn’t always look human. Fangs that could shatter bone.

And Bakugo wanted him like breath.

The first time they fought, Todoroki had barely blinked.

Blocked every strike, countered every move, as calm and precise as death.

He’d frozen Bakugo’s boot to the ground just to get close enough to whisper, “Are we fighting, or are we flirting?”

Bakugo nearly punched him in the face.

Instead, he’d kissed him a week later.

The wind shifted. Todoroki's hold tightened around his waist slightly—just a small shift of muscle.

And Bakugo’s heart clenched in a way he’d never admit out loud.

He squeezed Todoroki’s arm again.

Ahead, Midoriya’s blinker flicked on.

They were turning soon—probably toward that crappy 24-hour diner near campus where the staff pretended not to notice blood on people’s collars and bruises blooming like watercolors.

Bakugo didn’t mind it. Not anymore.

The diner. The bike. The vampire pressed against his spine.

The war might’ve chosen him.

But the rest?

He chose that himself.

And he’d keep choosing it.

Over and over.

***

Chapter Text

The apartment was quiet the next day, save for the soft clicking of Bakugo’s keyboard and the occasional hum of traffic outside the window.

Late afternoon light spilled across the floor, catching on the scattered mugs, the half-folded laundry, the open textbook with notes scribbled in nearly illegible caps lock rage.

Bakugo sat cross-legged on the couch, laptop balanced on his thighs, scowling at the blinking cursor like it had personally offended him.

On the floor nearby, Todoroki lay on his stomach, scrolling his phone in comfortable silence.

He hadn’t spoken in over thirty minutes.

Just occasionally shifted positions, resting his cheek on his arm, legs stretched out behind him like some bored, elegant housecat.

A vampire sunbathing indoors.

Not quite mortal, not quite monster.

Bakugo caught himself glancing down more than once. Not at the phone. At him.

At the curve of Todoroki’s back under his T-shirt.

At the bare patch of skin where the hem had ridden up slightly, revealing the lowest edge of a tattoo he knew well—the curling tip of something old and tangled and sacred.

Bakugo tried to focus.

Really.

But his chemistry paper wasn’t going anywhere.

And Todoroki was just... there.

Taking up space like it belonged to him. Waiting, quiet, patient. Like he knew Bakugo would fold eventually.

And he did.

With a huff, Bakugo closed the laptop and shoved it aside.

Todoroki didn’t react. Didn’t even look up.

So Bakugo slid off the couch and dropped onto the floor beside him, resting on one elbow.

He didn’t say anything—just watched him scroll.

Occasionally, Todoroki’s lips moved like he was reading something quietly to himself. Every so often he blinked, slow and lazy.

Bakugo let the silence stretch. Then, finally, he reached out—knuckles brushing the edge of Todoroki’s jaw.

“C’mon,” he said softly. “Gimme something.”

Todoroki turned, and Bakugo kissed him.

Slow. Familiar. Just pressure and presence and the press of two people who had long since stopped asking if they wanted each other.

When they broke apart, Bakugo didn’t move far.

Instead, he reached for the hem of Todoroki’s shirt and tugged it up slightly—just enough to expose more of the tattoo.

He traced it with his eyes first.

Then his lips.

A slow kiss over black ink.

The design was hard to explain—part arcane runes, part floral etching, part crest from a vampire house that had long since collapsed under its own cruelty.

It crawled up Todoroki’s ribs in curling lines, disappearing beneath the shirt again like it had a mind of its own.

Bakugo kissed it once more.

“You don’t get tired of looking at them?” Todoroki murmured.

Bakugo shrugged, cheek resting against his chest now. “You don’t get tired of having them?”

“No,” Todoroki said, soft. “They remind me I’m mine.”

 “Huh?” Bakugo looked up. “Oh. Not your father’s.”

Todoroki shook his head. “Not anymore.”

He reached down, threaded his fingers into Bakugo’s hair, scratching lightly at the scalp.

Bakugo closed his eyes.

For a while, they stayed like that—just two men on a carpeted floor, surrounded by textbooks and tea mugs and old scars that didn’t always show.

And then Bakugo’s phone buzzed.

He groaned and rolled over just enough to fish it out of his pocket, squinting at the screen.

Deku:

Aizawa wants to meet. Bring the group. After sunset.

He frowned. Thumbed the message away.

Todoroki turned his head slightly. “What is it?”

“Homework got worse,” Bakugo muttered.

“Demon kind?”

“Probably.”

He let the phone drop onto the floor.

And then, just to be spiteful, he pressed another kiss to the ink on Todoroki’s ribs.

Soft. Defiant. Devoted.

*

The classroom was dimly lit, the blinds pulled low against the setting sun and the overhead lights left off by design.

Warm lamplight flickered over chalk-smudged whiteboards and books stacked like fortresses on every surface. A faint scent of sage and old ink hung in the air.

Uraraka was already seated cross-legged on the floor, a half-finished summoning circle spread out before her.

Crystals glinted on the edges of the chalk markings, and she was frowning in intense concentration—lips pursed, one hand hovering midair as she rearranged sigils from a dog-eared grimoire.

Kaminari and Kirishima sat nearby in a pair of front-row chairs, half-watching, half-snacking.

Well—Kirishima was snacking. Kaminari was lobbing mini pretzels at his mouth like it was a carnival game.

“Three for three,” Kirishima said proudly, catching another one with a crunch.

“Five if you count the ones you missed but ate anyway,” Kaminari muttered, slouched dramatically with his legs propped on a second chair. “I’m just saying—this isn’t the high-stakes vampire-wrangling I was promised.”

“You’ll live,” Kirishima said with a grin.

Kaminari blinked. “I might not. Human, remember?”

Just then, the door creaked open.

Bakugo strode in with his usual energy—controlled fury in a hoodie—and veered immediately toward Aizawa’s desk, where his Watcher sat with a black thermos and even blacker eyebags.

Todoroki followed more quietly, steps soft across the floor.

He didn’t say anything as he crossed to Uraraka’s circle and lowered himself beside her, folding his long limbs with inhuman grace.

She glanced up, mid-squint, then back down at the pattern she’d been puzzling over.

“I can’t get this damn quartz to activate,” she muttered. “Everything else is placed right, I think, but the center won’t catch.”

Todoroki reached out silently and nudged two crystals half an inch to the left.

Then, without fanfare, he pressed a polished black stone into the exact center of the circle.

It lit up immediately.

A soft, steady glow pulsed from within, casting pale white light across their faces.

Uraraka gasped. “No way. I think I hate you. I’ve been trying that for like ten minutes.”

Todoroki shrugged. “You had most of it right. It just needed a small adjustment.”

“You say that like you didn’t just solve a problem that made me question my entire sanity.”

Kirishima leaned forward, craning to see. “How’d you know where to put it, dude?”

Uraraka answered for him. “Todoroki’s helped me with this kind of stuff before. He’s got a weirdly good handle on spell structure.”

“Magic prodigy,” Kaminari said dryly. “Add it to the resume.”

Todoroki’s voice was quiet. “My mother taught me. When I was younger. Before my father locked her away.”

The room went still for half a beat.

Kirishima blinked. Kaminari looked sideways at him.

“…Cool,” Kirishima said, clearly unsure if that was the right response. “Your mom seems... Cool.”

Kaminari cleared his throat. “Yup.” He gave Kirishima a look that clearly said Are we unpacking this or pretending it didn’t happen?

Todoroki didn’t elaborate. Just shifted one of the smaller crystals an inch clockwise, like he hadn’t just casually dropped a tragic backstory in the middle of their project.

Uraraka didn’t press. Just nodded once, gently. “Thanks. Seriously.”

She reached into the circle and scooped the glowing stone into her hand, then slipped it into her coat pocket.

Kaminari raised a brow. “Okay, and what the hell is it?”

“It’s a protection charm,” Uraraka said. “For Midoriya.”

“Aww,” Kirishima said.

Kaminari wrinkled his nose. “Barf.”

The door banged open again.

Midoriya came rushing in, sketchbook in one hand, waving it overhead like a prize. “I got it! I drew the demon I saw—just like you asked, Aizawa!”

Aizawa reached for the sketch with one hand, but it never made it that far.

Bakugo turned. “What demon? You saw a demon and didn't call me?”

The air in the room changed. Just a little.

Like all the magic from Uraraka’s circle had inhaled.

Midoriya froze. “You… didn’t tell them yet?”

Bakugo’s jaw locked.

Kaminari sat up a little straighter. Kirishima lowered the snack bag.

Todoroki's eyes narrowed, not quite dangerous—but alert.

And across the room, Aizawa finally looked up from his thermos. “Let's begin.”

*

Midoriya set the sketchpad down on the table between them and turned it toward Kaminari.

“Start with you,” Midoriya said, tapping the page. “See if it rings any bells.”

Kirishima teased him. “Look like any of your cousins, Kami?”

Kaminari leaned forward, mouth half-open with a joke that died on his tongue the second he saw it.

The sketch wasn’t clean—rushed lines, frantic shading—but it was sharp.

Midoriya’s memory was freakishly good when he was panicked, and every jagged angle of the creature had been committed to paper.

Long limbs. Hooked claws. A hunched posture like it was built for crawling, with skin like cracked porcelain and deep sockets where the eyes should’ve been.

No mouth. Or maybe too much mouth—like the face couldn’t decide.

Kaminari stared at it a little too long.

“Well?” Aizawa asked from the front of the room, one hand braced on the desk, the other around his ever-present coffee.

“I was a demon for over a thousand years,” Kaminari muttered. “And I’ve never seen anything like that.”

Midoriya passed the sketch to Kirishima next. “I want everyone to see it. Just in case we run into it again.”

Kirishima winced. “Yeah, uh. Nightmare fuel. Thanks.”

He passed it across the table to Uraraka, who just blinked at it and muttered a quiet, “Ew.”

When it reached Bakugo, he didn’t bother with a long look—just a glance. Just enough to register the shape, the posture, the wrongness.

Then he handed it to Todoroki.

Aizawa watched them all in turn. “Tell them what happened, Midoriya.”

Midoriya nodded, sitting up straighter in his seat. “It was this morning. Around ten a.m. I was heading to class across the quad when I heard someone screaming. I thought it was just a prank—one of the frat houses, you know—but then I saw it.”

He gestured to the sketch.

“It was chasing a group of freshmen. One of them tripped, and the thing stopped like it was going to grab him, but then it just… stared. Like it couldn’t decide. I tried to chase it, but...”

“You tried to follow it?” Aizawa asked.

“Yeah,” Midoriya said. “But it bolted. And it was fast. I lost it near the library.”

“And this was in broad daylight?”

Midoriya nodded again. “Bright and clear. People all over campus. I was shocked that it was so bold, but—”

“Some of them are like that,” Todoroki said softly. “Young and impulsive.”

The room quieted.

Aizawa turned to him. “You recognize it?”

Todoroki leaned forward, setting the sketchpad flat in front of him. He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, his eyes drifted across the table to where Kaminari was still perched on the edge of his chair, arms folded.

“Does the top half remind you of a Sahrvian?” Todoroki asked softly.

Kaminari’s brows drew together.

Todoroki tapped the sketch. “The shape of the skull. The spine curvature.”

“Oh shit,” Kaminari muttered. “Yeah. And the lower body—it's more like an Agorthian. Just barely. I just… I didn’t even think to—”

“The hell? You two think someone stitched a monster together?” Kirishima asked, voice lower now.

Uraraka frowned. “Like a Frankenstein situation?”

“Yeah, but worse,” Kaminari said. “Because those two species don’t come from the same realm. Agorthians are subterranean. Sahrvians are dream-locked. That combo should be impossible.”

Bakugo scoffed. “Guess someone didn’t get the memo.”

“What would even be the point?” Midoriya asked. “Why make something like that?”

Todoroki’s voice was quieter than the rest—but it carried. “Because something wants to make the perfect monster.”

The words hung in the air.

Aizawa finally straightened, dragging a hand through his hair. “Alright. New theory: someone’s building demons.”

“Building hybrids,” Kaminari corrected. “That’s not a demon. It’s a mistake. I've been around a long time, and I've never seen anyone do that. I didn't even know it was possible.”

“And if it’s already running around campus,” Uraraka said, “how many more are out there?”

Aizawa looked at the board behind him, then back at the group. “Bakugo. We're gonna have to get out there and start looking.”

***

Chapter Text

They all gathered at the curb outside Aizawa's classroom's building, the last orange smear of sunset bleeding into the sky. The air was slightly cooler now.

Midoriya popped the back of his SUV and started tossing in weapons and supplies. Stakes. Salt rounds.

A hastily sketched campus map with weird red circles scrawled on it.

“This one was last spotted near the quad,” he said, pointing. “But if it’s acting brave and irrational, it could be anywhere by now.”

Bakugo crossed his arms. “Call me the second you see anything.”

Midoriya blinked. “I—yeah. Of course.”

“I’m serious, Deku. You get eyes on it, you do not engage. You call me. Got it?”

Midoriya nodded, already climbing into the front seat. “Got it.”

“Promise.”

“Katsuki,” Midoriya said gently, “I promise.”

Bakugo scowled, but it settled something in his chest. He gave a gruff nod and turned to go.

The others piled into the SUV—Kirishima in the back with a duffel full of emergency snacks and silvered weapons, Uraraka sitting cross-legged beside him, and Kaminari claiming the passenger seat with a yawn like he’d been drafted into war.

“You all suck,” Kaminari muttered. “I should be the one with a motorcycle.”

“We’d never survive,” Kirishima said.

Midoriya turned the key. “We’ll check east. You two take west?”

Bakugo nodded, already walking toward his bike. “Keep your phones on.”

Todoroki followed him with that calm, trailing pace, as if they weren’t prepping for the possibility of a Frankenstein demon hiding in someone’s dorm room.

When they reached the bike, Todoroki sighed deeply. “Again with the helmet?”

Bakugo pulled it off the seat and held it out without breaking stride.

Todoroki narrowed his eyes. “You know I’m mostly immortal.”

“Not the point.”

“I heal fast. I walk through fire. I don’t even bruise like a—”

Bakugo leaned in, sharp and close, and slipped the helmet over Todoroki’s head with all the patience of a saint pretending not to be murderous.

“Keep talking,” he said, reaching under Todoroki’s jaw to clip the strap. “And I swear to god, you’ll never get to bite me again.”

Todoroki paused. “…So rude.”

Bakugo smirked. “Love you too, Twilight.”

Todoroki muttered something that sounded a lot like "You're lucky you're hot," and climbed on behind him, arms sliding around Bakugo’s waist without hesitation.

Bakugo revved the engine once—loud and low—and glanced back just long enough to catch Todoroki adjusting the helmet in petty silence.

The SUV pulled away in the opposite direction.

Bakugo’s bike peeled off the curb moments later, tires catching and roaring into the dark, two shadows chasing something neither of them could name yet.

*

They didn’t find anything that night.

Not a whisper of claws on brick or shadow in the trees.

No sulfur, no sulfuric blood, no ripple in the air that might’ve warned of something wrong.

Just a quiet campus blanketed in moonlight, as if nothing unnatural had ever touched it.

By the time Aizawa called it, the group was dragging—Midoriya practically dozing behind the wheel, Uraraka curled in her seat like a cat, Kaminari dramatically demanding coffee or death.

“Go home,” Aizawa said from the sidewalk, arms crossed, hair tied back in a lazy knot. “Try again tomorrow.”

And that was that.

*

The next morning, sunlight filtered in like the night had never happened.

Bakugo sat at the back of the lecture hall with his feet kicked up on the chair in front of him, hoodie bunched around his shoulders, and exactly one functioning earbud in.

Kaminari sat beside him, slumped like a corpse with a pencil balanced across his upper lip.

Kirishima was on the other side of Kaminari—present, but noticeably quiet.

He hadn’t cracked a joke since they sat down.

Wasn’t bouncing his knee. Wasn’t even doodling in the margins of his notebook.

Kaminari noticed instantly. “Are you good?” he whispered, flicking his pencil aside.

Kirishima looked up. Blinked. “Huh?”

“You’re off.”

“I’m fine.”

Kaminari narrowed his eyes. “You sure? ‘Cause your vibes are, like… Clinically gray.”

Bakugo sighed and shoved his earbud out. “Would you shut up? He’s probably just tired. We were out until two in the damn morning.”

Kirishima sent him a grateful glance. “Yeah. That’s all it is. Just tired.”

Kaminari looked suspicious, but the professor started writing on the board, and he backed off—at least for now.

The rest of the class passed in a haze of half-taken notes and quiet side-eyes.

*

That night, Bakugo was sitting cross-legged on the couch, stabbing at leftover noodles with a fork and glaring at his phone like it had insulted him.

Behind him, Todoroki moved through the apartment with practiced ease—pulling on his coat, buckling a weapon belt loosely under the hem, adjusting a small vial of oil and salt into his inner pocket.

He didn't really need it. But he didn't mind carrying extra weapons for Bakugo, just in case.

“You ready?” Todoroki asked, messing with his rings one more time.

Bakugo scoffed and didn’t look up. “Shima’s acting weird.”

Todoroki paused. “What do you mean?”

“He texted the group. Said he’s not coming on patrol tonight. Not feeling well.”

Todoroki tilted his head. “Then… Maybe he’s sick.”

Bakugo rolled his eyes. “You don’t get it. That’s human code for ‘I’m hiding something.’”

Todoroki blinked, like this was a language he wasn’t fluent in. “Why would he lie to his friends?”

“Because that’s what people do when they’re scared, or upset, or trying to act tough.”

Todoroki was silent for a beat. Then he said, “That’s stupid.”

“Yeah,” Bakugo said, standing up and setting his food aside. “That’s why we’re going to his place before patrol.”

Todoroki’s eyes narrowed just slightly. “Because you’re soft.”

“I’m not soft.”

“You’re soft for your friends.”

Bakugo pointed at him. “I just don’t want him doing something dumb.”

Todoroki grabbed his coat and stepped closer, a glint of amusement in his eyes. “You care about them so much. It’s adorable.”

“Shut up.”

“I think you’re blushing.”

“I swear to god I'll kick your—”

“I love it,” Todoroki said, deadpan, adjusting Bakugo’s collar like he was wrapping a gift. “You’re like a cactus with a tiny beating heart.”

Bakugo shoved his arms through his sleeves and grabbed his keys. “Get on the bike before I kill the other fifty percent of you.”

Todoroki followed, still smiling. “I think it's technically less than fifty percent.”

“You're pushing your luck, Sho.”

Todoroki almost laughed, but grinned instead.

And as they stepped into the hallway, the apartment door shutting behind them, neither of them noticed the faint tremor in the shadows outside the building.

Like something had been listening.

Waiting.

*

Todoroki’s arms were wrapped loosely around Bakugo’s waist as they tore down the road, the hum of the motorcycle low and steady beneath them.

His helmet rested lightly against Bakugo’s back, eyes half-lidded as wind slid past him, cool and sharp.

Above them, the full moon burned bright.

Todoroki tilted his head slightly to stare at it.

Not with fear. Just quiet curiosity. Like he couldn’t decide whether it was beautiful or threatening.

Maybe both.

They slowed as they approached a familiar apartment complex tucked just off the main road—simple, student-rented units with bad lighting and worse insulation.

Bakugo pulled up near the front, engine idling low. “You remember which one’s his?” he asked, eyes scanning the building.

“I think so,” Todoroki said.

“Second floor. Last door on the right. Go check on him—I’ll park and be right behind you.”

Todoroki hesitated.

Bakugo looked at him, and this time his voice softened. “Please.”

Todoroki nodded once, then reached up to unbuckle the helmet and passed it off. Their fingers brushed.

Bakugo didn’t say thank you, but he looked like he wanted to.

Todoroki jogged toward the building, boots light on the concrete steps.

The night was quiet except for the distant buzz of a streetlamp and the hum of wind between buildings.

When he reached the landing, someone else was already there.

Kaminari.

He was pounding on the door with both fists, yelling Kirishima’s name. Panic all over his face.

“Move,” Todoroki said flatly.

Kaminari glanced back. “I think something’s wrong—he’s not answering, and my gut is telling me—”

“I know,” Todoroki said. “Back up.”

Kaminari quickly took a few steps back.

Todoroki didn’t wait for permission. Just stepped forward, braced his shoulder, and slammed into the door once.

The frame cracked.

A second shove broke it wide.

Inside, the apartment was dark.

Too dark.

No lights. No TV. The windows were shut and curtained.

It smelled like wood and sweat and something unfamiliar.

Something that didn’t belong.

Todoroki froze in the doorway. “…Something’s here.”

Kaminari stepped up behind him, frowning. “Like a demon?”

“No,” Todoroki whispered. “Not quite.”

Kaminari’s voice rose, frantic. “Kiri? Hey—are you in here?”

No answer.

They moved forward together, slow and tense.

And then they heard it.

A low, guttural growl.

From the back room.

Kaminari stopped walking. His breath hitched. “Uhh, Roki? You hear that?”

The sound grew louder—closer—until two eyes flashed in the dark.

And something moved.

Fast.

It exploded out of the shadows with a snarl.

The shape was massive—all muscle and fur and fangs.

Not a wolf. Not a man.

Both.

A werewolf.

Before Kaminari could even scream, Todoroki shoved him to the ground just as the beast tackled Todoroki instead, slamming him hard into the floorboards.

Claws scraped against Todoroki’s jacket, fangs snapping inches from his throat.

He held the animal back with both arms, muscles straining, ice already forming under his fingertips to keep the jaws at bay.

“Silver!” Todoroki shouted. “Find something silver!”

“I—I don’t have anything silver!” Kaminari yelled, scrambling to the side and digging frantically through drawers. “Who the hell just has silver?!”

The creature roared, saliva dripping onto Todoroki’s chest as it fought harder, legs kicking up furniture behind them.

And then Bakugo burst through the door. “What the fuck—”

He didn’t hesitate. Just charged, kicking the creature in the ribs hard enough to knock it off Todoroki for a second.

They both scrambled up—Bakugo flanking left, Todoroki wiping blood from his lip and forming ice along one arm like a blade.

The creature snarled, low and vicious.

It circled.

Ready to strike again.

***

Chapter Text

The werewolf lunged again—claws flashing—and Kaminari, in a wild burst of panic, yanked open a drawer and grabbed the first sharp object he could find.

“Kugo!” he shouted, and chucked it across the room.

Bakugo caught it—barely glanced down.

A letter opener. Fancy, silver-plated.

Close enough.

He twisted, ducked under the beast’s swinging arm, and drove the blade across its side in one clean slash.

It screamed.

And something in the room changed.

Todoroki froze.

Blood hit the air, sharp and fresh.

And he knew it.

Not just vaguely. Not just in a supernatural sense.

He knew it.

His pupils blew wide.

That blood belonged to—

“Don’t kill him!” Todoroki shouted suddenly, just as Bakugo reared back for another strike.

Bakugo hesitated mid-swing, but only barely.

The werewolf growled and twisted away, claws dragging against the wall as it backed down the hallway—wounded, staggering, but not defeated.

“Shit,” Bakugo snapped. “Sho, what the fuck? It’s retreating—stay on it!”

“No—wait—” Todoroki started.

But he was already running.

Not to kill it.

To reach it first.

Todoroki sprinted after the creature, boots thudding against the hardwood, frost gathering on his palms.

Bakugo swore again and followed a step behind.

The hallway felt too long.

Too dark.

The air was thick with blood and something else—shame, maybe.

The back bedroom door was hanging half-open.

Todoroki threw it wide.

And stopped.

The creature was gone.

In its place, lying sprawled on the floor in a patch of drying blood, was Kirishima.

Naked.

Unconscious.

His arms curled protectively against his chest, his side still leaking from the gash Bakugo had given him. The same gash Todoroki had smelled.

Todoroki moved fast.

Dropped to one knee beside him and ripped off his somewhat torn jacket, throwing it across Kirishima’s hips to cover him.

Bakugo staggered into the room just behind him—and stopped cold.

Kaminari arrived seconds later, out of breath and wide-eyed.

“No,” Bakugo whispered. “No, no, no—”

He took a step back like the image physically hurt.

“I didn’t know,” he said, voice cracking. “I didn’t know. I thought it was just—fuck—”

“Suki,” Todoroki said firmly, grabbing his arm.

Bakugo flinched. His knuckles were white around the handle of the letter opener.

“He’s bleeding,” Todoroki said. “You want to help? Then get a blanket.”

Bakugo nodded—wild, panicked—and turned to run.

Kaminari knelt beside Todoroki, staring down at Kirishima like the floor had dropped out from under him.

“He didn’t tell me,” Kaminari said, voice hollow. “I—I didn’t know he was—he was—”

Todoroki’s hands pressed firm against the wound, trying to slow the bleeding. “He's okay. It's all gonna be okay,” he said quietly.

*

They barely had time to breathe before the door banged open again.

Uraraka rushed in like a storm—hair wild, eyes sharp, arms full of herbs and jars and something glowing faintly green in a little glass vial.

She didn’t even blink when she saw Kirishima on the floor.

She dropped to her knees beside him and dumped everything at her side.

No questions.

No hesitation.

She was already uncorking jars, muttering under her breath as her hands flew over the supplies.

She crushed dried leaves between her palms and drew a line across Kirishima’s chest. Whispered an incantation that buzzed like electricity in the air.

Kirishima groaned, just faintly, and Uraraka whispered something softer against his forehead.

Todoroki exhaled and turned to Bakugo, still frozen a step away.

“Back up, babe,” he said gently. Not a command. Just enough to make room.

Bakugo did.

Todoroki dropped beside Uraraka and grabbed a few of her supplies—some ground root, a sprig of nightshade, something thick and dark in a tiny corked jar.

He started mixing them with quick, confident movements in a small wooden bowl from her kit.

Kaminari stood just behind Bakugo, trembling.

His eyes were too wide. His breathing uneven.

And then, without warning, he grabbed Bakugo in a hug.

Tight. Desperate. Like he didn’t know what else to do.

Bakugo didn’t move at first.

Didn’t lift his arms. Didn’t say anything.

But he didn’t shove him off, either.

He let him cling.

He just stood there, fists loose at his sides, jaw clenched tight.

And then, after a beat, he said—quietly, in a voice he didn’t use often, “It’s gonna be okay.”

Kaminari’s breath hitched. “Yeah?” he whispered.

Bakugo nodded once. “Yeah.”

His voice wavered just slightly. Just enough to mean it.

Behind them, Todoroki reached out and poured the mixture gently over Kirishima’s side. The bleeding slowed almost instantly.

Uraraka caught the shift and adjusted her incantation mid-phrase.

Together, they worked in quiet harmony.

And above it all, the full moon glowed through the window—watching. Waiting.

Something had changed tonight.

Something they couldn’t take back.

*

The apartment was still quiet by the time the healing finished.

Kirishima was awake now—propped up on the couch in sweats and a hoodie someone had tossed to him.

Uraraka sat at his side, holding his hand gently while her other fingers brushed along the soft glow still pulsing under his skin.

“I reinforced the spell,” she said. “It’ll keep helping overnight, but you need rest.”

Kirishima nodded weakly. “Thank you. For everything.”

She smiled and leaned in to hug him, careful not to jostle his side.

“We’ll talk more tomorrow,” she whispered. “But not tonight. You’ve got enough going on without all of us demanding answers.”

Kirishima swallowed hard, grateful beyond words.

Uraraka stood, gathering her supplies. “Sleep if you can. I’ll come check on you in the morning.”

Then she slipped out, offering a soft goodbye to Kaminari on her way.

Todoroki was already tugging Bakugo toward the door.

Bakugo didn’t want to leave.

He was still mumbling under his breath—little fragmented apologies and half-formed excuses, pacing like he could walk the memory away.

“I should’ve known,” he muttered. “I should’ve recognized him. His eyes, his build, his smell, I mean—I’ve fought with him a hundred times, I should’ve—"

“Katsuki,” Todoroki said gently, fingers curling around his wrist. “Come on.”

“I hurt him.”

“You saved Kaminari’s life. Mine too.”

Bakugo resisted, but Todoroki pulled him anyway—out the door, down the hallway, and out into the night.

They reached the bike, parked beneath the streetlight, the moon still bright overhead.

Bakugo didn’t say anything, just stood there like the guilt was too big to carry.

Todoroki stepped into his space, reached up, and cupped Bakugo’s cheek. “You did what you were trained to do,” he said softly. “You protected your friends. You had no way of knowing it was him.”

Bakugo’s jaw was tight, his hands curled into fists. “God... I fucked up, T.”

Todoroki’s expression shifted—softer now, more personal. He leaned forward and kissed him gently, then slid his arms around him and pulled him in.

“Werewolves are durable,” he murmured into Bakugo’s hair. “He’ll heal. And he won’t blame you. You were protecting us, and that's what he would've wanted you to do.”

Bakugo’s breath caught.

Then he hugged Todoroki back—hard.

Not just letting it happen this time, but holding on.

He shut his eyes and let himself stay there, anchored to Todoroki’s chest, feeling his cool breath against his neck and the steady thrum of comfort.

It was the only thing keeping him from unraveling.

*

Inside, the apartment was quiet again.

Kirishima shifted on the couch, the pain fading but not gone.

His breath hitched as he turned to look at Kaminari sitting on the edge of the couch, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like it had betrayed him.

“I’m sorry,” Kirishima said softly.

Kaminari didn’t look up.

“I should’ve told you. I—I knew. I didn’t understand it, not fully, but I felt something was off. The dreams. The way I couldn’t remember the full moons. I didn’t want it to be true, so I kept it to myself. I'm... I'm so sorry, that I put you all in danger.”

Kaminari finally looked up.

His eyes were glassy. Red-rimmed. “I don’t care that you didn’t tell me,” he whispered. “I’m not mad about that.”

Kirishima blinked. “Then…?”

“I’m human now,” Kaminari said. “Do you know what that means? It means I can die. It means you can die. And tonight I thought I was gonna watch you get ripped apart and I...” His fists clenched. “You scared the hell out of me.”

Kirishima reached out, slow and tentative, and touched his wrist. “I’m okay. I promise,” he said gently.

Kaminari nodded, blinking fast. “You better be. Or I’m gonna get Ocha to hex your shampoo to smell like wet dog forever.”

Kirishima smiled, even though it hurt. “I deserve that.”

Kaminari exhaled, leaned forward, and rested his forehead against Kirishima’s knee.

They stayed like that for a long time.

*

Bakugo slammed his apartment door open hard enough to make it bounce off the wall.

Todoroki stepped in quietly behind him—and didn’t flinch when the door was kicked shut, echoing through the space.

Bakugo didn’t say a word.

He stormed through the living room like the air was too heavy to breathe, yanking his shirt off in one harsh pull and flinging it toward the couch. It missed.

His skin was flushed. Jaw locked. Muscles in his neck twitching like he was holding back a scream.

Then he turned on his heel, heading right back toward the front door.

“Where are you going?” Todoroki asked, still calm.

“I gotta go to the gym.”

“Not in the middle of the night, you don’t.”

“I need—” Bakugo’s voice cracked as he reached for the handle. “I need to hit something.”

Todoroki crossed the space in two quiet strides, caught him by the shoulders before he could make it out. “You need to talk to me.”

Bakugo stiffened, hands curling into fists. “Get off me.”

“No.”

Bakugo shoved him. Harder than he meant to.

Todoroki stumbled back a step, but didn’t lose his balance.

He didn’t even raise his voice. “I’m not your punching bag, Suki.”

“Then stop standing in front of me!”

Bakugo’s voice hit the wall like a detonation—sharp, raw, burning at the edges. His eyes were wide and wild, breath coming fast.

Todoroki stayed exactly where he was. “You’re mad,” he said simply. “Good. Be mad. But stop running from it.”

“You don’t get it—”

“I do.”

Bakugo’s breath hitched.

Todoroki took a step closer. “You’re not just pissed because you hurt Kirishima.”

Bakugo’s jaw clenched.

“You’re pissed because you were supposed to be better than that. Strong enough. Smart enough. Chosen, right?”

Bakugo’s breath caught—barely, but enough.

“You think this proves you’re not who you're supposed to be. That if you can make a mistake like this, maybe you're no different from the monsters you fight.”

Bakugo looked away, eyes burning. “You don’t know what you're talking about,” he muttered.

Todoroki didn’t flinch. “Yeah, I do. Because I’ve made those kinds of mistakes too. I’ve hurt people I swore I’d protect. And it doesn’t mean you’re a monster, baby. It just means you’re human.”

Bakugo’s fists trembled.

“You think the power makes you untouchable. That if you just trained hard enough, bled long enough, you'd stop making mistakes.” Todoroki took another step, gentler this time. “But you’re not a god, Suki. You’re just a man carrying a heavy load. And sometimes... that weight slips.”

Bakugo’s shoulders hunched, like the words physically landed. “I hurt him,” he whispered. “I didn’t even think. I just reacted.”

Todoroki nodded. “You did. And that’ll eat at you. But you get to decide what you do with that. You can let it turn you into something cold and alone. Or you can let it teach you how to forgive yourself.”

Silence stretched between them like a held breath.

“You already know which choice hurts more,” Todoroki said. “That’s why you’re so angry.”

Bakugo shook his head. “Don’t psychoanalyze me right now—”

“Then talk to me.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.”

Todoroki reached for him again—not to restrain him, but just to touch. His fingers brushed Bakugo’s wrist, tentative. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

***

Chapter Text

Bakugo turned on his heel again, this time storming down the hall.

Todoroki followed, quiet but relentless.

“I said I don’t want to fucking talk.”

Todoroki didn’t answer. Just kept coming.

Bakugo reached the bedroom, flung the door open, started to pace—

And then Todoroki caught him.

One hand on his chest, the other on his shoulder, and suddenly Bakugo was slammed back against the wall—not hard enough to hurt, but firm. Unmovable.

“You don’t need to run from this,” Todoroki said, soft as snowfall. “You can scream, throw things, pace a hole in the floor—but I’m not leaving.”

Bakugo shoved at his chest, trying to twist away. “Let me go.”

“No.”

“I said let me—”

“No, Katsuki.” Todoroki’s grip didn’t budge. “I love you. And I'm not gonna stand by and watch you tear yourself apart.”

Bakugo’s hands curled around Todoroki’s shirt. Not pushing anymore—just holding on.

Todoroki stared him down, breath short. “Kirishima’s going to be okay.”

“Don’t—” Bakugo barked.

Todoroki paused. “He will.”

Bakugo’s eyes snapped to his, blazing. “You don’t know that.” Todoroki opened his mouth, but Bakugo beat him to it—shouting now, voice ragged, “I almost killed one of my best friends!”

Todoroki didn’t flinch. He let the silence stretch, unbothered. Let Bakugo’s words hang there between them like smoke.

Then, quietly, he said, “No. You didn’t.”

Bakugo turned away, jaw tight, chest heaving like he couldn’t get a full breath in.

Todoroki didn’t let go.

He eased his grip, just enough to shift from restraint to something more like comfort—thumb brushing over Bakugo’s collarbone, the other hand steady on the back of his shoulder.

“You stopped,” Todoroki said softly. “You barely hurt him, and yet this is bothering you so much.”

Bakugo shook his head. “Shut up.”

His voice cracked. He didn’t mean for it to.

His hands bunched tighter in Todoroki’s shirt, knuckles white.

“Just shut the hell up.” He muttered.

Todoroki didn’t answer. Didn’t retreat.

Just moved one hand to Bakugo’s neck, fingers slipping gently into the hair at his nape. No pressure. Just presence.

Bakugo’s throat worked. He grit his teeth like he could shove the feeling down, muscle through it the way he always did—but it was too much.

His breath hitched.

He clenched his eyes shut.

And then, suddenly, stupidly—he was crying.

Not loud, not dramatic. Just tears spilling out fast and furious, sharp breaths punching through him as he tried to hold it back.

“Fuck—” he hissed, voice ragged. He shoved at Todoroki’s chest. “Fucking—stop looking at me like that—”

Todoroki didn’t budge. He didn’t look away either.

Instead, he pulled Bakugo in.

One hand at his back. The other still in his hair. Quiet, constant.

Bakugo didn’t collapse—but he sagged, just enough to press his forehead to Todoroki’s shoulder, trembling.

He muttered something into the fabric of Todoroki’s shirt—indecipherable, angry and ashamed.

Todoroki didn’t ask him to repeat it. He just stood there, solid and steady, letting Bakugo hold on.

Letting him fall apart.

Bakugo stayed there, breathing hard against Todoroki’s shoulder, trying to shove the tears back down his throat where they belonged.

He hated this.

Hated the way his chest hurt. Hated how raw he felt. Hated how fucking quiet everything was now that the anger had drained out of him.

And more than anything—

He hated the guilt.

It stuck to him. Clung to his ribs. Wouldn’t let him breathe.

Bakugo stayed close, trembling with the effort of keeping it together. His voice was rough, almost casual—like if he said it plain enough, it wouldn’t sound like begging.

“I’m fine,” he muttered. And quieter, he said, “Just. Help me forget it for a second, okay?”

Todoroki didn’t speak.

Bakugo’s fingers curled tighter in his shirt, breath shaking. “…Please.”

There was no pause this time. No hesitation.

Todoroki leaned in, his voice low, steady, like it had always been waiting. “Okay,” he said.

Bakugo grabbed the front of Todoroki’s shirt and kissed him—rough, desperate, nothing smooth or planned. It wasn’t about sex.

It was about holding onto something that wouldn’t shatter in his hands.

Todoroki kissed him back immediately, arms wrapping around him.

“I just need—” Bakugo whispered, breath shaking. “I need—”

“I know,” Todoroki murmured. “It's okay.”

*

Bakugo’s breath was still coming hard against Todoroki’s skin, his grip almost bruising. He didn’t speak, didn’t move—just held on like Todoroki was the only thing tethering him to the ground.

Todoroki ran a slow hand up his back, fingers brushing sweat-damp skin beneath his shirt. “Come to bed,” he whispered.

Bakugo didn’t answer. But he didn’t resist when Todoroki gently nudged him toward the edge of the mattress.

He sat down heavily, rubbing his hands over his face like he could scrub the day off.

Todoroki knelt in front of him.

Carefully. Quietly.

He reached up and peeled Bakugo’s shirt off with slow, patient hands.

Pressed a soft kiss just beneath his collarbone. Then one to his shoulder. His jaw.

Every motion deliberate. Every touch intentional.

Bakugo watched him, eyes wide and dark, like he wasn’t sure what to do with this kind of tenderness.

Bakugo’s jaw tightened. “I don’t need—”

“I know.” Todoroki kissed the corner of his mouth. “Just relax, baby. Let me take care of you.”

His hands skimmed down Bakugo’s sides, not rushing, not forcing.

Bakugo grunted softly. “You don't gotta go all soft on me.”

Todoroki smiled faintly, thumb brushing along Bakugo’s ribs. “I know you don’t think you need it. But I want to give it anyway.”

That made Bakugo falter—just for a moment. He looked away like he was mad at himself for how much he liked that answer.

Todoroki kissed his chest again, then stood, nudging Bakugo backward until he was lying down.

Bakugo let him.

Todoroki climbed onto the bed beside him, tugging his own shirt off, not for show, just so there was nothing between them but skin and breath and the steady pulse of connection.

He straddled Bakugo’s hips and leaned down, foreheads touching.

“You’re not a weapon,” Todoroki murmured. “You’re not just some tool someone forged for battle.”

Bakugo’s eyes searched his, still stormy.

“You’re a man,” Todoroki said softly. “You feel things. You make mistakes. And you’re still worthy of being loved.”

Bakugo flinched, just barely.

And Todoroki kissed him again—deep this time. Slow. With purpose.

Bakugo kissed him back like he was falling and this was the only thing he trusted to catch him.

*

Todoroki moved slowly, giving Bakugo time to stop him—but he didn’t. He only gripped Todoroki’s hips tighter, anchoring himself like he didn’t trust the bed not to vanish out from under him.

Todoroki kissed a line down his throat, soft and open-mouthed, lips brushing every inch like he was learning him all over again.

When he reached Bakugo’s chest, he paused.

Pressed his palm flat over his heart.

Felt it race.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, like a promise.

Bakugo’s fingers slid into his hair, less to guide him, more to keep him there.

Todoroki slid down, kissing over the hard lines of his abdomen, slow and reverent.

Like Bakugo was something unholy.

He pushed Bakugo’s pants down carefully, helping him out of them without breaking eye contact. Not once.

Not when he leaned in.

Not when he took Bakugo's cock into his mouth, slow and unhurried.

Bakugo let out a broken sound, low and startled, like his breath had been punched out of him.

He didn’t speak.

Didn’t snarl or snap or crack a joke to cover how much it meant—he just tangled one hand in the sheets, the other in Todoroki’s hair, and breathed. Let it happen.

Todoroki kept his pace steady, watching him, reading him like scripture.

Giving, not taking. Not asking for anything.

Bakugo’s hips flexed, but he didn’t rush it.

Didn’t grind. Just moved with him, like his body trusted what his heart couldn’t say.

Todoroki’s touch was warm. Patient. Soothing in a way that made Bakugo feel like he was breaking apart at the seams.

And maybe he was.

Because the longer it went on, the more unbearable it became—the tenderness, the way Todoroki looked at him like he was worth saving.

Like his bruised knuckles and bloodstained thoughts didn’t scare him.

Bakugo sat up abruptly, muscles tense, eyes wild.

“Shoto,” he rasped, dragging him up by the arm. Not rough, but not soft either. “Stop.”

Todoroki slid Bakugo's cock out of his mouth with a soft, wet noise. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t—” Bakugo exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, the ends damp with sweat. “I can’t do the gentle shit right now.”

Todoroki blinked, sitting back on his heels. “Okay.”

“I need a distraction,” Bakugo bit out, voice hoarse. “I don’t wanna be careful. I don’t wanna be held like I’m broken. I wanna forget. Just for a little while.”

Todoroki’s expression tightened. “Kat—”

“Please,” Bakugo said, and the word hit like a punch to the ribs. “Just fucking—take it from me for a while. Make me feel something else. I can’t sit in it right now. I’ll drown.”

Todoroki was quiet, gaze flicking over him, like he was checking for cracks, for lies. “You’re allowed to feel,” he said eventually, soft but firm.

“I’ll feel tomorrow,” Bakugo snapped. “Right now I want you to push me. I want your teeth. I want your hands. I want you to fuck the day out of me.”

A beat of silence passed.

Todoroki’s eyes darkened, flickering with something ancient. Something hungry.

His voice dropped, low and careful. “You sure?”

Bakugo met his gaze, unflinching. “Yes.”

Todoroki didn’t move at first.

Just watched him.

Watched the tension rolling off Bakugo’s body, the way his hands curled like fists even when they weren’t, the way his chest rose and fell like he couldn’t catch a full breath.

Then—slowly—he stood.

His gaze never left Bakugo.

When he spoke again, his voice was different.

Sharper. “Stand up.”

Bakugo blinked, still sitting on the edge of the bed, breath ragged.

Todoroki stepped back, just far enough to make Bakugo follow.

“Come here.” A command, not a request.

Bakugo stared at him, something sparking behind his eyes—defiance, anticipation, relief.

He stood, and walked over.

Shoulders squared, breath still shaky.

Todoroki smiled. “Good,” he said. “Now... I'm gonna do what you asked me to, but don't hesitate to open your mouth if it hurts.”

And suddenly Todoroki was all over him.

He surged forward, all breathless force and fang, slamming Bakugo against the wall with a crack that echoed through the room.

Hands like iron. Mouth everywhere.

His lips crushed Bakugo’s in a kiss that was nothing short of violent—tongue hot and greedy, drinking him in like he was oxygen, like he’d been starving for a taste of sin and finally got permission to feast.

Bakugo barely managed a choked, “Shit—” before Todoroki bit him.

Just below the jaw.

Sharp. Shallow. Perfect.

Bakugo hissed through his teeth, the pain sparking across his skin like lightning.

He barely had time to catch his breath before another bite landed—right at the hinge of his collarbone.

Then another, lower.

Another, harder.

Tiny punctures bloomed like stars across his skin, just enough to let blood rise—each one sealed again by the push and pull of Slayer regeneration and Todoroki’s healing saliva, locked in some twisted symphony of pain and renewal.

But Todoroki was faster than the healing.

He kept biting.

“Fucking hell,” Bakugo gasped, clutching at Todoroki’s shoulders, nails digging in like anchors. “You lose your goddamn mind?”

Todoroki's breath was ragged. “I agreed to distract you,” he mumbled.

“Didn’t say you’d try to eat me standing—”

Todoroki shoved him harder into the wall, the force rattling through his spine. “Stay right there, and start prepping yourself.”

“You giving orders now?” Bakugo bared his teeth, but obeyed, and brought his fingers to his mouth to get them wet with his spit.

“I am,” Todoroki snarled—and sank his fangs into Bakugo’s shoulder.

Bakugo shouted, hips jerking, head falling back against the wall. He did his best to reach behind himself, nudging his opening with his fingers.

His legs buckled, but Todoroki was already there, holding him up by the waist like he weighed nothing.

Todoroki fed—not clean or neat or civilized, but in desperate, greedy bursts. Pulling just enough before dragging his tongue over the wounds, sealing them shut, marking Bakugo all over again.

A trail of healed scars blooming hot along his chest.

All while he rutted against him, hips moving in frantic rhythm, like his body couldn’t decide if it wanted blood or friction more.

“You’re—fuck—insane,” Bakugo panted.

“Not my fault you taste so good,” Todoroki groaned against his neck, words sticky with blood and lust.

Bakugo tried to pivot, to shove him toward the bed, somewhere stable, somewhere sane.

Todoroki refused.

He shoved him back to the wall again—hard enough to bruise. Mouth dragging down his chest with reckless hunger, more bites, more licks, more tongue, until Bakugo’s entire torso was flushed and trembling from the overstimulation.

“I said don’t fucking move,” Todoroki hissed.

Bakugo barked a breathless, unhinged laugh. “You gonna fuck me standing too?”

Todoroki reached between them, wrapped a hand around Bakugo’s cock and growled. “Obviously.”

And then he did.

In one brutal, beautiful motion, he hooked his arms under Bakugo’s thighs, lifted him clean off the ground, and pinned him to the wall like a crucifixion.

Bakugo’s legs locked instinctively around his waist, startled into place.

“You better not fucking drop me,” he managed, but there was laughter in it—ragged, exhilarated, drunk on adrenaline and arousal.

Todoroki smirked, eyes blazing. “Oh, don't worry. You're not going anywhere.”

And then he slammed into him—hard enough to make Bakugo gasp, all fight knocked clean out of him.

By the third thrust, Bakugo was moaning—mouth open, voice raw, muscles clenching around Todoroki with every piston-smooth grind of his hips.

Every thrust slammed him into the wall like Todoroki was trying to fuck the guilt out of his bones.

Every bite—to his throat, to his collarbone—was a brand.

Quick. Clean. Sealing too fast to scar, but burning in a way he’d never forget.

Todoroki licked a stripe up his neck. “I could keep you like this,” he whispered. “Feed off you forever.”

Bakugo’s nails dragged down his back, scoring skin. “Then fucking do it.”

Todoroki growled against his throat. “Don’t say that unless you mean it.”

Bakugo arched into him, wrecked and wanting. “What, scared I’ll like it too much?”

Todoroki answered by thrusting deep—hard enough to knock a sound out of Bakugo that was closer to a sob than a moan.

“I want you to like it,” Todoroki whispered, voice low and brutal.

His hands gripped beneath Bakugo’s thighs, keeping him suspended—legs spread, back slammed to the wall, nowhere to run.

“I want you to fall apart for me. Right here.”

Bakugo’s head dropped back with a thud, eyes fluttering.

His whole body jolted with every thrust, pinned and powerless in a way that should’ve pissed him off—but it didn’t.

It thrilled him.

“Fucking—god,” he gasped, fingers clawing at Todoroki’s shoulders like he couldn’t get close enough. “You’re—ngh—relentless.”

Todoroki licked into the curve of his jaw, biting just enough to make him twitch. “You can take it.”

“You smug undead bastard—” Bakugo’s protest broke off into a shattered moan as Todoroki adjusted his angle and slammed in deeper.

His legs twitched around Todoroki’s waist, muscles locking tight, but he didn’t fight it. Couldn’t.

He was clinging now—desperate hands in Todoroki’s hair, on his back, anywhere he could hold.

Todoroki didn’t let up—not for a second.

He was all heat and teeth and hunger, fucking him with a slow, devastating rhythm that felt deliberately cruel.

Not rough for the sake of it, but focused—each thrust placed with the kind of intent that said I know exactly how to break you, and I will.

“Still with me?” Todoroki murmured, lips brushing the shell of Bakugo’s ear.

Bakugo tried to speak. Failed. Gasped instead, hips twitching helplessly against Todoroki’s next grind.

“You wanted this.” Another thrust. Deep. Unforgiving. “You asked me to take it from you. Don’t pretend you’re not getting off on being ruined.”

“F-fuck you.”

Bakugo let out a ragged, broken sound and rocked his hips—helpless, chasing friction like it might save him.

His cock slid against Todoroki’s stomach, sticky and sensitive, leaving slick trails across sweat-damp skin.

“Fuck.” he gasped. “Shoto—please—”

Todoroki didn’t move faster. Didn’t let up. Just kept him there, pinned and grinding, letting him rut like an animal, desperate for release.

“God, look at you,” Todoroki said, voice low and steady while Bakugo trembled in his arms. “You're fucking perfect like this. You wanna come, baby?”

Bakugo nodded a few times, unable to respond.

Todoroki leaned in, lips brushing his ear. “Gonna come all over yourself like a good boy?”

Bakugo snapped.

Bakugo clenched around him, sobbed a curse, and came—hard—splattering between them as his whole body jerked.

His back bowed, head thrown back, mouth wide in a wordless, broken cry.

But Todoroki didn’t stop.

Didn’t slow down.

“Sh-Shoto—!”

“Not done.” His voice was calm. Steady.

Almost gentle—if not for the way he kept slamming into him like he was trying to fuck his name into the deepest parts of Bakugo’s body.

Bakugo writhed, hands scrambling for purchase—on Todoroki, on the wall, on anything solid—but he was floating. Falling.

Caught between pain and pleasure so sharp he couldn't tell the difference anymore.

“I c-can’t—”

“You can.” Another bite to his shoulder. “You are.”

Bakugo moaned into his neck, body trembling, cock twitching with overstimulation, legs threatening to give out even as they clung tighter.

Todoroki still didn’t stop.

“Just one more,” he whispered into Bakugo’s neck, tone calm, coaxing.

His hips moved slower now, but deeper—each thrust dragging another soft, broken noise from Bakugo’s throat.

“You can take it, Slayer.”

Bakugo couldn’t even respond—not with words.

Todoroki shifted, adjusting the angle, and—

Bakugo choked on a sob.

He was so sensitive—raw and sore and trembling—and Todoroki was still inside him, still moving, still feeding on every twitch, every ragged breath like it belonged to him.

“You want to come again?” Todoroki murmured against his throat, voice dark, steady. “Then touch yourself.”

Bakugo whined—actually whined—but one trembling hand slipped down between them.

His grip was clumsy, uncoordinated, every stroke more like a shudder. But he followed the order.

“That’s it,” Todoroki breathed. “Look how fucking pretty you are like this. Ruining yourself on my cock.”

Bakugo let out a broken, slurred sound that might’ve been his name.

His forehead dropped toward Todoroki’s, lips brushing sweat-slick skin as he gasped, “Feels so good—fuck—Sho, it’s so good—”

Todoroki kept fucking into him, deep and relentless, but his voice softened—just a fraction. “You’re doing so good, baby.”

“Don’t stop,” Bakugo rasped, voice hitching. “Please don’t stop—”

“I won’t.” Todoroki’s mouth brushed his ear, gentle and devastating. “Not until you give me every last drop.”

And then he bit.

Right below Bakugo’s collarbone this time. Not gentle. Not teasing.

The blood welled fast, warm against Todoroki’s lips as he sucked in a heavy mouthful.

Bakugo's body seized, then shuddered violently as another orgasm tore through him—sharp and uncontrollable.

His head fell forward onto Todoroki’s shoulder, mouth open in a silent gasp, his whole body trembling.

Todoroki drank deep. More than usual. More than he should’ve.

But Bakugo tasted like fire and fury and devotion, and Todoroki couldn't stop himself. Not until he felt Bakugo’s weight sag, his arms falling limp, his legs loosening around him.

Then, finally, he pulled back.

Todoroki let them both slide to the floor—slow, careful, until Bakugo was in his lap, curled and ruined, cradled against his chest.

Bakugo didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

His eyes were glassy, unfocused, lips parted, breath coming in shallow gasps. His whole body was trembling like he’d been shattered from the inside out.

Todoroki wrapped both arms around him and pressed a kiss to his temple, his neck, the bite still weeping blood. “Talk to me, baby. You alright?”

Bakugo's body felt like it had been struck by lightning and then folded into a pretzel. His legs were jelly.

His lungs were just catching on to the idea of breathing again. His brain? That had exited the building several orgasms ago.

“You’re heavy,” Bakugo finally mumbled, slurring around the consonants. “And I’m dying.”

“You’ll live,” Todoroki whispered.

“You bit me like—ten times. I'm not a chew toy, Sho.”

“Fourteen,” Todoroki corrected gently, not even a little sorry. “I was counting.”

“You’re an ass.”

“You told me to distract you.”

“Yeah, well. Mission accomplished, douchebag.”

Todoroki’s smile was slow and quiet, curling at the corners of his blood-slick mouth.

Then, with a tenderness that almost made Bakugo feral, Todoroki carefully adjusted his grip—one arm under Bakugo’s thighs, the other braced between his shoulder blades—and lifted him off the ground like he weighed nothing.

Bakugo groaned. “My spine…”

“You’ll heal in a few minutes.”

“Doesn’t mean I wanna be folded like a fucking beach chair—”

“Shh,” Todoroki murmured, carrying him toward the bed with all the eerie elegance of a vampire in love. “Just let me take care of you.”

Bakugo didn’t answer. Didn’t argue either.

He let himself be lowered onto the mattress, every muscle trembling, blood buzzing like Todoroki had left an echo in his veins.

And maybe he had.

Todoroki hovered over him for a second, like he was making sure nothing was broken—physically, emotionally, or otherwise.

His eyes softened. “Still with me?”

Bakugo blinked up at him, dazed. “Are you?”

Instead of answering, Todoroki leaned down and kissed him—slow and warm and sweet, just pressure and breath, no bite this time.

Bakugo closed his eyes and let himself fall into it.

When the kiss broke, Todoroki sat up and began gently wiping the blood from his skin with a nearby towel—slow strokes across his chest, his throat, the backs of his shoulders.

He paused over each healed wound like he was checking on a bruise he’d made, then kissed a few of them for good measure.

Bakugo hummed quietly.

It wasn’t a complaint.

“You’re gonna be sore,” Todoroki said.

“Worth it,” Bakugo muttered, already halfway boneless. “You, uh… you’re insane, by the way.”

Todoroki kissed his sternum. “I love you too.”

That earned him a groggy snort. “…Next time,” Bakugo mumbled, eyes fluttering shut, “bed first. Then wall.”

“Noted,” Todoroki said, and curled up beside him, hand finding his across the sheets.

***

Chapter Text

In the morning, the smell of eggs and butter filled the apartment, sunlight slanting through the windows like the universe had finally decided to give them a goddamn break.

Bakugo stood at the stove, bare legs out, hair a mess, wearing nothing but one of Todoroki’s long-sleeved shirts—which hit about mid-thigh and swayed dangerously when he moved too fast.

The sleeves were way too long, of course, cuffed sloppily halfway up his forearms, and the collar hung wide enough to show off the still-healing bite just under his collarbone.

The other bruises and marks had long since faded, but not that one. Todoroki may have pushed that last one a little too far.

Todoroki padded out of the bedroom on quiet feet, hair damp, phone in hand, only wearing a pair of soft cotton boxers.

He stopped in the doorway.

Blinking.

Processing.

And then smiled—slow and full of something dangerous. “You look so cute like that,” he said, voice low, like he was breaking a secret out into the open.

Bakugo had already sensed him standing there, turning toward him with a scowl already blooming. “Don’t start.”

But Todoroki ignored him, walking up close, fingers brushing his hip through the shirt hem, mouth pressing warm against the edge of Bakugo’s jaw. “You wear me well.”

“You’re literally just sayin’ shit to get a rise outta me—”

Another kiss, this time behind his ear. “Is it working?”

Bakugo growled—but it was the soft kind. The you’re-about-to-get-launched growl.

And then he proved it.

With zero warning, he dropped the spatula, gripped Todoroki under the thighs, and hauled him up onto the counter like he weighed nothing.

Todoroki laughed. Not quiet. Not polite.

Full-bellied, full-hearted, happy.

“Stay the fuck outta my kitchen,” Bakugo grumbled, nudging his knee between Todoroki’s legs. “I’m not letting your ridiculous limbs catch on fire or whatever.”

Todoroki just nodded sagely, already unlocking his phone. “I’ll supervise.”

“You’re the worst supervisor I’ve ever had.”

“That's a shame. You’re my favorite line cook,” Todoroki said, scrolling aimlessly, legs swinging lightly, completely unfazed by being manhandled onto cold granite in only a pair of underwear.

Bakugo glanced back over his shoulder, grunted, and immediately forgot what he was doing.

Those thighs.

That sharp cut of muscle at Todoroki’s hips.

The V line disappearing beneath the waistband.

The way his long fingers toyed lazily with the hem, like he didn’t even realize how good he looked—how ruinous he was, sitting there like some divine distraction sent to test Bakugo’s ability to multitask.

 “Goddamn it.” Bakugo turned off the burner, and walked back over. 

He felt like he had no other choice.

He shoved Todoroki’s knees apart with a pointed scowl and stood between them, eyes dragging slow over every inch of him.

Todoroki looked up from his phone, lips twitching. “Need something?” he asked, too smug for his own good.

Bakugo didn’t answer. Just tilted his head, eyes molten, expression unreadable except for the fact that he looked starving.

Todoroki let out a quiet giggle.

A real one.

This beast of a man who’d devoured him last night was now giggling on his kitchen counter—soft, sweet, like sunshine through fog.

*

No one really wanted to talk about the Kirishima incident, but they met on campus anyway, pulled together by guilt, worry, and unanswered questions.

The grass was warm beneath their legs, but the shade from the tree overhead kept the heat bearable.

They sat in a loose, uneven circle on the quad — backpacks tossed nearby, drinks sweating in their hands, exhaustion still clinging to all of them like fog.

Kirishima sat with his arms wrapped around his knees, gaze fixed on the ground.

“I’m sorry,” Kirishima muttered. “To all of you. For not saying something sooner. For lying. For attacking you, and scaring you, and... Everything.”

He winced. His side still ached, even through Uraraka’s spells.

Kirishima continued anyway. “I just didn’t want you to see me like that. I didn't know exactly what was happening to me, and... I was scared you’d—look at me differently.”

“You mean like a dangerous freak?” Kaminari said, his voice too casual to be serious.

Kirishima looked up, startled.

Kaminari gave him a crooked grin and nodded toward Todoroki. “Hate to break it to you, dude, but you’re not even the only monster here. Toto and I got you beat by a couple hundred years.”

Todoroki didn’t react. He just took another sip from his drink, eyes on the middle distance.

Bakugo, on the other hand, snapped. “Watch your mouth.”

Kaminari blinked, startled by the venom in his voice.

Todoroki glanced his way, silent for a moment, then said quietly, “It’s fine. He’s not wrong.”

“You’re not a monster,” Bakugo muttered, barely audible. “None of you.”

Uraraka reached out and placed a hand on Bakugo’s knee. “Hey. He didn’t mean it like that.”

Kirishima stared at the ground again. “Maybe I am though. You guys don't... Lose control, like I did. I mean I was barely even present when all that went down.”

“No,” Todoroki said. “You’re not a monster. You just need more time to get used to it.”

The group fell quiet again.

Then footsteps approached — soft, steady, familiar.

Aizawa.

He stopped in the grass beside them, hands in his pockets, gaze flicking from one student to the next. “I heard what happened.”

No one said anything.

Aizawa crouched down beside them — close enough to carefully lift Kirishima's shirt, to peek at Kirishima’s still-healing wound. “You holding together?” he asked softly.

Kirishima nodded. “I'm fine.”

Aizawa nodded back. “I’m not here to lecture you,” he said. “I’m here to plan.”

Kirishima looked nervous anyway.

Aizawa stood again and crossed his arms. “Tonight's the Moonfall. You shift again?”

Kirishima looked up, surprised. “How’d you—?”

“I pay attention,” Aizawa said. “And I know the pattern.”

Uraraka frowned. “Wait, what pattern? You change more than once a month?”

Midoriya shook his head. “Werewolves change three nights — the night before, the night of, and the night after the full moon. Lunar Crest, Full Moon and Moonfall, based on what I've read.”

Kirishima nodded. “Yeah. The day before the full moon... I felt it. Like something crawling under my skin. And then it happened again yesterday. Completely destroyed my apartment, but. I know it's my own fault.”

Aizawa looked at him carefully. “Then here’s what we’re going to do. You’re all coming to my place tonight. I’ll prep the basement. We’ll reinforce it, add some charms and a cage. You’ll shift where it’s safe. We’ll monitor it. Learn.”

Kirishima’s answer was immediate. “Okay. Yeah. I want that.”

“Good,” Aizawa said. “Because I don’t think you’re dangerous. But we’re going to make sure of it.”

“Wait,” Kaminari said, eyebrows raised. “You want all of us at your place?”

“Unless you’d prefer I send him to a government facility for paranormal containment,” Aizawa said dryly.

“Nope. Your house is great,” Kaminari said quickly.

Uraraka looked at Kirishima. “Do you... want us there? Really?”

“I want people I trust,” Kirishima said, voice steady. “And I trust you.”

There it was again — that silence. Not heavy this time. Just full.

Todoroki leaned back on his elbows in the grass. “Never been invited to a slumber party before,” he said flatly. “Should be fun.”

*

Todoroki’s house stood like a concrete monolith against the trees, tucked far enough from the road that you wouldn’t notice it unless you were looking.

It was all sharp edges and shadow—half safehouse, half mausoleum. Fitting.

Bakugo parked the bike out front, killed the engine, and didn’t even get off before yelling, “Helmet.”

From the open doorway, Todoroki emerged in his usual layered coat, a duffel slung over one shoulder and an expression of pure, frosty defiance.

“I’m not wearing the damn helmet.”

Bakugo tossed it at him anyway. “Too bad.”

Todoroki caught it mid-air with a scowl, but didn’t argue. Not really.

Instead, he walked to the bike, unzipped his duffel, and casually dropped Bakugo’s bag inside.

“Hey—what are you—”

“It fits,” Todoroki said, swinging the now double-loaded bag over his back and climbing onto the bike. “I’ll carry it.”

Bakugo rolled his eyes but didn’t fight him on it.

He reached back and clipped the helmet under Todoroki’s chin, ignoring the dramatic sigh that followed.

“You done pouting?”

“I’m just saying,” Todoroki muttered, arms sliding around his waist as they took off, “Wearing a helmet when I’m undead feels a little redundant. Like putting a Band-Aid on a skeleton.”

“Cry about it, corpse boy. Safety first.”

The road was quiet. Long stretches of empty highway, the sun still trying to set.

Bakugo’s eyes narrowed just in time to see the figure step into the road.

Not walking.

Lurching.

“Shit—” Bakugo growled, and slammed on the brakes.

The tires shrieked.

The bike skidded, but not far—Bakugo was too good for that.

Todoroki’s arms tightened around him instinctively, steadying them both.

And then they saw it.

The thing standing just feet away—hulking, stitched, twitching.

One arm longer than the other. Joints bent wrong. Head cocked like it wasn’t sure which way to look.

It twitched like a puppet with cut strings.

Another one.

Another hybrid.

Bakugo didn’t even wait for it to move.

“Go,” he barked, and Todoroki jumped off the bike, landing in a crouch.

The demon let out a wet, garbled shriek—

And lunged at them.

*

The screech of tires still rang through the air when Todoroki hit the ground, knees bending to absorb the impact.

In one smooth motion, he yanked the helmet off and tossed it aside—barely hearing it clatter across the road.

The creature was already moving.

Unnatural limbs bent at jarring angles as it sprinted, mouth open in a jagged sneer, eyes too far apart.

Something that might have once been two demons, now sewn into one wrong body.

Todoroki didn’t wait.

He launched forward—swift, silent, and brutal. A fist to the gut. A sweeping kick.

He dropped low and conjured a spike of ice, driving it toward the creature’s chest.

It dodged at the last second and landed a backhand across Todoroki’s face.

The blow wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t precise.

But it hit. Todoroki stumbled back, lip split, blood bright in his mouth—and that was all it took for his instincts to kick in.

The moment his fangs dropped, it wasn’t voluntary. Just reflex.

The demon saw.

It stopped moving.

And then—it spoke. “Traitor.”

Todoroki froze.

The voice was guttural, warped, layered with too many mouths. “You fight for them,” it growled. “For the Slayer. You turn your fangs against your own.”

Todoroki didn’t answer. Couldn’t. The shock of being recognized—called out—clawed through him like a second strike.

And that hesitation almost cost him.

The demon lunged again.

But Bakugo was already there.

He moved like fire. Controlled fury. Fists swinging, blade out in one smooth motion—small, silver, and blessed.

The creature roared and struck, but Bakugo was faster—ducking under its swing, slashing once across its back, then spinning and driving the blade clean through its side.

A burst of steam. A cracking hiss.

And then—

Ash.

Just like the one Midoriya sketched. Just like the one they didn’t understand.

The thing crumbled to nothing at Bakugo’s feet.

Bakugo stepped back, panting, blade still raised. The wind scattered what was left.

And for a long moment, neither of them moved.

*

Ash still clung to the air when Bakugo exhaled, short and sharp, and slipped his blade back into its sheath.

He stepped forward, brushing a few flakes from Todoroki’s shoulder with the flat of his hand.

“You good?” Bakugo asked, scanning the pale cut along Todoroki’s jaw.

Todoroki touched it, fingers coming away bloody. “I can probably heal it,” he said, but his voice was distant. Distracted.

Bakugo narrowed his eyes.

“Well,” he muttered, trying to tug the mood back into familiar territory, “maybe if you were wearing your damn helmet, you wouldn’t have gotten bitch-slapped by a science project.”

No response.

Todoroki bent, picked the helmet out of the road, and slipped it on.

No sigh. No lecture about being undead. Just…put it on.

That pinged every alarm in Bakugo’s spine.

He stomped over, boots crunching asphalt, and flipped the visor up with more force than was strictly required. “Oi. Look at me.”

Todoroki blinked up at him, eyes unreadable behind the protective shell.

“You okay?” Bakugo asked, low and firm.

Todoroki’s gaze skated off. Still no answer.

Bakugo hooked two fingers under the rim and tugged him back into line—firm, not cruel. “Hey. Talk to me, babe.”

Todoroki’s breath caught.

And then, finally, he nodded once. “I’m just…” His voice was quieter now, steadier. “That was crazy right?”

“Yeah,” Bakugo said. “No shit. That thing talked to you.”

Todoroki nodded again, like he was trying to make sense of it. “It knew what I was. And it cared. Like it was trying to shame me.”

Bakugo didn’t let go. He just let his grip soften.

“We’ll figure it out,” he said. “We’ll talk to Aizawa when we get there. Maybe Kaminari. If anyone’s seen something like that before, it’s probably that demon-turned-human bastard.”

Todoroki finally cracked a smile. Barely.

Bakugo let him go and stepped back. “Get on.”

Todoroki adjusted the helmet and swung onto the bike behind him, arms looping around Bakugo’s waist the same way they always did.

But his grip was tighter than usual.

And neither of them said a word as they sped off toward Aizawa’s.

***

Chapter Text

“—I’m just saying,” Midoriya was mid-rant, voice pitching slightly with concern, “alcohol probably isn’t a good idea tonight.”

Kaminari was halfway through cracking open a can of something neon and unidentifiable. “Relax, Mom. I’m not getting wasted. Just a little buzzed. It's Friday night.”

Kirishima, already sitting on the edge of the cot Aizawa had shoved into one corner of the basement, gave a tired smile. “It’s fine, man. Go ahead. I don’t want anyone getting blackout drunk in case I go full rabid horror movie, but like... don’t put your lives on hold because of me.”

Midoriya still looked a little nervous, but he smiled and nodded anyway.

Kirishima did his best to reassure him.

“It’s okay,” Kirishima said, softer now. “I’ll shout if I need you to tackle me mid-transformation.”

Uraraka reached into the cooler and pulled out a can with a glittery label that read “Eldritch Lime!” and popped it open with a hiss. “Copy that, Red. Hope Denny brought his little bottle opener.”

“You know I did,” Kaminari bumped his can against hers, already grinning.

Aizawa exhaled like he'd aged ten years in one breath and gestured to Kirishima. “Moon’ll be up within the hour. Let’s go.”

Kirishima stood and followed without complaint, stepping toward the reinforced cage Aizawa had rigged in the back corner of the basement.

Salt lines, silver bolts, layered wards glowing faintly against the cement.

It was overkill. It was necessary.

“I feel like a zoo exhibit,” Kirishima said lightly as the cage door clanged open.

“You’re a protected zoo exhibit,” Aizawa corrected. “With friends.”

Midoriya, still hovering near the cooler but not touching it, gave him a small smile. “I think I'll stay sober for this one... Might get crazy.”

“Not surprised,” Kaminari said, already plopping onto the couch with a dramatic sigh.

Uraraka perched on the armrest beside Midoriya, her can already half-empty. She nudged his arm. “One sip?”

He hesitated. “I—”

“C’mon,” she said, grinning. “It’s lemon lime. How could you say no?”

He took the can, blushing faintly, and sipped.

Not because it was lemon lime. But because it was her asking.

Nearby, Kaminari tried to open a second bottle with his tiny keychain opener and immediately sliced his finger.

“Ow.” he hissed, shaking it.

“Saw that coming,” Uraraka said, “do you need a Band-Aid?”

Kaminari lifted his bleeding finger and grinned. “It’s fine! I’m still having fun.”

Aizawa rolled his eyes as he finished locking Kirishima into the cage. “I’ll get a bandage. Try not to bleed into anything magical.”

Just then, the front door creaked open upstairs.

Boots on concrete steps.

Bakugo was the first through the basement door, scowl already locked in place.

Todoroki followed behind, still carrying the duffel like it weighed nothing.

“Finally,” Kaminari said. “We were about to start a ritual without you.”

“He's lying,” Midoriya stood up, eyes widening the second he saw Todoroki’s face. “Wait—what happened to your face? Are you okay?”

Bakugo stepped between them without hesitation. “Back off, nerd. He’s got enough people to worry about him.”

Todoroki, deadpan: “He means himself.”

Midoriya blinked. “I was just—”

“I know,” Todoroki said gently, lifting one hand in surrender. “I’m sorry. He makes it so hard for me to make friends.”

Bakugo scoffed. “You don't need friends. You got me.”

“You see what I’m dealing with?” Todoroki said, pouting now. “No one likes us, Suki.”

Behind them, Kirishima laughed from inside the cage, low and sheepish. “Thanks for coming, guys.”

Todoroki’s expression shifted slightly—softer now. “Of course.”

And across the room, the light from the windows began to dim.

The moon wasn’t up yet.

But it was coming.

*

Aizawa, looking like he regretted every second of this plan, stood in front of the ancient TV in the corner of the basement, clicking slowly through the most depressing queue of free horror movies any of them had ever seen.

“You know what’s really horrifying?” Kaminari muttered, flopped upside down on the loveseat. “How misrepresented demons are in media.”

“We’re not watching anything with a demon in it,” Aizawa said flatly.

“Coward,” Kaminari said.

Eventually, Aizawa settled on something old and black-and-white that none of them recognized. It was background noise at best.

The rest of the group had scattered—couches, chairs, floor cushions and a cage.

The atmosphere, for once, was almost relaxed.

Midoriya stood beside Kirishima’s cage, holding out a few well-worn sketching pencils and a little clipboard of paper. “I was thinking, maybe I could sketch you in wolf form? Y’know, just for fun. Might help pass the time. Is that... Weird?”

Kirishima perked up immediately. “Are you kidding? I’m framing that. It’s going on the cage wall. Make me look ripped.”

“You’re already ripped,” Kaminari called from across the room.

Kirishima grinned. “Then just add fur and danger.”

Across the basement, Uraraka leaned forward on the couch, peering at Todoroki’s jaw with her brows furrowed.

The gash from earlier hadn’t closed all the way.

“Can I heal that?” she asked, hovering her fingers over the bruise.

Todoroki glanced at her. “I can do it. I just haven't felt like it yet.”

Bakugo made a face. “You gonna try to spit on your own face?”

“With magic. Not spit.”

Uraraka giggled. “Come on, Roki. Let me help you like you always help me. Plus, it's good practice for me.”

Todoroki tilted his head. “Are you proposing a healing partnership?”

“Obviously,” she said. “Team Spit.”

Bakugo groaned and buried his face in his hands. “I don't know why I tolerate any of you.”

Uraraka didn't even glance at him. “Because we're hot, mostly.”

Aizawa rolled his eyes, and headed back upstairs. Likely to grab something else, or maybe just get a break from these young adults.

Kaminari bounced up from his chair and wandered over with a can in hand, grinning like he wanted to be part of the fun. “Hey, you want one, Batboy? Something bubbly to go with that emotional growth?”

“I'm not a bat. That's a myth.” Todoroki corrected him, but still accepted the drink without hesitation.

Then his eyes caught the blood.

A thin, red line along Kaminari’s finger—dried but visible.

Todoroki’s gaze locked onto it.

Everything shifted.

The room dimmed.

Stillness crept in like fog.

“Ah,” Kaminari said with a nervous laugh. “Still figuring out bottle openers. Human tools are such a pain.”

Todoroki didn’t laugh. He stared.

Then—without warning—he shoved the drink into Bakugo’s chest and stood.

Slowly. Silently.

The air thickened.

His fangs dropped.

Kaminari’s smile faltered. “…Toto?”

Todoroki took a step closer.

Eyes locked.

Expression unreadable.

The room went dead quiet.

Even the old movie on the TV felt too loud.

Uraraka backed away from Kaminari, eyes wide. “Wait—”

Bakugo stood too, already halfway between them, voice low and tense. “Shoto.”

Todoroki didn’t respond.

He stepped even closer, head tilted slightly, one fang glinting beneath the flicker of fluorescent light.

Bakugo’s hand twitched toward his belt, where something sharp probably lived. “You lose control, I’ll make you regret it. I don’t care how pretty your face is.”

Kaminari laughed, but it cracked. “Okay. Ha. You’re... you’re fucking with me.” He tried to force confidence, but it still sounded nervous.

Todoroki stopped just in front of him.

The tension snapped taut.

Then— He smirked.

Kaminari stared for a beat, and then shoved his shoulder with a snort. “You asshole.”

Todoroki’s smirk grew, fangs still out. “I’m learning humor.”

“Not at my expense, you’re not,” Kaminari muttered, pressing a hand to his chest. “We're supposed to be a team. And you nearly gave me a cardiac event.”

Midoriya let out the breath he’d been holding, hand pressed over his own heart. “Christ. I think I did have a cardiac event.”

Bakugo rolled his eyes and shoved Todoroki’s shoulder. “Don’t joke about eating people. We talked about this.”

Todoroki gave an overly dramatic bow, one hand over his heart like a theater kid finishing a monologue. “I know, I know. But it was sorta funny right?”

From the cage, Kirishima grinned. “It was funny, dude. I support this new vampire mischief arc.”

And for a moment—just a moment—everyone laughed.

The movie kept playing. The tension eased.

And upstairs, through the clouds, the moon was beginning to rise.

*

In one corner of the room, Uraraka’s hand glowed gently, suspended just over Todoroki’s jaw.

The cut was shallow but stubborn, and they’d both agreed to try their combined magic—“just to test compatibility,” she’d said with a wink.

Their voices murmured in soft tandem, her chant lilting and rhythmic, his slower, colder—almost a growl.

It was strange, hearing them speak in languages no one else could quite identify.

Witchcraft and vampiric dialects, intertwining like twin threads of the same power.

Midoriya stood nearby, sketchpad forgotten in his lap, watching Uraraka like she’d hung the moon herself.

Bakugo didn’t notice—he was too busy gesturing sharply at Aizawa and Kaminari. “I’m telling you,” he said, low but firm, “it talked. Looked Shoto in the face and called him a traitor.”

“That’s not normal,” Kaminari muttered, one hand fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “Demons that talk usually look human. Like, vaguely human at least. That thing was stitched together like a butcher’s sketchbook.”

Aizawa frowned. “Maybe they're evolving.”

Kaminari blinked. “How?”

“If someone’s combining demons and giving them intelligence,” Aizawa said slowly, “they’re not just making monsters. They’re making soldiers.”

The room seemed to dip in temperature.

Kaminari’s voice dropped. “Oh.”

Before the dread could settle too deep, it was interrupted by the sound of a pencil hitting the floor.

Midoriya’s voice broke the tension, light and distracted. “Kiri, if this turns out looking like a muppet, I want you to pretend it’s dignified.”

Kirishima laughed softly from inside the cage. “Nah, if it’s bad I’m absolutely hanging it up anyway. Art is vulnerability, man.”

Midoriya chuckled, still talking as he leaned forward to pick up the pencil he’d dropped. “Okay, but I’m just saying, you don’t want your werewolf debut looking like—”

CLANG.

A flash of movement.

Todoroki moved faster.

In an instant, he reached across the space, grabbed Midoriya by the back of his hoodie, and yanked him back.

Midoriya stumbled, confused, his hand still halfway to the pencil—

Just as a massive, clawed hand slammed into the bars of the cage. The metal groaned.

Everyone froze.

Midoriya looked up.

And what he saw wasn’t Kirishima anymore.

Well... It was, and it wasn't.

Fur. Fangs. Eyes glowing faint gold in the basement’s low light.

Shoulders too broad for the cage. Chest heaving with deep, ragged breaths.

The werewolf let out a snarl so loud it shook the floorboards.

Midoriya’s voice cracked. “...Kiri?”

The creature snarled again, slamming a claw against the bars once more before pacing violently in a circle, rattling the cage.

“Shit,” Bakugo muttered, already moving to Todoroki’s side. “That’s on me. Should’ve kept track of the damn moon.”

Kaminari scrambled to Midoriya’s side. “You okay?”

Midoriya nodded numbly, clutching the pencil like a dagger. “Yeah. I—I didn’t even hear him move.”

The cage rattled again—loud, sharp. One of the silver bolts holding the bottom corner scraped against the cement with a metallic screech.

Kirishima—what was left of him—paced with heavy, lurching steps.

His claws dragged sparks across the bars with every pass. His breathing came hard and fast, nostrils flaring like he could smell the sweat rising in the room.

“Don’t panic,” Aizawa said flatly.

Kirishima lunged at the bars again. The metal groaned.

Aizawa didn’t even flinch. “This is normal. He’s just adjusting to the cage. Figuring out his boundaries.” He stepped closer. “Give him ten minutes, maybe fifteen. He’ll get tired. Settle down.”

Bakugo didn’t look convinced. “He’s trying to punch through steel with his face.”

“And yet,” Aizawa said calmly, “he hasn't.”

The werewolf snarled again, raking a claw across the reinforced door. Sparks flew.

Aizawa turned to the group, eyes hard now. “Listen. This is manageable. But I need everyone alert. If he gets out, you don’t try to fight him. You run. Unless you're a vampire or the Slayer, you run. Got it?”

Midoriya nodded quickly. Uraraka swallowed hard and grabbed a salt pouch from the table, holding it like a stress ball.

Aizawa passed Kaminari the first aid kit. “Patch your finger. No more bleeding.”

“Right. Totally. On it,” Kaminari said, voice an octave too high.

Behind Midoriya, Uraraka watched the cage without blinking, her expression tight, shoulders hunched like she was trying to make herself smaller.

Todoroki moved toward the cage slowly, carefully, one hand raised in a neutral gesture. “Can he still understand us? Hear us?”

“Probably,” Aizawa said. “But don’t get close. He’s not your friend right now.”

Kirishima—or the thing inside his skin—let out a low growl, shoulders rolling, gold eyes fixed unblinking on Todoroki’s throat.

There was no recognition in those eyes. No hesitation. Just hunger.

Todoroki froze. “…Yeah,” he said. “I noticed.”

Bakugo grabbed his arm and pulled him back. “Alright, Crypt Keeper. Not a petting zoo.”

The werewolf paced again. Still snarling. Still testing.

But not breaking through.

Not yet.

***

Chapter Text

CLANG.

The werewolf slammed against the bars again—harder this time. Metal groaned.

A low, animalistic growl reverberated through the basement like thunder rolling beneath their feet.

“Back up,” Aizawa snapped, already moving in front of the cage. “Everyone—now.”

They scattered on instinct.

Midoriya stumbled, still clutching his sketchpad. Kaminari looked stunned, rooted to the spot until Bakugo yanked him out of the way.

“Uraraka, Todoroki,” Aizawa said sharply, turning toward them, “I want every protection charm you’ve got. If the cage fails, that spellwork’s our only line of defense.”

Uraraka’s face paled. “I—I don’t know if I know one strong enough—”

Todoroki touched her elbow gently. “I do.”

She blinked up at him.

“Come on,” he said, already reaching for the satchel of supplies she’d brought. “I’ll teach you.”

She followed without hesitation.

In the corner of the room, Midoriya had already dropped into a crouch, flipping to a clean page in his sketchbook.

His pencil moved fast, strokes messy but precise—capturing the beast pacing inside the cage, claws clicking on the concrete floor.

Kaminari didn’t move at first.

He just stared.

At the creature.

At Kirishima. His best friend.

The friend he’d known for years, who now snarled and slammed himself against reinforced steel.

He swallowed hard.

Aizawa turned toward him. “Kaminari.”

He startled. “Y-Yeah?”

“Stay back. Watch. Take notes.”

“But I—”

“I know who it is.” Aizawa’s voice was calm but ironclad. “But you can’t help him like this. Keep your distance. Be ready to act if I say so.”

Kaminari gave a jerky nod and backed up, planting himself behind Midoriya. “I got you, man,” he muttered, more to Kirishima than anyone.

Bakugo hadn’t moved from the center of the room.

He stood perfectly still, watching the creature inside the cage. His eyes flicked between the claws, the teeth, the way it moved like it was testing every inch of its prison for weakness.

He’d already fought it once.

And he could feel it coming again.

Aizawa turned to him last. “Bakugo.”

Bakugo didn’t look away from the cage. “I know. I’m ready.”

He rolled his shoulders once, loosening his neck. His hands flexed by his sides, coiled with tension.

Inside the cage, the werewolf reared up again and threw itself at the bars.

They held.

For now.

Todoroki’s voice echoed from the other side of the room, low and even as he chanted in tandem with Uraraka. Their hands moved together over glowing salt lines, drawing sigils into the floor, sketching power into the walls.

A steadying pulse of magic began to hum through the basement like a second heartbeat.

The werewolf snarled again and turned its glowing eyes on Bakugo.

And Bakugo… growled right back.

*

The mood had finally started to settle, a few hours later.

Kirishima was curled up inside the cage, shaggy fur rising and falling slowly with each breath. It was almost peaceful. Almost like he was sleeping.

Midoriya was kneeling nearby, eyes darting between the pencil in his hand and the half-finished sketch in his lap.

Uraraka leaned over one shoulder, her chin practically resting against his bicep as she watched him work, quiet and content.

Todoroki sat cross-legged near one of the glowing ward circles, tuning the protective charm with a practiced fingertip.

Beside him, Kaminari had drifted closer to the cage again—still a safe distance, but clearly fighting the urge to be near.

Bakugo jogged down the stairs, two water bottles tucked under his arm and another already passed off to Midoriya.

He stopped in front of Kaminari.

Held out the bottle.

Kaminari blinked, almost like he didn’t notice him at first.

Then he took it.

But he didn't look away from the cage.

Bakugo hesitated, then reached down and ruffled his hair, rough but not unkind. “He’s tough,” he said. “He’ll be okay.”

Kaminari nodded, barely.

Bakugo left him with that.

He crossed the basement and dropped down next to Todoroki—more like onto him, really—legs slung over his lap, arm behind his back, like they were lounging at home.

Todoroki raised an eyebrow. “You have no respect for personal space.”

Bakugo shoved the bottle into his hands. “Shut up and drink it.”

“I don’t need water.”

“You also don’t need to whine about helmets, but here we are.”

Uraraka snorted.

Midoriya gave Todoroki a look that said just let him, and Todoroki did his best impression of a pout.

“I’m terribly mistreated,” Todoroki told them solemnly. “He’s so cruel to me.”

Bakugo smacked his chest. “Shut the hell up.”

“You’re all witnesses,” Todoroki said, turning to the others. “Abuse.”

“Emotional resilience training,” Bakugo corrected, grabbing Todoroki’s chin and tilting it to inspect the still-fading mark on his jaw. “You’ll thank me later.”

“Sure I will.”

Midoriya laughed quietly, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear as he leaned into Uraraka.

The room had started to feel light again.

Which is exactly when everything went to shit.

Aizawa appeared at the top of the basement stairs, eyes scanning automatically for anything off.

He stopped cold halfway down. “Kaminari—Back up!”

Too late.

Kaminari had stretched out on his side near the cage, just a little closer, just trying to be near Kirishima in whatever way he could.

He didn’t see the blur of motion until claws sank into his arm.

He shouted—high and sharp, all instinct and pain—and twisted back, trying to yank free.

The wolf inside the cage growled, yanking harder.

Kaminari’s feet kicked against the floor, scrambling for leverage.

And then everything moved at once.

Todoroki was there in a blink—dropped to his knees beside Kaminari, fangs bared. He didn’t hesitate.

He sank them into the thick, furred wrist gripping Kaminari, biting deep, hard.

The werewolf howled.

The claws loosened.

Bakugo grabbed Kaminari by the shoulders and ripped him back, pulling him against his chest and immediately pressing down on the bleeding arm.

Kaminari gasped, eyes wide. “I’m okay, I’m okay, I—”

“Shut up,” Bakugo said, voice tight. “You’re bleeding.”

“Still okay—!”

“You fuckin' dumbass, what the fuck were you thinking getting that close to the cage?”

Uraraka was already scrambling for her kit. “Hold on—I’ve got herbs. I can stop the bleeding—”

Midoriya froze in place, clutching his sketchpad like a shield.

He couldn’t look away from the way the creature—Kirishima—snarled and paced, back on all fours, fangs glinting behind bloodstained lips.

Todoroki stood slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

His fangs retracted. His eyes were cold and sharp.

“Everyone stay back,” Aizawa barked, rushing the last of the stairs and helping Uraraka press cloth to Kaminari’s wound. “I know he's your friend, but right now he's a dangerous animal. Okay? Please don't lose sight of that. You know he'll be kicking himself tomorrow if any of you get seriously hurt.”

The room had fallen completely silent again.

And in that heavy quiet, Kaminari—still trembling—whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Bakugo turned to him, eyes narrow. “What?”

Kaminari didn’t meet his gaze. He looked at the cage.

At the wolf still snarling inside.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I know it’s not him right now, but... it is. And I scared him. He didn’t mean to hurt me. I was just too close. I was stupid.”

Bakugo didn’t speak.

Todoroki did. “You weren’t stupid.”

Kaminari looked at him, surprised.

“You were kind. That’s all.”

And then, for a long time, no one said anything.

They just sat in that flickering basement, surrounded by protective charms and blood-soaked cloth and the kind of silence that came when reality hit harder than any demon ever could.

*

The moon had started to sink by the time the growling stopped.

Inside the cage, the creature slumped forward. Shaggy fur began to thin. Claws retracted.

The monster unwound itself back into something human—bone by bone, muscle by muscle—until it was just Kirishima again.

Curled on his side.

Breathing shallow and slow.

Unconscious.

The room didn’t move at first. No one did.

Then Aizawa walked over, keys in hand, and unlocked the cage.

He didn’t say a word—just stepped inside, draped a thick blanket over Kirishima’s body, and turned back to the group with the heaviest sigh any of them had heard all night.

“It’s over,” he muttered. “Everyone get some sleep.”

He climbed the stairs without looking back.

No one argued.

Not even Kaminari.

But as soon as Aizawa’s footsteps disappeared overhead, Kaminari stood.

His arm was newly bandaged, tight and clean.

He didn’t say anything to the others—just quietly picked up another blanket from the couch and stepped into the cage without hesitation.

He didn’t touch Kirishima.

Just curled up a few feet away and pulled the blanket up to his chin.

Finally letting his eyes close.

Midoriya was already half-asleep on the couch, slumped sideways with his mouth open and his sketchpad hanging off the edge of the cushion.

Uraraka smiled at him fondly, grabbed one of the last spare blankets, and gently tossed it over him.

She climbed in beside him without a sound, her back pressed to his, and within minutes, her breathing matched his perfectly.

The quiet that followed felt earned.

Heavy. But safe.

Todoroki hadn’t moved.

He was still watching the cage—watching Kirishima’s unconscious form with the same sharpness he always wore after a fight. As if danger might still be hiding in the air.

Bakugo shifted from his spot in the recliner, already settling in, and cracked one eye open. “Oi.”

Todoroki glanced over.

Bakugo held out his arms.

Didn’t say anything else.

Todoroki rolled his eyes. But only a little.

He padded over slowly, and all but collapsed into Bakugo’s lap, limbs awkward and long, like a cat trying to figure out how to sit on a ledge that’s too small.

They made it work.

Barely.

Todoroki pressed a soft kiss to Bakugo’s mouth before tucking his head beneath his chin, letting the blanket fall over both of them.

Bakugo exhaled. Arms wrapping around him tightly. Like instinct.

Like home.

“Thanks,” Todoroki murmured against his skin, too quiet for anyone else to hear.

Bakugo didn’t answer.

But his grip tightened slightly.

And then the basement dimmed, heavy with breath and warmth, the first hints of sunrise curling through the old windowpanes.

***

Chapter Text

Aizawa shuffled out of his room like a sleep-deprived cryptid, shirtless, sweatpants low, hair somehow more chaotic than usual.

He made it to the coffee machine with the posture of a man who had fought God and lost.

No one spoke.

Not even Kaminari.

He poured a full mug of coffee—black, of course—took one long sip, and turned to face the room with the haunted gaze of a man who’d housed six emotionally volatile young adults during a full moon.

“If you burn my kitchen down,” he said slowly, “I will not stop you. But I will be very disappointed.”

Then he turned and disappeared down the hallway again.

No one questioned it.

In the kitchen, Midoriya was working the stove with the precision of a surgeon. Pancakes stacked high, scrambled eggs in a pan, bacon sizzling.

Kirishima stood next to him, already eating.

Not finished food. Ingredients.

He had a strip of half-cooked bacon in one hand and a spoonful of batter in the other.

Midoriya didn’t even flinch. “You know that’s not how breakfast works, right?”

“I know, sorry,” Kirishima groaned through a mouthful. “I just—feel like I haven’t eaten in a week.”

Midoriya just laughed and handed him a plate.

At the table, Bakugo sat with a steaming mug in hand, watching Todoroki with the single-minded focus of someone who'd die before looking away.

Todoroki, meanwhile, was studying Kaminari’s arm.

Kaminari lifted the bandaged hand with a shrug. “It’s really not that bad,” he said. “Barely even hurts. Honestly.”

Uraraka, sitting cross-legged in her chair with coffee cradled in both hands, frowned. “If you give me like, ten minutes to wake up, I can heal that. I just need to grab my bag.”

Kaminari waved her off. “No big deal.”

Bakugo grumbled something sharp under his breath, but before he could fully speak, Kirishima spoke up from the kitchen.

“It is a big deal,” he said, stepping into the room. He was holding his plate like it was an afterthought, his eyes glued to the bandage on Kaminari’s arm. “I really am sorry, Kami.”

Kaminari tilted his head. “And you're forgiven, dummy. Not like it was on purpose.”

Kirishima blinked, then smiled sheepishly. “I just—I feel bad, man. I know I didn’t mean to, but it still sucks seeing you hurt ‘cause of me.”

Kaminari gave him a lopsided grin. “I’m not even mad. It's gonna make a wicked scar.”

But Todoroki didn’t look convinced.

“I can heal it,” he said quietly. “If Katsuki's okay with it.”

That got the room’s attention.

Everyone looked at Bakugo.

Bakugo squinted. “The spit thing?”

Todoroki nodded.

“Yeah, I don’t give a shit.”

But he did.

He just didn’t realize it until Todoroki stepped close to Kaminari, reached out gently, and said, “Tell me if it feels strange.”

Bakugo’s jaw tensed.

Kaminari, already used to Todoroki’s dramatics, held out his arm with a crooked smile. “You’re the doctor.”

Todoroki reached out, fingers brushing Kaminari’s wrist before gently peeling the bandage away.

Todoroki leaned in and licked a long stripe under the bandage, his touch careful, his eyes trained on the skin beneath.

His tongue dragged over the wound in one clean motion, and by the time Kaminari blinked, the skin was already knitting closed.

The whole table watched in awe.

Kirishima, chewing with his mouth open, muttered, “That’s actually kinda dope.”

Kaminari flexed his fingers, impressed. “Dude. Thank you. That’s wild. Like, if I could do that, I’d never use Neosporin again.”

Todoroki stepped back, wiping the corner of his mouth on a napkin like this was completely normal behavior.

Bakugo scowled into his coffee.

Midoriya leaned over to Uraraka and whispered, “Kinda intimate, no?”

Uraraka whispered back, “For sure.”

Bakugo did not need to hear that.

He stood abruptly and stalked to the fridge for absolutely no reason, muttering under his breath to Todoroki, “Better not catch you licking anyone else. You're not a damn dog.”

Todoroki blinked, looking vaguely proud of himself. “Are you jealous?”

“Shut up.”

Todoroki smiled into his mug. “That’s not a no.”

Bakugo slammed the fridge shut.

And yet—when he passed back by the table, he still reached out, grabbed Todoroki’s chin, and kissed him square on the mouth. “Next time,” he muttered, “you ask me for permission first.”

Todoroki, dazed, nodded once. “Okay.”

There was a pause.

Midoriya blinked. “Didn’t he literally ask you just now?”

Uraraka nodded, lips pressed together to keep from laughing. “Yeah, he totally asked.”

“I concur,” Kaminari added, lifting his bandaged hand like he was in court.

Kirishima grinned around a mouthful of pancake. “This feels like slander, but the friendly kind.”

Bakugo’s eye twitched. “You’re all dead to me.”

Todoroki's response came first. “Just me, Suki.”

“Dead?” Kaminari gasped dramatically. “You’d kill a poor injured human who was just healed by your hot vampire boyfriend?”

“Seriously,” Uraraka said. “That’s cold, man.”

Midoriya placed a solemn hand on Bakugo’s shoulder. “This is exactly how villains are born.”

Bakugo growled and brushed him off like a bug. “I hate all of you.”

But his ears were pink.

Todoroki leaned back in his chair with a quiet smirk. “I feel very supported right now,” he said softly.

Kaminari raised his drink. “To emotional support!”

Bakugo flipped them all off as he returned to his seat.

But when Todoroki gently pressed their knees together under the table, Bakugo didn’t move away.

Didn’t even try.

*

Later that day, everyone went home to get some rest.

Todoroki sat curled on his couch, one leg tucked beneath him, a blanket draped over his shoulders more for habit than warmth.

The room was dim, save for the soft lamp beside him, casting gold light over the pages of his book.

Outside, the sky was overcast. Inside, everything was still. Silent. Controlled.

Exactly the way he liked it.

His phone buzzed once. Then again.

He reached for it, a sigh already halfway out of his mouth.

Toya:

You’re ghosting.

Again.

Toya:

The big idiot's looking for you.

Something about the ceremony.

Toya:

Please come by. Just once. Just for this.

Todoroki stared at the texts a moment, thumb hovering over the screen.

He hadn’t been to the estate since the winter solstice.

And Toya… Toya was the only reason he ever even considered going back.

The next message came in while he was still debating.

Toya:

He says I’m ready. That I’ll be taking over soon.

I want you there. Please.

Todoroki exhaled slowly and started typing.

I’ll try. No promises.

 

The phone rang before he could hit send.

Bakugo.

He answered it without hesitation. “Hey.”

“Do vampires bowl?”

Todoroki blinked. “I… don’t know. I don't see why not.”

“Great. I’ll pick you up at seven.”

Todoroki closed his book. “I might have to see my brother first.”

There was a beat of silence. “Oh. Okay.” Another pause. Then, “Can I come with ya?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not a safe place for anyone who isn’t blood. It's too dangerous.”

“So’s dating you, and I’m doing that anyway.”

“Suki—”

“I'll be there in twenty,” Bakugo said, already smug. “Wear something cute.”

The line went dead.

Todoroki sat still for a few seconds.

Then he slowly stood, shaking his head and muttered to himself, “Insufferable.”

But he was already heading toward his room to get changed.

*

Thirty minutes later, Bakugo was sprawled across Todoroki’s bed like he paid rent. Boots still on.

One arm tucked behind his head, the other lazily flipping through a text thread he had zero intention of responding to.

“So, Denki accidentally set off the fire alarm in the chem building,” Bakugo said, smirking. “Wasn’t even using chemicals. Just left his lunch too close to a Bunsen burner.”

Todoroki, halfway into a pair of black jeans, raised an eyebrow. “What was his lunch?”

“No idea. Could’ve been a cursed object for all I know.”

Todoroki didn’t smile, but the corners of his mouth twitched.

His back was to Bakugo now, pulling a fitted black tee down over his chest.

Then he reached for the jewelry tray on his dresser, sliding rings onto his fingers—each one deliberate, each one matching some aesthetic only he could name.

Bakugo didn’t look away. “You know it’s unfair, right? That you’re hot and well-dressed?”

“I didn’t choose this life,” Todoroki said dryly, slipping on a few more rings. “It chose me.”

Bakugo opened his mouth—

—but paused, brow furrowing slightly.

A ripple of something prickled at the edge of his senses.

That familiar, electric hum at the base of his spine—sharp and low like a silent alarm.

He glanced at Todoroki, head tilting. “…You’re setting off my vamp radar again,” he muttered. “Dial down the brood, would ya?”

Todoroki turned, two shirts in his hands—one dark grey and low-cut, the other a blood-red button-down that caught the light like wet silk. “Which one?” he asked.

Bakugo sat up, lips parting like he was about to give the definitive answer—

—but the voice came from the doorway instead.

“Red one,” said Toya, grinning. “It's a good color on you.”

Todoroki froze.

Bakugo looked from Todoroki to the doorway, putting it together. “Oh, it was you.” He glanced at Todoroki, smirking. “Since when do you have friends?”

Todoroki responded softly, “That's my brother. Unfortunately.”

Toya raised a lazy hand. “In the flesh.”

Bakugo turned back to Toya quickly. “Dude, finally. He never lets me meet anyone.”

“Don’t take it personally,” Toya said, stepping into the room like he owned the place. “He thinks everyone’s a threat.”

“Well, I'm a threat too,” Bakugo said proudly.

Todoroki sighed and rubbed his temple. “Toya, I’ve asked you not to use your key unless there’s an emergency.”

“Well, you didn’t text back,” Toya said, unapologetic. “Thought maybe you got dusted.”

Bakugo leaned back against the wall, grinning. “Nah. I’d kill anything that tried.”

“Forgot to hit 'send',” Todoroki explained in a flat tone.

Toya ignored him, giving Bakugo a look that was equal parts impressed and entertained. “You’re fun. And kinda hot. I see why he likes you.”

Todoroki mumbled something under his breath and grabbed the red shirt with a little more aggression than necessary. “Don't flirt with him,” he muttered, slipping it on.

“Who says I’m flirting?” Toya asked, mock-innocent. “I’m just appreciating the view.”

Bakugo smirked, catching on immediately. “Finally. Someone in this family recognizes my value.”

Todoroki shot them both a warning glance as he pulled the shirt over his shoulders. “Don't even.”

Toya leaned dramatically against the dresser. “You know, if things don’t work out between you two—”

“Oh please. You couldn't handle him,” Todoroki interrupted quickly.

Bakugo raised an eyebrow.

Toya laughed, enjoying this far too much. “Just saying. I make a mean breakfast, and I don’t vanish mid-text.”

“I forgot to hit send,” Todoroki said through clenched teeth.

Bakugo stage-whispered to Toya, “Careful, he’s sensitive about the texting thing. Still a sore spot.”

Toya nodded solemnly. “Got it. Sensitive, brooding, emotionally unavailable—classic youngest sibling energy.”

“Say that louder,” Todoroki muttered, buttoning the shirt. “I want Katsuki to hear your final words.”

“Oh, he’s threatening me now,” Toya said brightly. “Isn't he adorable?”

“He really is,” Bakugo added, eyes narrowed playfully.

Todoroki took a deep, suffering breath. “You two are unbearable.”

Bakugo leaned back on his elbows, grinning widely. “You're just jealous.” He turned to Toya, expression brightening. “Hey, you wanna come bowling with us later?”

Todoroki turned sharply, betrayed. “Absolutely not.”

Toya grinned. “I love bowling.”

“No, you don’t,” Todoroki argued instantly.

“I do now,” Toya said smoothly, eyes glinting with mischief. “Especially if it bothers you this much.”

Bakugo snorted. “Perfect. You’re invited.”

“Great,” Todoroki muttered sarcastically, adjusting a cuff with more aggression than needed. “This is exactly what I needed tonight.”

“Oh, lighten up,” Toya teased. “What happened to clan tradition, huh? You find a snack, you pass it around. But nooo, you had to go and get attached.”

Bakugo barked a laugh. “Damn. Am I dessert at the vampire potluck?”

He didn’t even finish the smile before Todoroki turned on Toya. “Shut up.”

The words cracked like a whip—louder than anyone expected.

Even Bakugo stiffened.

Todoroki’s voice dropped, low and lethal. “He’s not food. He’s not a toy. And that's not fucking funny.”

Toya blinked, caught off guard.

But Todoroki wasn’t done. “You don’t get to come into my home, talk about my partner like he’s disposable, and expect me to just laugh along.”

The room went still. Even the air seemed to quiet around him.

Todoroki took a step closer, eyes hard, voice trembling with controlled fury. “If you can’t be respectful, get the fuck out.”

Toya’s grin faded entirely. He raised both hands slowly, palms open in surrender. “Alright, alright. Message received.”

Bakugo stayed quiet, watching Todoroki carefully.

After a long beat, Todoroki exhaled, jaw still clenched.

Toya took a step back toward the hallway. “Didn’t mean to push. Won’t happen again.”

“Better not,” Todoroki muttered, turning away.

Toya gave a short, tired laugh.

He slipped out the door without another word.

***

Chapter Text

Toya tossed himself onto the couch in the living room like he owned it, limbs draped dramatically, eyes scanning the room with exaggerated flair. “God, it’s bright in here. You trying to kill me?”

Todoroki followed him into the room but didn’t look up. “You can let yourself out.”

“Still mad, huh?” Toya asked, less amused now.

Todoroki tightened the cuff on his sleeve without answering.

The silence that followed wasn’t just awkward—it was dense, like the walls themselves were bracing for impact.

Bakugo sat down in the armchair across the room, legs spread, arms folded tight over his chest.

He watched the exchange like someone staring at a lit fuse, unsure how long the cord was. “Uh. Should I... not be here for this?” he asked carefully.

Toya ignored him. “I said something out of line. I know that. I’m sorry.”

“Apologies don’t erase intent. Enji talks about humans like that, and I don't appreciate you starting to sound like him,” Todoroki said coldly, finally turning to face him.

Toya straightened. “You really think I meant to insult him? I was being—”

“Cruel,” Todoroki interrupted. “And flippant. Like always.”

Bakugo’s shoulders tensed. He glanced at Todoroki, then Toya, then back down at his hands.

He didn’t know which was worse—the chill in Todoroki’s voice, or the way Toya didn’t even flinch from it.

“Look,” Toya said, quieter now. “I didn’t come here to fight.”

“No?” Todoroki asked, stepping into the room properly now, arms folded. “You claim you came here to check on me, but then you come in here and flirt with my partner, and talk about eating him like it's a joke.”

Toya opened his mouth, then shut it again. The theatrical energy had drained from him completely. He looked older now. Tired. “I came to ask you to be there.”

“For the ceremony?” Todoroki asked.

Toya nodded.

“No,” Todoroki said, without hesitation. “And before you try again—I mean it.”

Bakugo shifted slightly, like he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure if he was allowed.

Toya stood up slowly, exhaling through his nose. “I just... it’s not about him this time. It’s about me. I’m taking the throne. After everything. And I wanted—” He paused, voice thinning. “I wanted you to see it.”

Todoroki didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

Bakugo’s hand rested on the arm of his chair. His fingers tapped once. “…You don’t have to stay the whole time,” he said gently, eyes on Todoroki. “Just for a few minutes, if you want.”

Todoroki’s jaw tightened. “Why do you two care so much about what I do?”

“Because you’re part of this,” Toya said. “You're... You're part of the legacy.”

“Don’t remind me,” Todoroki muttered.

The silence that followed was long and heavy.

Bakugo looked between them again, then leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I’ll wait outside,” he offered, voice quiet.

Toya shook his head. “You don’t have to—”

“No,” Bakugo cut in, already rising. “It's okay.”

He walked to the front door and disappeared without another word.

Toya turned back to Todoroki. “Just think about it,” he said softly. “That’s all I’m asking.”

Todoroki didn’t answer.

Toya lingered for a second longer, then let out a slow breath. “Okay. I’ll go. Sorry again, I didn't mean to disappoint you.”

He reached for his jacket without fanfare, pulling it over his shoulders.

At the door, he hesitated. “You’re still my little brother, y’know. No matter how pissed you are.”

“Then stop using that as a weapon,” Todoroki said.

Toya’s lips twitched, but not into a smile. “Fair enough.”

And with that, he was gone.

*

Outside, the sun was finally dipping low enough to stain the sky orange.

Long shadows stretched across the front steps of Todoroki’s house, where Bakugo had been pacing a groove into the concrete for the better part of ten minutes.

He was still there when the front door creaked open.

Toya stepped out, one hand lifting to shield his eyes automatically. The awning stretched far enough to block the last angry rays of sun, but he still winced at the glow.

Bakugo stopped pacing. “You good?”

Toya lowered his hand. “Yeah. I’m not on fire, so I’d call that a win.”

Bakugo snorted. “Could’ve used a heads-up that it was gonna get that intense.”

“Yeah, well.” Toya cracked his neck. “You really surprised?”

Bakugo didn’t answer at first. He glanced toward the door, then back at Toya. “You leaving already?”

Toya shrugged. “Didn’t exactly get a warm invitation to stick around.”

Bakugo hesitated. Then, “Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“What’s the big deal about this ceremony? You’re takin’ over the clan, right?”

Toya blinked. “Yeah. Finally.”

Bakugo frowned. “Then why the hell wouldn’t he wanna be there? I mean… it’s you. His big brother. Sounds like a big deal.”

For a moment, Toya didn’t answer.

He looked out at the city instead, watching the glow ripple over the skyline like firelight on water.

When he did speak, his voice was quieter. “Because it’s not just about me. It’s about him. And him showing up means facing someone he’s spent half his life trying to forget.”

Bakugo’s brow furrowed. “Your father.”

Toya nodded once. “Right. The current clan head. He’ll be there. Front and center. Acting like he didn’t spend decades tearing us apart.”

Bakugo bristled. “Yeah, I got the vibe he was a piece of shit.”

“You have no idea,” Toya said. “I mean… he was bad to all of us. Controlling. Cruel. Power-obsessed. But Shoto…” He shook his head. “He got the worst of it.”

Bakugo’s chest went still.

Toya rubbed at the side of his neck, suddenly looking older. “He’s the only one of us that’s half human. Different mom. Different blood. And our old man—he never let him forget it.”

Bakugo didn’t speak.

“He saw him as weak,” Toya said. “A liability. A crack in the bloodline. Someone to be shaped or broken. And Shoto was a kid. Just a quiet, wide-eyed kid who didn’t understand why everyone kept expecting him to bleed for them.”

Something hard twisted in Bakugo’s gut.

“I’m not gonna tell you everything,” Toya added, finally meeting his eyes. “That’s his to share. Not mine.”

Bakugo nodded slowly. “Yeah. I get that.”

“But don’t take it personal when he pulls away. Or shuts down. You’re not the problem. Enji is.”

Bakugo’s voice was rough. “So he’s not mad at you.”

“No.” Toya huffed a tired laugh. “Well. Maybe a little. But that’s more about me being an asshole with a flair for dramatics.”

“You did kinda flirt with me.”

Toya grinned. “I know, I was just teasing. And... I really am sorry. I don't think of humans as snacks, I was just being a shit. And I'd never hurt anyone that's so clearly important to my baby brother.”

Bakugo huffed a breath that could’ve been a laugh if it weren’t so tight. “Thanks for tellin’ me.”

Toya shrugged. “Just don’t hurt him, alright?”

Bakugo glanced back toward the door. “I won't.”

Toya gave him a look, like he was trying to read something deeper.

Then he gave a short nod, shoved his hands into his coat pockets, and disappeared down the street—careful to stick to the shadows as the last light of day slipped behind the skyline.

*

When Bakugo came back inside, Todoroki shut the front door and leaned against it like he’d just held back a flood with nothing but his spine and sheer spite.

The latch clicked. The silence stretched.

Then Todoroki exhaled a shaky breath and dragged a hand down his face.

With all the grace of a dropped marionette, he flopped onto the couch, one hand over his eyes, the other dangling loosely off the edge like it was trying to leave the room before he could.

Bakugo didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stood quietly across the room, watching him with concern so visible it might as well have been tattooed on his forehead.

After a long moment, he asked, “You okay?”

Todoroki made a vague noise. Then, muffled behind his hand, “Sorry, baby... I don’t think I have the energy to throw heavy objects at pins right now.”

Bakugo huffed a small laugh. “Bowling’s overrated anyway.”

Todoroki peeked through his fingers at him—like that was mildly blasphemous, but he’d let it slide this once.

“You wanna bail?” Bakugo asked, finally moving to sit beside him, cautious in the way you might approach a sleeping lion.

Todoroki didn’t answer right away. He just let his hand fall to his lap and turned his face toward the ceiling. “Is that okay?”

“‘Course it’s okay, dumbass.” Bakugo bumped his knee gently. “You look like you got hit by an emotional freight train.”

Todoroki snorted. “That train’s name is Toya.”

Bakugo gave a small smile, but didn’t push it further. Not yet.

“Hey,” he said after a beat, voice a little lower. “About your dad. About... you, when you were little.”

Todoroki’s body tensed just slightly.

“I’m not asking for details,” Bakugo added quickly. “I just—when you can. I wanna know. Okay? I want you to tell me when you're ready for that.”

Todoroki turned his head, meeting his eyes. The silence between them wasn’t sharp anymore. Just heavy. Honest.

“I will,” he said softly. “I promise.”

Bakugo nodded, like he was locking the promise away somewhere safe.

But he could still see the weight sitting on Todoroki’s shoulders.

Still felt that quiet ache coming off him in waves.

So he stood up suddenly, clapped his hands once like he was shaking off the tension, and said, “Okay. New plan.”

Todoroki blinked up at him. “What?”

“No bowling,” Bakugo said, already moving toward the hallway. “We’re going for a drive.”

“A drive?”

“Yeah.” He tossed a glance over his shoulder. “You like the city at night, don’t you? When it’s quiet. All lit up.”

Todoroki blinked again. Then nodded. “I do.”

“Good.” Bakugo snagged a helmet from the bag near the door and tossed it his way. “Grab your jacket. Let’s go find something pretty.”

*

The engine rumbled beneath them, low and steady like a heartbeat—his heartbeat, really. Bakugo always felt more like himself on his bike than anywhere else.

But tonight… tonight, he felt like more than himself.

He glanced over his shoulder as Todoroki climbed on behind him, fitting seamlessly into place like he always did.

No argument about the helmet this time. No dramatic sigh. No cold-blooded resistance. Just quiet compliance.

It almost made Bakugo nervous.

Almost.

He reached over and popped Todoroki’s visor open with two fingers, leaned in, and kissed the tip of his nose.

“God, you're cute,” he murmured, shutting the visor with a soft click before putting on his own.

And then they were off.

The streetlights rolled by in long, golden streaks.

The wind was cooler now that the sun had dipped beneath the skyline, and the scent of summer clung to the air—warm asphalt, cut grass, city smoke, and something subtle beneath it.

Bakugo’s mind wandered as they rode.

This beautiful, stupidly powerful creature clinging to him—this inhuman thing with ancient blood and a dangerous glint in his eye—was also the gentlest person Bakugo had ever met.

And his family had punished him for that.

They tried to beat the softness out of him.

Shamed him for being kind. For being compassionate. For loving.

Bakugo’s fingers tightened on the handlebars.

Todoroki could be dangerous. Oh, he could.

Bakugo had seen it—fangs, eyes glowing like the edge of firelight, movements too fast for the human eye to catch.

But he could also be sweet. And quiet. And patient.

He could sit in silence for hours just to be near someone.

He could remember the way Bakugo liked his coffee and what time he had his worst nightmares.

He took care of people. Even the ones who didn’t know he was doing it.

He protected Bakugo's friends, even though he didn't have to.

Bakugo felt a hand slip around his waist. Then another. Then the pressure of Todoroki’s head leaning lightly between his shoulder blades.

Bakugo smiled under his helmet.

He lifted one of Todoroki’s hands from where it rested against his stomach and raised it to his chest, laying it flat right over his heart.

Then he laced their fingers together.

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.

This was how they said it. How they always said it.

I love you.

And Bakugo did. With everything he had.

***

Chapter Text

The bike purred beneath them as they pulled into the gas station, the glow of the overhead lights casting long shadows on the pavement.

Todoroki slid off first, moving like liquid in the dark, already tugging the helmet from his head and setting it gently on the seat.

“I’ll get the gas,” Todoroki said, reaching for the nozzle like he was offering to water a houseplant.

Bakugo gave him a look. “I gotta pay first, babe,” he muttered, heading toward the store.

Inside, Bakugo paid at the counter and then ducked into the tiny bathroom, flipping off the flickering fluorescent light on his way out.

Bakugo squinted against the darkness when he stepped back outside, stretching a little as he walked toward the pump.

Only… there was no Todoroki.

The bike was fueled. His helmet sat neatly on the seat.

But the half-vampire himself? Nowhere in sight.

Bakugo frowned.

But then he closed his eyes.

There it was—that distinct pull in his chest, a sense of static under his skin.

Bakugo followed the feeling around the back of the store, where the hum of the air conditioner buzzed low and constant.

And then, craning his head up, he spotted him.

Todoroki was sitting cross-legged on the roof, one hand on his knee, the other resting behind him as he stared out over the sleepy horizon of the city.

Bakugo snorted. “You know you could fall and break your neck, right?”

Without even looking down, Todoroki extended a hand toward him. Silent. Graceful.

Typical.

Bakugo sighed. “Not this time, baby. You ready to go?” he asked, softer this time. “I’ve got a spot I wanna show you. You’ll be able to see the whole damn city.”

That made Todoroki glance down, just enough to smile at him. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

He shifted, scooting to the edge of the roof and hopping down without hesitation.

Bakugo instinctively stepped forward, arms half-lifted—just in case.

Todoroki landed on the pavement with barely a sound, knees bent to absorb the impact, but the sudden motion still made him sway slightly.

Bakugo’s hands were there in an instant, one at Todoroki’s elbow, the other brushing his waist to steady him.

It wasn’t a catch. Just… a soft, automatic act of care.

Todoroki let out a quiet breath of laughter—surprised, a little breathless.

Bakugo stilled, fingers lingering longer than they needed to. “What?” he asked, voice low.

Todoroki’s eyes glinted in the dark. “You’re just always so sweet to me.”

Bakugo raised a brow, trying not to look affected. “So?”

“I’m half-dead. A creature of the night. A monster, remember?”

Bakugo’s jaw clenched. His fingers tightened in Todoroki's jacket, near his waist. “You’re not a monster,” he said firmly. “You’re you. And I’ll always take care of you.”

Todoroki looked at him and something in his expression went soft.

He blinked once, like he was anchoring himself to the words. Like he wanted to believe them more than anything.

“Okay,” Todoroki said, voice a little smaller than usual. “Then I’ll keep letting you.”

Bakugo rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t keep the smirk off his face. “Damn right you will.”

And with that, they headed back to the bike. One vampire, one slayer, two helmets, and a whole city waiting for them just over the hill.

*

They were the only ones there.

The overlook was quiet, nestled along a winding hill road just beyond the city.

Below them, thousands of lights shimmered like the reflection of a shattered sky—bright, busy, alive.

The city stretched endlessly, like a sea of stars that had fallen and decided to build skyscrapers.

Bakugo killed the engine and swung one leg off the bike, kicking down the stand.

They walked in silence, settling on the low stone barrier that separated them from the steep drop-off.

It wasn’t much—just tall enough to be sat on, just high enough to tempt fate if someone leaned too far forward.

Todoroki sat first.

Bakugo joined him, elbows resting on his knees, both of them staring out at the glittering sprawl below.

The air was cooler up here, sharper against the skin.

Bakugo tugged his sleeves down, then jumped slightly when something heavy dropped onto his shoulders.

Todoroki’s jacket.

He hadn’t said a word—just shrugged it off and draped it over Bakugo’s back like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“You’re freezing,” Todoroki murmured, not looking at him.

Bakugo rolled his eyes but didn’t shrug it off. “I’m not freezing,” he grumbled, pulling it tighter around himself anyway. “You’re just cold-blooded.”

Todoroki smirked.

They sat like that for a minute or two. Breathing. Watching.

And then Bakugo asked, “You always stare at the city like it’s gonna tell you a secret. What is it about the lights?”

Todoroki blinked. Thought.

Then answered softly. “It makes me feel small.”

Bakugo turned to look at him.

“I spend so much time being something... unnatural,” Todoroki continued. “Fighting things that go bump in the night. Being one of them. Being strong. And sometimes, when I’m looking at all of that—” He nodded toward the skyline. “—I remember I’m just a piece of it. A speck. There are millions of people down there, living their lives. Laughing. Fighting. Falling in love. All without ever knowing something like me exists.”

Bakugo didn’t say anything.

Todoroki added, “It’s humbling. And kind of beautiful.”

Bakugo tilted his head. “You wanna be human that bad?”

“No,” Todoroki said immediately, shaking his head. “I just want to be seen the way humans see each other. I want to matter... but not because I’m dangerous.”

Bakugo turned back toward the view. “You do matter, you idiot,” he muttered.

Todoroki smiled, quiet and crooked. “You're always so nice, even when you act mean.”

“Not true,” Bakugo said, shooting him a look. “I once told Midoriya his hair looked like seaweed on fire.”

“Did it?”

“...Yeah.”

Todoroki laughed—just once, soft and low, carried off by the wind.

And Bakugo felt it again. That thrum deep in his chest. That pull. That knowing.

He shifted on the wall, letting their knees brush, and reached for Todoroki’s hand under the jacket.

Their fingers linked easily, like they’d done it a thousand times before.

“Next time you feel like a speck,” Bakugo said, voice low, “remember that you’re my speck. And... I love you very, very much.”

Todoroki squeezed his hand. “I know. I'll try to remember.”

They sat together in that stillness, two supernatural anomalies wrapped in borrowed clothes, perched above a world that would never understand them.

But it didn’t matter.

Because they had each other.

*

They made it back to Todoroki's house about an hour later.

Almost immediately, the kitchen became a warzone.

Water dripped from the faucet, suds clung to plates in the drying rack, and two very powerful young men were locked in a silent, ferocious battle of shin-kicks and dish towel assaults.

Bakugo yelped as Todoroki smacked him in the hip with a damp towel. “You little shit.”

Todoroki didn’t even look up. He was calmly wiping the counter with the air of someone who absolutely didn’t just commit an act of violence with a rag.

Bakugo narrowed his eyes. “You wanna throw hands over this? Huh?”

“Not particularly,” Todoroki replied, reaching for another dish. “I’d win. And then you’d pout. And then I’d have to comfort you.”

“Oh that’s it,” Bakugo growled, slamming the sponge down like it had personally offended him. “Out back. Now.”

Todoroki blinked. “What?”

“I'm challenging you to a duel.”

Todoroki stared at him for a long moment. “You want to fight me because I hit you with a towel.”

“Don’t act like you didn’t aim for the soft spot above my hip bone. You know I hate that.”

“Enhanced vampire accuracy.”

Bakugo pointed a soapy finger at him. “Put your damn shoes on.”

*

Ten minutes later, they stood in the backyard, the air cool and quiet, moonlight spilling across the cracked flagstones.

Bakugo was clearly taking this too seriously, if the fact that he asked to borrow some athletic shorts from Todoroki's closet was any indication.

Todoroki had rolled up his sleeves with theatrical slowness, and Bakugo was already bouncing on the balls of his feet like a boxer about to ruin someone's week.

“This is stupid,” Todoroki said again, eyeing the grass like it had betrayed him by existing.

“What’s stupid is you thinking I can’t kick your ass.”

Todoroki sighed. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Oh my god, say that louder so the neighbors can hear,” Bakugo shot back. “Shut up and try to touch me, fangs.”

And that was all it took.

Bakugo lunged first, of course. He always did.

A blur of forward momentum, feet sliding, trying to grab Todoroki’s arm and pivot him into a hold.

Todoroki dodged, spun, swept a foot out—but Bakugo jumped.

They traded blows, light at first, more show than substance, both of them grinning like absolute menaces.

A few close calls later, Bakugo finally managed to hook his foot behind Todoroki’s and send him tumbling into the grass with a loud oof.

Bakugo crowed in victory—right before Todoroki grabbed his ankle mid-celebration and yanked him down with him, flipping them over so Todoroki had him pinned beneath him.

Now they were both on the ground, tangled and breathless, Todoroki half sprawled on top of Bakugo, who had grass in his hair and righteous indignation in his chest.

“Dirty move,” Bakugo muttered. “You busted my lip, you fucker.”

Todoroki exhaled slowly, cheek pressed to Bakugo’s chest. “I warned you.”

“Next time I’m bringing weapons.”

“Oh,” Todoroki said, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “So next time you're gonna cheat?”

Bakugo blinked. Then rolled his eyes, chucking a handful of grass at his stupid smug face.

Todoroki caught his wrist.

His gaze zeroed in on Bakugo’s mouth. More specifically—the slight split on his lower lip, glistening red in the moonlight.

A smear of blood curled at the corner, and Todoroki’s pupils dilated just watching it.

Bakugo noticed.

Of course he noticed.

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” he said, dropping his head back onto the grass. “Just do it.”

Todoroki blinked innocently. “Do what?”

“You’re staring like I’m a steak. If you’re gonna do your creepy little vampire thing, then do it. But don’t make it weird.”

“I was just gonna heal it for you,” Todoroki muttered, already leaning in.

Bakugo snorted. “Sure.”

Todoroki didn’t argue.

He pressed his mouth to Bakugo’s—lips soft at first, before he tilted his head and opened his mouth wider, letting his tongue trace the cut before sucking gently on the swollen lower lip.

It was slow. Intentional. Possessive. Like he was savoring him.

Kissing him like he might keep going until there was nothing left.

Bakugo didn’t stop him.

He didn’t even move—except to fist one hand in the grass, the other grabbing Todoroki’s sleeve, grounding himself while pretending it wasn’t the hottest thing that had happened all week.

When Todoroki finally pulled back, pupils blown, he was smirking.

Todoroki licked his lips, eyes still fixed on Bakugo’s mouth. “There. All better.”

Bakugo exhaled, slow and uneven, trying to ignore the way his pulse thundered in his throat. “I swear to god,” he muttered, “you get one more free pass to be that smug before I—”

He cut off. Because Todoroki didn’t move away.

Instead, he trailed kisses down Bakugo’s jaw, deliberate and slow, like he had nowhere else in the world to be.

His hand shifted—pressed firm over Bakugo’s stomach—and when his mouth reached the hollow of his throat, he lingered there.

Breathing him in. Letting the tension bloom again.

Bakugo swallowed hard. His hands tightened in the grass.

Todoroki moved lower.

Down Bakugo’s chest. Past his ribs.

And then, slowly, he dragged a hand down one thigh—fingertips skimming over bare skin, just beneath the hem of those borrowed shorts like he knew exactly what he was doing.

His thumb traced the curve of muscle. His palm pressed in. Just enough to make Bakugo’s breath hitch.

Todoroki glanced up once—quiet, unreadable—as if asking permission. Or daring him to stop it.

Then, without warning, Todoroki leaned in.

And Bakugo felt it.

The sharp press of fangs against the meat of his thigh.

Not piercing. Just pressure.

Just a promise.

Just a reminder of what he could do, what he wouldn’t do unless Bakugo wanted it.

Bakugo’s breath stuttered.

It was maddening.

Bakugo’s fingers clenched in the fabric of Todoroki’s shirt, dragging it up his back.

He hissed through his teeth, unsure if it was from the heat pooling in his belly or the way Todoroki mouthed at him like he was drinking sunlight.

Slow. Luxurious.

He looked up at Bakugo through his lashes, eyes glowing faintly.

And then—Bakugo’s phone rang.

At first, he didn’t even hear it. Not over the rush of blood in his ears.

But the vibration against his jacket, half-crumpled nearby, got his attention. Barely.

Todoroki didn’t stop kissing his thigh, and Bakugo really really didn't want him to.

The phone buzzed again.

“Fuck,” Bakugo groaned, yanking it out and pressing it to his ear without even checking the screen. “What?”

“Bakugo?” Uraraka’s voice was high and breathless with panic. “Aizawa just called a Code Crimson—emergency meeting, now.”

Bakugo sat up slightly, his other hand scrambling for Todoroki’s shoulder. “What the hell happened?”

“I don’t know! He wouldn’t say! He just told me to call you and Todoroki. Meet us at the classroom, okay?”

Bakugo’s gut twisted. “Yeah. We’re on our way.”

As he hung up, he felt Todoroki’s teeth sink just a little deeper—almost biting.

Bakugo slapped the back of his head. “Hey. Vamp-boy. We got shit to do.”

Todoroki grumbled something muffled against his thigh—probably a complaint, possibly a swear—and kissed the spot one last time, lingering as if memorizing it.

Then, with a reluctant sigh, he pulled back and stood, hair wild, shirt askew, and face smug.

Bakugo tucked himself back together with a groan. “You really had to wait until right now to get all hot and heavy on me?”

Todoroki offered him a hand, gently helping him to his feet. “I was hungry.”

“Yeah, well, now I’m hard. Thanks for that.”

Todoroki leaned in now that they were standing, and kissed him—three slow kisses.

One to the corner of his mouth, one to his jaw, and the third just over his still-racing pulse.

Bakugo’s breath caught again, but Todoroki was already stepping back, giving him space.

“You okay?” Todoroki asked, voice low and unusually sincere.

Bakugo huffed and pulled Todoroki's jacket back on. “You’re the most gentle vampire on the damn planet. You think I can’t handle a little nibble?”

Todoroki’s expression softened, something fond and fleeting flashing across his features. Like Bakugo had said something that mattered more than he realized.

Like being reminded of his own gentleness meant something. “…Thank you,” Todoroki said softly.

Bakugo rolled his eyes and started heading back toward the house. “Let’s go, babe. Gotta try to fit this erection back into my jeans.”

***

Chapter Text

Midoriya was walking fast.

Not running—not yet—but each step came quicker than the last, driven by nerves he couldn’t shake.

The sun had long since dipped behind the city skyline, and the shadows between the buildings felt longer tonight. Thicker. Like they were watching.

He tugged his hoodie tighter around himself and glanced down at the glowing screen of his phone.

Aizawa’s classroom.

That was where the meeting was supposed to be.

But a buzz jolted his grip, and a text from Uraraka lit up the screen:

Something’s wrong. Meeting might move. Be careful. I think there’s something on campus.

And that was exactly when he heard it—footsteps.

Not his.

He stopped. Turned.

They emerged from the dark like smoke.

Five, maybe six vampires.

Young ones, judging by their clothes and cocky posture. Reckless.

Their eyes gleamed with hunger and amusement, and that was the worst part—they were enjoying this.

Midoriya backed up, fumbling for his phone again.

“Where you off to, little mouse?” one purred. His voice was silky, sharp around the edges. “Got somewhere better to be?”

Midoriya didn’t answer. He bolted.

He made it maybe ten feet before they caught him—two vamps, one on each arm, fingers tightening like iron cuffs.

The leader, tall and pale with bleached hair and a lazy grin, sauntered forward and dragged one long finger down Midoriya’s cheek.

“You’ve got such a sweet face,” he said, tapping a sharp nail beneath Midoriya’s chin. “Bet you taste just as sweet.”

Midoriya jerked back, trying to twist free. “Don't touch me,” he spat. “My friends'll be here any second.”

They laughed like he’d told a joke.

And then the leader bared his fangs, and leaned forward until his teeth scratched Midoriya's pulse point.

Midoriya froze, breath held, leaning away as far as he possibly could—

CRACK.

The vampire went flying—knocked off his feet like a ragdoll tossed by an angry god.

Midoriya blinked, expecting to see Bakugo standing there. But it wasn't him.

The other vampires barely had time to react before a low, guttural growl tore through the night.

Kirishima stood between them and Midoriya, looking dangerous.

And the full moon wasn't even out.

Kirishima's teeth sounded too big for his mouth when he spoke, his voice lowered like a threat. “Get out of here, Dori.”

Right before Midoriya's eyes, Kirishima's wolf features began to emerge, slowly shifting him from human to beast.

His hands were claws. His spine cracked as it stretched, bones realigning with sickening precision.

His eyes burned gold in the moonlight.

He stepped in front of Midoriya and snarled—deep, guttural, feral.

The kind of sound that screamed predator.

Even the vampires flinched.

“Holy shit,” one hissed. “It’s a werewolf.”

“Get him!” barked another.

They lunged.

Kirishima met them head-on.

He fought with wild instinct—claws slashing, teeth snapping.

One vampire went flying.

Another crashed into a lamppost, shattering the bulb in a spray of sparks that Midoriya had to duck down to avoid.

Midoriya hit the pavement hard, crawling backward until his spine met the cold wall of the lecture hall building.

One hand clutched the fresh scratch on his neck.

His vision swam, but even through the haze of panic, he could see it—Kirishima wasn’t going to win this alone.

Then—

“Guess I missed the invite.” Bakugo’s voice cut through the chaos like a blade.

He flew into the fight, boot-first, slamming one vampire off Kirishima with enough force to dent a car.

He spun, already drawing the blade from the sheath strapped to him, and slashed the first villain—clean, brutal, precise.

Dust. Gone.

Another vampire lunged.

Bakugo ducked. Stabbed. Turned. Kicked.

It was almost elegant, in that violently choreographed, furious Bakugo kind of way.

Kirishima, still in his beast form, snarled at his side—bleeding but unyielding—shielding Midoriya from anything that moved too close.

Midoriya, gasping, heart hammering, pressed a hand harder to his neck.

Even through the pain, he had never felt so relieved in his life that his friends were absolutely terrifying.

*

Blood hit the pavement like rain.

Bakugo’s blade sank into the chest of the vampire he’d been wrestling, sending it to ash with a flash of heat and hatred.

His chest heaved, sweat clinging to his neck.

The second vampire was already moving—charging at his blind side—and Bakugo barely had time to curse.

Then something cold and fast slammed into it from the left.

Todoroki.

He hit the vampire like a bullet, tackling it to the ground with a snarl that didn’t sound human.

His fist drove through its sternum with brutal precision, and when the thing shrieked, Todoroki didn’t flinch.

Didn’t hesitate. Just ended it.

Bakugo blinked through the blood spray.

“Always gotta wait for dramatic timing, huh?” he panted.

Todoroki wiped ash off his sleeve. “You like dramatic.”

Bakugo might’ve kissed him right then and there if a scream hadn’t split the air behind them.

They both turned.

Midoriya.

Down the path, just near the school building, Midoriya was stumbling, one hand pressed to his neck, blood staining the collar of his shirt.

Kaminari was with him now, one arm slung around his back, trying to keep him upright.

But they weren’t alone.

Kirishima stood in front of the door to the lecture hall—no longer human. At all.

His arms were longer, claws sharp and twitching with adrenaline. His jaw had reshaped just enough for fangs to glint when he growled.

His back arched, shaking with tension, with the effort of restraint.

His eyes were vacant with panic and too much gold.

“Shit,” Bakugo hissed.

“Watch my back,” Todoroki ordered, sprinting off.

Kaminari tried again. “Kiri, hey—it’s just us, okay? You’re safe. We’re your friends.”

Kirishima’s growl only deepened, low and broken like he was trying not to cry.

Midoriya stepped forward instinctively, bravely, his fingers fumbling at his pocket.

Uraraka had given him that protection spell, and he thought there was no better time than the present to whip it out.

He held up the crystal. It shimmered faintly, a soft pink glow pulsing from the center.

Kirishima flinched at the sight, like the magic called to something inside him.

But he didn't back off, and Midoriya worried that it wasn't working.

Then Todoroki was there.

He didn’t stop between them—just kept walking, stepping between Midoriya and the wolf.

He moved calmly, deliberately, the way only a predator could.

“Kirishima, don't make me do this,” Todoroki said softly, almost kindly.

The werewolf growled again—but didn’t lunge.

Todoroki’s eyes flicked to the crystal in Midoriya’s hand. He barely hesitated before snatching it from him.

Midoriya hesitated. “Wha—Shoto, I don’t think—”

Todoroki was still looking Kirishima in the eye. “This is gonna hurt me more than it hurts you. So don't come crying to me about it.”

And then, without another word, he closed his fist and crushed the crystal.

The explosion of magic hit like a punch to the chest.

The pink smoke burst up in a quick, soft cloud—harmless-looking.

But the second Kirishima inhaled it, his entire body convulsed.

He dropped to his knees with a gasp, clawed hands scrabbling against the pavement.

Bones cracked, muscles twitched, and the growl in his throat broke into something closer to a sob.

Then Todoroki crumpled too.

“Kacchan!” Midoriya shouted.

Bakugo was already moving.

He skidded down next to Todoroki just in time to catch him.

“Shit. Hey. Shoto.” Bakugo pulled him up, one arm wrapped under his shoulders. “Talk to me. What the hell was that?”

Todoroki was gasping, eyes squeezed shut, but he managed to murmur, “Magic backlash. I’m okay. Help your friend.”

Bakugo looked up.

Kaminari was already crawling toward Kirishima, who lay on the ground in a slowly-reversing tangle of limbs.

The wolf was melting away from him—his features softening, human shape returning in slow, painful pulses.

Naked and trembling, Kirishima rolled to his side, coughing.

Kaminari stripped off his jacket and threw it over him, then gently pressed a hand to his cheek. “You’re okay,” he whispered. “You’re okay. You came back.”

Kirishima’s eyes fluttered open—wet, human. Like he wanted to cry, but couldn't.

He swallowed thickly. “Did I—did I hurt anyone?”

Kaminari blinked fast. “No. You saved us. You just… scared me, man.”

Kirishima winced. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“We know,” Kaminari said firmly. “We’re good. You’re good.”

Behind them, Midoriya helped Todoroki sit up.

Bakugo hovered close, one hand on the small of his back, eyes scanning the surrounding area just to make sure there weren't any more threats around.

“You really smashed that crystal like it owed you money,” Bakugo muttered.

Todoroki gave a breathless laugh. “Didn’t think I’d get another chance to be dramatic. You're just jealous I keep getting the spotlight.”

Bakugo looked at him, long and hard, before muttering, “You’re insane.”

Todoroki rested his head on Bakugo’s shoulder. “You love it.”

Bakugo didn’t deny it.

And around them, in the soft aftermath of battle, the broken pieces of friendship slowly knit back together.

*

The classroom door slammed open hard enough to rattle the windows.

Aizawa barely blinked from his place at the whiteboard, half a mug of coffee in hand.

His brow furrowed low, a silent what now already forming on his face.

Uraraka turned sharply toward the door. “What the—?”

Kaminari was first through, practically dragging Kirishima with him.

Kirishima was wrapped in Kaminari’s jacket, but it hung loose on his frame—bare-chested, bruised, blood drying along the lines of his ribs.

His knees were scraped, one hand trembled where it clung to Kaminari’s shoulder, and his eyes were distant—wide and unblinking like he hadn’t quite returned to himself yet.

Kaminari grinned anyway. It was manic, adrenaline-soaked. “Your crystal?” he said to Uraraka. “Friggin’ rules. Like—monster grenades. You gotta make more of those.”

Uraraka’s jaw dropped. “Wh—what?! What happened?!”

Bakugo came in next, eyes scanning every corner of the room like he still expected a vampire to leap out of the recycling bin.

His knuckles were scraped. Bruises bloomed across his arms and jaw, but were already healing.

“Vampires,” Bakugo said flatly. “On campus. At least five. Maybe more. They went after our idiot.”

Midoriya followed him in—and he looked pretty torn up. His hoodie was soaked through at the neck, blood trailing from the side of his throat.

He shuffled in, bag slipping from his shoulder, and let himself slide down the nearest wall like gravity had finally won.

Todoroki limped in last. Quiet. His steps were slow, measured—like every joint ached.

His hair was a mess. His hands hung limp at his sides, and his eyes looked drained.

He didn’t speak. Just crossed the room and collapsed beside Midoriya with a soft grunt, legs folding awkwardly under him.

Uraraka rushed over, crouching immediately. “Izuku! You’re bleeding—”

“I know,” Midoriya muttered, blinking slowly. “It’s fine. I just… need to sit down. For like, three hours.”

Beside him, Todoroki shifted. “Come here.”

Midoriya turned to him. “You sure?”

“I can handle it,” Todoroki said. His voice was a bit hoarse, like the magic backlash was still clinging to the edges of him.

Across the room, Kaminari was helping Kirishima into a desk chair, moving slow and careful like handling glass, trying to keep the jacket positioned to cover most of Kirishima's dignity.

Kaminari glanced up, worry flickering across his face. “Wait—hold on. Is that safe? He just nuked a vampire soul crystal and nearly passed out like, not even ten minutes ago. Maybe temptation isn't a good thing right now.”

Midoriya hesitated, staring at Todoroki with wide eyes. “Oh. Are you... Hungry, or something?”

Uraraka stepped closer to them. “I can heal it, if you want. I just have to grab my bag.”

Bakugo dragged over a desk chair with a loud screech, parking it so he could hover behind Todoroki like the world’s angriest ICU nurse.

“He’s not gonna drink anything, dumbass. Give the guy some credit.” Bakugo barked.

“I wasn’t trying to be rude!” Midoriya said quickly. “I just—I'm trying to understand.”

Bakugo crossed his arms. “Just trust him. He's never given you a reason not to.”

Midoriya swallowed. Nodded. Tilted his head and pulled the collar of his shirt down just enough to expose the bite. “Okay.”

Todoroki leaned closer. “You're safe.”

His hands rested gently on Midoriya’s shoulders, cool and steady.

His mouth hovered for a breath too long over the wound as he whispered something—eyes a little too dark, fangs just visible.

Bakugo didn't even blink as he watched.

Then Todoroki lowered his head and dragged his tongue across the scratch of the puncture marks. The wound shimmered faintly, then sealed.

Midoriya shivered. “That… Feels so weird.”

“Better than a Band-Aid,” Todoroki murmured. And then he collapsed sideways with a dramatic groan.

Bakugo was there in an instant. “That's three, Sho. Three dramatic, vampire-in-the-spotlight moments. You're officially cut off.”

“I’m fine,” Todoroki mumbled into the linoleum. “Just… need a second. Maybe a nap. Or a medically supervised coma.”

Bakugo sighed like a man personally offended by the concept of exhaustion.

He hauled Todoroki upright by the back of his shirt and grumbled, “You’re lucky you’re hot. Makes your dumbass decision making a lot more tolerable.”

Across the room, Aizawa moved silently to a cabinet.

He pulled out a spare set of clothes and tossed it to Kaminari. “Here,” he said. “Get him changed.”

Kaminari nodded, catching the bundle one-handed.

He knelt beside Kirishima again, voice soft. “Hey. You okay?”

Kirishima didn’t answer right away. His hands were in his lap, still shaking slightly, and he was staring at them like they weren’t his.

Like he couldn’t remember what they’d done—or what he’d done.

Kaminari leaned in, just enough so no one else could hear. “Hey. You came back. That’s what matters.”

Kirishima blinked. Swallowed. Nodded once, barely.

Aizawa stepped forward, his presence sharp enough to cut through the fog settling over the room.

He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to.

“Alright,” he said, arms crossed. “One of you better start talking. Right now. What the hell happened out there?”

***

Chapter Text

Aizawa’s voice had barely settled in the air before Bakugo spoke up, still crouched beside Todoroki, one hand braced on his shoulder.

“Hold on. Before we start breaking down the bloodbath that just went down, someone called a damn emergency meeting. So what was it? If it was about the vamps on campus, a heads up would've been nice.”

He didn’t mean to sound so sharp, but his fuse had been shortened by the whole being-bitten-on-a-lawn experience.

Uraraka blinked like she’d forgotten entirely in the chaos. “Oh—right. Yeah. That.”

She hurried over and unlocked her phone, fingers swiping fast as she found the video.

She held it up so the whole group could see. “I took this earlier tonight. Grocery store parking lot, before sunset.”

The screen lit up with footage—shaky and taken from a distance, but clear enough.

A towering figure lumbered past rows of empty carts and flickering streetlights.

Its body was a patchwork of scales, fur, and leathery skin, like something had stitched it together from spare monster parts in a mad science lab.

Even on the screen, it radiated wrongness.

“I kept my distance,” Uraraka said. “Didn’t engage. I just ran.”

Kaminari’s face paled the second he saw it.

“Okay, what the fuck,” he muttered. “That one—its arms are from a Glatch demon, and its head’s part Braskir. Just like the others, they're not even from the same plane.”

Midoriya leaned forward, squinting. “This one’s different from the others, right? Bigger. Stronger.”

Uraraka nodded. “Yeah. I think whoever is making these things… they’re getting better at it.”

A heavy silence fell over the group.

Midoriya turned to Aizawa. “Any leads? Anyone suspicious going in or out of other realms? A cult or—?”

“No.” Aizawa’s tone was clipped. “Nothing concrete. Not even whispers from the other Watchers. I've been told they're conducting research, but I haven't heard anything yet.”

Midoriya nodded slowly.

Aizawa looked around the room like a general addressing soldiers. “Anyone else heard anything? Wiccans? Vampire enclaves? Demon alleyways? Anything at all?”

Uraraka shook her head. “I haven’t heard... But our club meeting is in a few days, I’ll be sure to ask.”

Kaminari offered a helpless shrug. “Demons I’ve talked to think hybrids are just rumors. Urban legends.”

Aizawa turned his eyes to Todoroki.

Todoroki sighed. “The courts haven’t mentioned it. But I’ll be at the clan ceremony soon. I’ll ask around.”

Aizawa nodded slowly, clearly making mental notes. “Good. That might be our best shot.”

Another pause. One of those weighted ones.

Everyone shifting. Breathing. Processing.

Aizawa now stood at the front of the room, arms crossed tightly, eyes narrowed.

In front of him, Kaminari knelt beside Kirishima’s chair, carefully guiding his friend’s trembling arms through the sleeves of a fresh shirt, murmuring quiet reassurances.

Kirishima’s gaze stayed distant, unfocused, still clearly rattled.

Across from them, against the far wall, Midoriya sat slumped on the floor, head tilted tiredly toward Todoroki, who leaned heavily against Bakugo’s legs, barely upright even with the firm grip Bakugo maintained on the back of his shirt.

Bakugo himself hovered protectively, glare daring anyone to comment on the vulnerable state of his boyfriend.

Uraraka stood anxiously nearby, hands clenched tightly around the strap of her bag, her eyes darting nervously between Midoriya’s newly healed wound and Todoroki’s exhausted form. 

She finally took a few steps forward, just to kneel beside Midoriya and get a closer look at the wound.

“Okay,” Aizawa said, rubbing the bridge of his nose like this entire room was giving him a migraine. “Someone start talking. What the hell happened out there tonight?”

Kaminari cleared his throat and spoke, voice quieter than usual. “It was Midoriya first. He was on his way here when… they showed up. Vampires. A whole group of them. Whatever a group is called. A murder, or a pride or whatever.”

Todoroki corrected him without prompting. “A clan.”

Uraraka’s arm tightened around Midoriya, who leaned into her side without protest, his head resting gently against her shoulder.

She was still fussing over the tear in his shirt, her fingers brushing the dried blood near his neck.

“They cornered him,” Kaminari went on. “But Kiri—he showed up. Before any of us. He was already, y’know. Shifted.”

Kirishima didn’t look up. His head stayed tucked near Kaminari’s collar, his fingers curled tightly into the borrowed clothes wrapped around him.

He looked… Pale. Quiet in a way that didn’t suit him.

“He was trying to protect Midoriya,” Kaminari said. “He didn’t hurt us. But I think he almost lost control.”

Midoriya nodded slightly, voice soft. “I know he was trying. I could see it. Even when he looked different… it was still him.”

There was a pause.

Then Kaminari added, “I tried to pull him back. But he couldn’t… I mean, he couldn’t shift back on his own.”

That pulled a faint shudder out of Kirishima. Kaminari reached for his hand, threading their fingers together without saying anything else.

“And that’s when Roki showed up,” Kaminari continued, glancing over. “He took the crystal from Midoriya. The one Uraraka gave him. And he smashed it. Right there between them. And that's what made Kiri shift back.”

Uraraka looked up from where she was now gently pressing a healing charm to the edge of Midoriya’s jaw. “I’m so glad it helped.”

Todoroki, still slumped against Bakugo's hold, nodded slowly. His eyes were glassy with fatigue, but he met her gaze. “It was made well,” he said simply.

Uraraka blinked fast, offering a sympathetic smile. “I’m just sorry it hit you so hard.”

“It’s alright,” Todoroki murmured. “I’d do it again.”

Kirishima finally stirred. His voice was rough and quiet. “Thanks, man. For real.”

Todoroki gave him a soft, sideways glance.

Aizawa stepped closer, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. “Kirishima. It’s not exactly my job as a Watcher to train the Slayer’s friends... However, I’m willing to offer a bit of training as a preventative measure, if it’ll keep my Slayer safe. I might be able to help you learn to control the transformation.”

That pulled Midoriya out of his haze. “Werewolves can do that?”

“It’s not common,” Aizawa said. “Most werewolves can’t shift unless it’s the full moon. But some can… learn. If Kirishima’s one of them, it means his instincts are strong. That’s not always a good thing.”

Kirishima’s eyes were wide. Almost terrified of his own potential.

Aizawa continued, and looked directly at Kirishima, and his tone softened just a bit. “But it’s something we can work with.”

Kirishima finally spoke up. “You’re gonna help me?”

Aizawa’s expression didn’t change, but his answer was immediate. “You’re on my team, aren’t you?”

“Yeah. I am.”

Aizawa stared him down, eyes judgmental as always. “And if I help you to realize your full power, I can expect you to protect my Slayer in a crisis. Right?”

Kirishima’s shoulders slumped in relief. He smiled—a tired, shaky thing—but real. “Yes. Absolutely.”

*

The air in Aizawa’s classroom had shifted. The panic was gone, replaced with the quiet hum of breathing and low conversation.

The storm had passed—for now—and what remained was a strange kind of calm. Not peace, exactly. But the sigh that comes after one.

Midoriya leaned over Aizawa’s shoulder at the computer, eyes narrowed in concern as they scrolled through article after article.

“Another blurry photo,” Midoriya muttered. “They’re everywhere. And the cops think it’s cosplay?”

Aizawa grunted. “Convention in town. Costume contest. Mass hysteria. Pick an excuse.”

“They always think it’s cosplay,” Midoriya sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Even when the cosplay tries to eat you.”

“Human denial’s stronger than any spell,” Aizawa said, eyes flicking over another news report. “Personally, I think they know exactly what goes on in this town. But they come up with excuses to keep people from panicking.”

Just a few feet away, Uraraka sat cross-legged on the floor with a piece of chalk in one hand and determination in her eyes.

Todoroki sat beside her, sleeves rolled up and skin still pale from earlier, calmly guiding her strokes.

“Try a wider curve,” he said, tracing an arc with two fingers. “It holds the energy better.”

“Like this?” she asked, adjusting her mark.

“Exactly.”

She beamed. “Thanks. Your monster bombs are about to get a serious upgrade.”

Todoroki gave the smallest smile. “I like that you called it a protection charm. Let’s keep calling them that.”

A few feet away, Bakugo hovered like a storm cloud in jeans, arms folded tightly, eyes glued to Todoroki like he was expecting him to collapse mid-sentence.

His jaw was tight. His posture was stiffer than usual. And though he wasn’t saying a word, every nerve in his body seemed to be tuned to Todoroki’s presence.

He didn’t miss the way Todoroki’s hands occasionally trembled. Or how he paused between instructions just a little too long.

Or how, even now, he was pushing himself to help someone else before taking care of himself.

Bakugo hated it. But more than that, he admired it.

He just wanted him to rest, damn it.

On the other side of the room, the lights were dimmer.

Kaminari sat on the floor beside Kirishima, who hadn’t spoken in a while.

He was hunched slightly, gaze lowered, fingers fidgeting with the edge of his borrowed shirt. Still a little too pale. Still shaking, just a little.

“Hey... I’m sorry,” Kirishima finally murmured.

Kaminari’s head whipped toward him. “Nope. We’re not doing that.”

“I could’ve hurt him, Kam. I almost—”

“You didn’t,” Kaminari cut in gently, but firmly. “You didn’t hurt him. You protected him.”

“I couldn’t control it. I didn’t even think. It was just… rage. Panic. Teeth. And then…” He swallowed. “I saw you. And I almost—”

“Hey.” Kaminari scooted closer and leaned his head against Kirishima’s shoulder. “You think you’re the only one here with a dark side? I was a demon for over a thousand years, bro. And I did a lot of shit I don’t like thinking about.”

Kirishima didn’t respond, but he didn’t pull away either.

“You saved Midoriya,” Kaminari went on. “You saved him. And then you fought your own body just to keep the rest of us safe. That wasn’t rage. That was love. That was you.”

Kirishima’s jaw clenched. His eyes stung. “What if it happens again?”

“Then I’ll be there,” Kaminari said simply. “Like you were there for me. Like you’re there every damn day. You make me feel human, Eiji. You remind me that I can be good. That I can be loved, even with all the things I’ve done.”

He hesitated, then reached over to squeeze Kirishima’s hand.

“So I’m gonna do the same for you. Over and over. Until you believe it.”

Kirishima’s breath hitched. But he didn’t look away. “Okay,” he said softly. 

They sat in silence after that.

*

The night air was cool and a little damp as the group finally spilled out of Aizawa’s classroom.

Campus was mostly dark now, save for the soft yellow glow of streetlamps lining the sidewalks.

Kaminari walked beside Midoriya and Uraraka, their pace slow and meandering, like none of them really wanted to be alone yet.

“I’ll make more crystals tomorrow,” Uraraka was saying, hugging her jacket tight around her. “If Todoroki helps me refine the edges, we can probably get better range out of the smoke next time.”

Kaminari hummed, hands deep in his jacket pockets. “You should trademark them. Call ’em like… Boom Dust. Curse Bursts. Monster Mufflers.”

Uraraka grinned. “I was thinking Protection Poppers, actually.”

Midoriya laughed under his breath, then nudged Kaminari’s arm gently. “You sure you’re okay?”

Kaminari blinked. “Huh?”

“Earlier. With Kirishima. That had to be…” He trailed off, searching for a diplomatic word. “Intense.”

“Oh,” Kaminari said, trying for a grin. “Yeah. Totally fine. I mean, he didn’t maul me or anything, so that’s a win.”

Midoriya didn’t look convinced, but nodded. “Just checking.”

When they reached the fork in the sidewalk, Uraraka and Midoriya peeled off toward their student housing building, waving over their shoulders.

“Text us if anything weird happens!” Uraraka called.

“Or if you invent a cooler name for the crystals!” Midoriya added.

Kaminari offered them a lazy salute, then turned toward his own housing building, just a few blocks past the edge of campus.

It was quiet. Almost too quiet.

Leaves rustled in the trees lining the path, and Kaminari pulled his jacket up a little tighter, trying not to let the silence press in too close.

Probably just the wind. Or a squirrel. Or maybe one of those incredibly aggressive raccoons that lived behind the science building.

Then a branch snapped.

Kaminari froze.

His head whipped around, eyes narrowing into the trees.

A figure stood just beyond the light, half-shadowed. Tall. Still.

The silhouette was unfamiliar, but the color wasn't. The skin glinted with a pale, unnatural blue even in the dark.

Kaminari squinted. Then blinked. Then— “No way,” he breathed. “Azer?”

The figure stepped closer, and now Kaminari could see the face.

Yeah. It was him. He knew that demon anywhere.

Azer’s hair was still the same mess of dark curls, eyes glowing faintly like embers under glass. His mouth curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile but close enough.

“Hey, Kaminushi.”

Kaminari took a hesitant step forward, the tension in his shoulders easing. “Holy shit, man—I haven’t seen you in forever.”

“Give or take.”

He looked… fine. More or less. Except—

Kaminari’s smile faltered as his eyes adjusted to the light.

Azer’s left arm was different. The skin was darker there, but not like a tan—it looked replaced, like it had been pulled from another body entirely.

His left leg, too, had a strange distortion to it, the joints just slightly off. Like the pieces didn’t quite fit.

But his face was the same. His voice was calm. Familiar. Normal.

Kaminari swallowed. “You, uh… you good?”

Azer laughed once, the sound oddly gentle. “Depends on your definition of good.”

Kaminari raised a brow. “What happened to you?”

“It’s a long story,” Azer said, stepping fully into the path now. “And not one I really know how to tell. That’s… why I came to find you.”

Kaminari’s stomach twisted. “Me? I’m not even a demon anymore, man.”

“I know. I just... I didn’t know who else to trust.”

A beat of silence passed.

Then Kaminari nodded. “Alright. Come up. We’ll talk.”

He turned, starting down the sidewalk toward his building again. Azer followed a step behind.

But even as he walked, Kaminari’s fingers slipped into his pocket, unlocking his phone without looking.

He typed fast. One thumb. No punctuation.

hey. come to my place now. not a joke.
bad feeling.

He hit send to Bakugo and locked the screen before Azer could get a look.

Just in case.

When they reached the front steps, Kaminari gave a half-laugh. “Hope you still drink tea. My cabinets are like… 40% tea. The rest is ramen and dust.”

Azer didn’t respond, just offered a soft hum.

And Kaminari let him in.

But not without glancing over his shoulder first, heart tapping a nervous rhythm behind his ribs.

Because Azer’s face might be the same.

But something underneath it wasn't.

***

Chapter Text

Kaminari’s apartment wasn’t big.

The entryway was practically the living room, which bled into the kitchen if you took three steps to the left. He had two plants he always forgot to water, a couch that tried its best, and a weird smell in the hallway he swore wasn’t his fault.

It was home.

Azer stepped in slow, eyes tracking the space like he was memorizing it. Like he was trying to remember what “home” was supposed to look like.

Kaminari dumped his keys into the little bowl near the door and headed to the kitchen. “Still take tea with, uh… Honey and brimstone or whatever?”

Azer didn’t answer right away.

Kaminari glanced back—and caught him standing dead still, staring at the bookshelf.

“Hey,” Kaminari called gently. “You good?”

Azer blinked. “You’ve gone soft.”

Kaminari snorted. “Yeah, well. Hanging out with mortals will do that to you.”

Azer finally turned to face him. “I didn’t think I’d find you like this, Kaminushi.”

The name made Kaminari’s shoulders tense.

He stirred sugar into the tea, voice light. “It’s Kaminari now, actually.”

Azer tilted his head.

“I go by Kaminari,” he repeated, setting a mug on the counter. “Most people don’t even know about… that name. The old one.”

Azer didn’t move. His eyes narrowed. “You changed your name.”

Kaminari tried to laugh it off. “No, I just—look, it’s not a big thing, alright? I just needed a more modern name, so I could fit in with the other humans.”

Azer’s voice dropped low. “Who cares about the humans? You were feared. Respected. You ruled lesser creatures with a smile on your lips and fire in your veins.”

“Okay, well, now I mostly rule Mario Kart tournaments with Bakugo and keep a cactus alive, so…”

“You’re denying what you are.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” Kaminari said firmly, setting his tea down with a louder clink than necessary. “I was punished. Now I’m human. The end.”

Azer’s expression twisted.

For a moment, it was unreadable—caught somewhere between offense and grief, between anger and betrayal. Then—

“You’re ashamed.”

Kaminari blinked. “What?”

“You think becoming soft makes you good.”

“Okay, wow,” Kaminari muttered, stepping back slightly. “You know what? I invited you in because I thought maybe you needed help. Because you’re my friend. But this—this isn’t a conversation. You’re trying to shame me for not being a monster anymore.”

“I’m trying to wake you up. I came here to help you.” Azer snapped, stepping forward.

His voice crackled with heat, and his body twitched—not in pain, but like something inside him was stretching. Moving.

Kaminari’s heart thudded once. Loud. “You should leave.”

“Don’t you feel it?” Azer hissed, stepping closer again. “The blood in your veins calling to the old gods? To the truth of your soul?”

Kaminari backed up another step. “No, actually,” he said, voice tight. “What I feel is a very strong desire to be on the other side of this room from you.”

Azer’s eyes burned brighter. His hands twitched at his sides. One finger flexed wrong, like a joint had been rotated just a little too far.

“You were one of the greats,” Azer seethed. “And now you’re… this.”

Kaminari was nearly to the door.

His hand brushed the knob behind his back. “I’m better now,” he said quietly. “I have people who love me. People I love back. I don’t need to prove I’m strong by hurting anyone.”

“You’re weak. And scared.”

“Because you’re scaring me,” Kaminari whispered.

The shift in Azer’s face was immediate. His lips curled into something sharp, something inhuman, and when he stepped forward again, it was too fast, too jarring.

Kaminari barely had time to flinch before—

BANG.

The front door slammed open, rebounding off the wall.

And there stood Bakugo. Shoulders squared. Jaw set.

Explosive fury radiating from every inch of him like a storm caught in a sweatshirt and boots.

“What the fuck is going on in here?”

Kaminari’s relief was immediate and full-body.

He didn’t even hesitate—just ducked past Azer and scrambled behind Bakugo, grabbing the back of his hoodie like it was a lifeline.

“Oh my god, you absolute hero. Thank you for getting here so fast,” he muttered, breath shaking.

“I was still in the area.” Bakugo didn’t take his eyes off Azer. “You okay?”

“Yes. But also no.”

Azer straightened, the distorted limb twitching once before settling. His expression was calm again.

“You must be Bakugo. Ruler of Mario Kart,” he said.

Bakugo’s hand flexed once at his side. “And you’re the asshole who made Kaminari text me an SOS.”

Azer tilted his head. “I just came to talk.”

“And now you can walk your patchwork ass out the door,” Bakugo snapped. “While you still have legs.”

Kaminari, still behind him, whispered, “God, I missed you.”

Bakugo growled. “Just say the word, and I'll kick his big blue ass.”

Azer’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You’ve changed, Kaminushi.”

Kaminari’s grip on Bakugo’s hoodie tightened. “Yeah. I know.”

*

Bakugo didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

His eyes were still locked on Azer like he was mentally measuring how many hits it would take to spread his ash evenly across the apartment walls.

Azer, for his part, didn’t flinch. His breathing was steady.

His tone, when he finally spoke, was eerily calm. “I didn’t come here to fight.”

Bakugo snorted. “Too bad. I did.”

“I came because I need help.”

“You can fuck right off with that.”

Kaminari peeked out from behind Bakugo. “That’s not what you told me.”

“Please,” Azer said quickly, hands raised. “Listen. I was taken. Experimented on. I didn’t ask for this—these parts.” He lifted one arm—the one that didn’t match the rest of him—and it twitched, subtly out of sync with the rest of his body. “I barely escaped.”

Bakugo’s scowl deepened. “And I’m supposed to care why?”

“Because I know who’s behind it,” Azer said. “I’ve seen what they’re doing. I know where they’re hiding. And I know you guys are looking for them.”

Bakugo’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know that?”

Azer stepped forward just slightly. “I’ll tell you everything I know. Every name. Every location. Just let me walk out of here when I’m done. No blades. No holy water. No death.”

Bakugo bristled. “You think I negotiate with demons?”

“I think you want answers.”

“I want you dead. That’s my job. I’m not in the business of listening to sob stories.”

Azer opened his mouth, but Bakugo stepped forward, fists already curling at his sides.

“You think saying ‘please’ is enough to erase whatever the hell you’ve done? That maybe if you bat your mutant lashes and look sad enough, I’ll suddenly forget what your kind is capable of?”

“Kugo, wait.”

The voice came from behind him. Quiet. Almost pleading.

Kaminari’s hand slid around his arm, fingers curling gently over his sleeve. “Just—just give him a chance.”

Bakugo turned slightly, gaze flicking to him in disbelief. “Are you serious right now?”

“He’s my friend,” Kaminari said softly. “Or—he was. Before all this. And maybe he’s not the same, but… Can’t we just hear him out?”

Bakugo looked between them.

Back to Azer, who hadn’t moved. And back again to Kaminari, who looked… tired. Not scared. Not foolish. Just tired.

“You’re sure,” Bakugo asked flatly. “You’re sure this is worth the risk.”

Kaminari nodded once. “Yeah.”

A long silence stretched between them.

Then Bakugo stepped back.

Slow. Measured. Controlled like a leash was physically keeping him from launching an attack.

He didn’t take his eyes off Azer. Not for a second.

“You get one chance,” he growled. “One. And if I don’t like what I hear, I don’t wait for a second opinion. You walk out that door, or I drag you out in pieces.”

Azer dipped his head. “Understood.”

Kaminari exhaled slowly, like the tension in his shoulders had been holding his lungs hostage.

Bakugo didn’t drop his guard. Not even a little. But he crossed his arms and barked, “Start talking.”

Azer smiled faintly.

*

Todoroki paced just outside the estate gates, the ancient iron archway looming behind him like a warning more than a welcome.

His hands were shoved deep into the pockets of his long coat, fingers twitching restlessly, jaw locked in a line of quiet dread.

The estate looked just like he remembered.

Polished stone. Gleaming windows. Grand enough to house royalty.

Cold enough to never feel like home.

Vampires drifted past him in pairs and trios, some dressed like nobility from another century, others in sleek modern wear that shimmered under the twilight.

They chatted easily, brushing shoulders and laughing as they moved toward the front steps.

“I hear that Lord Toya’s ascending tonight. He’s so young—but so powerful.”

“I heard he took down three rogue clans last season alone. Without even blinking.”

“He’s going to change everything. We need that.”

Todoroki rolled his eyes skyward and kept walking in slow circles, muttering to himself under his breath. “Replaced me easier than I thought.”

He paused, facing the estate now, eyes narrowed at the building like it had insulted him personally.

Okay. Just walk in. Five minutes. Pay your respects. Stay for the ceremony.

Leave before anyone tries to bite you or marry you off to a corpse.

He took a step forward.

And froze.

Enji was at the top of the marble steps, shaking hands and flashing smiles like he was hosting a garden party instead of ushering in a new regime.

His red cloak hung regally off his shoulders, trimmed in gold. His eyes—sharp and bright like embers—scanned the crowd, pleased with what he saw.

Todoroki’s stomach turned.

Nope.

Absolutely not.

He pivoted on one heel, coat flaring behind him, and made a beeline for anywhere that wasn’t here.

But fate, as always, had a flair for drama.

“Shoto!”

He flinched.

Footsteps approached quickly, almost bouncing over the gravel path.

Then Toya was at his side, panting lightly from jogging, his dark hair a bit wind-tossed and his cheeks flushed with something that could’ve passed for excitement… if Toya had a pulse.

“You actually came,” Toya said, beaming. “Shit, I didn’t think you would. I figured I’d have to bribe Bakugo into dragging you here.”

Todoroki didn’t smile, but his shoulders loosened just a touch. “I almost didn’t.”

“I figured,” Toya said breezily. “Didn’t think you were the kind of guy who gets nostalgic over murder-palace reunions. But I see you’re already heading out, huh?”

Todoroki huffed a soft, humorless sound. “Sorry... Thought I could handle it. I just really don’t want to see him.”

Toya’s grin faded, not entirely, but enough for the ache to show through.

Toya tilted his head back toward the entrance. “Enji? Yeah. He insisted on hosting. Said it was his honor or whatever. Total bullshit. I’d kick him out if I could, if it makes you feel better.”

“It doesn’t.”

“Fair.” Toya paused, watching Todoroki’s face. “You okay?”

Todoroki’s mouth twitched. “I’m fine.”

Toya squinted at him. “That’s a lie.”

“Sorry. It’s a genetic impulse.”

That got a snort out of Toya. “I can understand that. But come on, you gotta stay. At least for a few minutes. I wanna introduce you to my girlfriend.”

“Who’s the liar now?” Todoroki exhaled through his nose. “I want to be here for you. I do. But I don’t want to see him. Not even for a second.”

Toya’s expression sobered, eyes cooling a bit. “Then don’t. Stay with me. I already unlocked side entrance. You won’t have to cross paths with him.”

Todoroki blinked. “You planned for this?”

“Of course I did.” Toya grinned. “You’re my little brother. I know exactly how much you hate our charming, power-hungry sack of ancient garbage.”

That actually earned a ghost of a smile from Todoroki. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” Toya said. Then he looped an arm around his shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Come on. Let’s get you inside before he sees you and decides to make a speech about some bullshit like family loyalty.”

Todoroki let himself be guided.

And as they disappeared around the side of the mansion, the sound of Enji’s voice drifted faintly on the wind—booming and hollow and full of all the things Todoroki never wanted to hear again.

He walked away from Enji without a word. Just like last time.

***

Chapter Text

Toya’s room hadn’t changed much.

Still tucked away in the east wing, still half-lit by the antique chandelier above, still filled with an odd combination of old tomes, combat gear, and a frankly irresponsible number of scented candles.

Todoroki sat on the edge of the chaise near the fireplace while Toya flopped onto his bed like a teenager skipping class.

“It’s weird,” Toya muttered, staring at the ceiling. “Knowing I’m about to be in charge of, like… all this.”

Todoroki raised a brow. “The crimson vampire dynasty?”

“Yeah. That.” Toya kicked off his boots. “I mean, it’s not like I don’t want it. I do. I want things to change. I want to fix all the stuff Enji broke. But, like… god. Sometimes I still feel like I’m sixteen and hiding in the stables to avoid blood etiquette lessons.”

Todoroki smirked faintly. “You used to sleep in a hay bale.”

“It was cozy.”

There was a quiet stretch, broken only by the crackle of firewood and the soft murmur of voices from the ceremony downstairs.

Then Toya glanced over. “So. You know once I’m in charge, I’m gonna have to pretend I don’t know you’re banging the Slayer, right?”

Todoroki didn’t even blink. “Yeah. I figured.”

Toya gave him a crooked smile. “Doesn’t mean I don’t support it. Just means I’ll have to support it silently and from a respectable distance.”

“That’s fine,” Todoroki replied, dry as ash. “Wouldn’t expect anything else.”

Toya nodded, thoughtful for a moment. “And… things are still good with you two?”

Todoroki hesitated, then his voice softened. “Yeah. They’re good. Really good. He drives me insane, but… I’m happy. And I didn’t think I’d ever be.”

Toya’s smirk faded into something gentler. “That’s… really fucking cool, kid.”

Todoroki looked over at him. “You’re not gonna make fun of me?”

“Absolutely not. I’m emotionally mature now. I burn people instead of mocking them.”

“Such growth.”

Toya snorted—but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Then, too casually, “So how’d you know?”

Todoroki blinked. “Know what?”

“That you loved him. That he was worth putting everything on the line—your safety, your name, all of it. Was there a moment, or…?”

Todoroki narrowed his eyes. “Why are you being weird?”

“I’m not. Just curious.”

“Liar,” Todoroki said, deadpan. “What’s her name?”

“I don’t—what? No one—”

“Don’t even start,” Todoroki said, fully smiling now. “You’ve got that whole starry-eyed, post-feeding glow.”

“I haven’t fed today.”

“Exactly. So what’s her name?”

Toya groaned and grabbed the nearest pillow, smashing it over his face. “How the hell are you this intuitive? I didn’t even say anything.”

“I’m your brother. I know your dramatic little expressions.”

“I hate you.”

“Love you too. Now spill.”

Toya hesitated, pillow half-hiding his scowl.

But finally, he sighed, reached into his coat pocket, and slid out his phone. He pulled up a picture, and handed it over without a word.

Todoroki took it—and paused.

The man in the photo was striking.

Blond, sharp-eyed, with a smirk that looked like it belonged in a heist movie.

He looked like the kind of guy who could charm the fangs off an elder vampire and steal your wallet while he was at it.

“That’s… not a woman.” Is what Todoroki said first. 

“Nope.”

“Looks human.”

“Half,” Toya said quietly, like it meant more than it explained.

Todoroki raised a brow but didn’t push. He handed the phone back. “Guess we’ve both got a thing for dangerously charming not-quite-humans.”

Toya tucked the phone away and sat up, elbows on knees. “His name’s Keigo. Met him at some black-market auction, of all places. He was pretending to cater while sneaking people out. We ended up fighting side by side and arguing the whole time.”

Todoroki hummed. “Sounds familiar.”

“He’s a smartass,” Toya muttered. “Infuriating. Gorgeous. Smiles like he’s hiding knives.” He paused. “And sometimes I think he actually might be.”

Todoroki gave him a fond look. “So you’re in love.”

“Unfortunately.”

A beat passed, quieter than before.

Then Toya’s voice dropped. “Enji doesn’t know. And he can’t. If he finds out I’m seeing a half-human—he’ll lose it. I don’t know what he’d do, but it won’t be good.”

Todoroki’s mouth drew into a thin line. “Obviously I won’t say anything... As long as you promise to introduce me to him.”

“Yeah yeah, I promise,” Toya said, and then he smiled. “We should do brunch.”

Todoroki shot him a look. “We don’t do brunch.”

“We could,” Toya said, waggling his eyebrows. “If you weren’t dating someone who treats mimosas like a war crime.”

Todoroki almost smiled at that. Almost.

Another beat of silence stretched between them, and it was Toya who broke it. “You know,” he said, voice softer, “I really am glad you came. I wasn’t sure you would.”

Todoroki hesitated. “I almost didn’t,” he admitted.

Toya nodded, like he’d known that already.

“I hate that Enji still gets to smile and shake hands. Like he didn’t—” Todoroki’s jaw tensed. “Like he wasn’t the reason we both spent half our lives cleaning blood out of the carpet.”

Toya reached for a candle off the nightstand and started picking at the wax. “Yeah. Well. That’s part of why I need to do this. Why I have to. If I’m in charge, he doesn’t get to decide things anymore.”

“You’re really going through with it, then?” Todoroki asked, studying him. “You’re going to take the throne?”

Toya nodded. “Tomorrow morning. Ceremony ends at midnight. The transfer happens at dawn.”

“And then what?” Todoroki asked. “What happens to you after that?”

Toya chuckled dryly. “Hopefully? A nap.”

Todoroki huffed. “And after that?”

There was a pause.

Then Toya looked at him and said, “Then I try to be better.”

Todoroki felt something twist behind his ribs. “…You will be,” he said softly. “You already are.”

Toya smiled at him.

And for a moment, with the fire flickering behind them and the ceremony humming in the distance, it felt like the past wasn’t so heavy. Like maybe, something good could grow out of this family for once.

*

Kirishima’s apartment was quiet that night.

He had the TV on, volume low, playing something he wasn’t really watching—a rerun of an old cooking competition show where chefs screamed at each other over undercooked risotto.

His dinner sat mostly untouched in front of him, a bowl of stir fry slowly cooling next to his ignored homework assignment.

The assignment glared up at him from the coffee table like it knew it was being neglected.

Kirishima sighed, shoved another half-hearted bite into his mouth, and leaned back on the couch.

He jumped a little when his phone buzzed beside him.

Denki:

Can I come over?

Kirishima had barely started typing a reply—Of course, always, door’s open, come on in, yes yes yes—when there was a knock at the door.

He blinked, tossed his phone down, and stood.

When he opened the door, Kaminari didn’t even say anything.

Just surged forward and wrapped his arms around him.

Kirishima barely had time to react before he found himself with an armful of warm, slightly shaking best friend.

“Whoa,” Kirishima breathed, instantly hugging him back, firm and protective. “Hey.”

Kaminari said nothing.

Just stayed there, face tucked into Kirishima’s shoulder like maybe if he stayed long enough, the world would stop spinning.

Kirishima shut the door behind them without letting go.

He didn’t even try to hide the worry in his voice. “You okay?”

Still no answer.

Kirishima didn’t push. Just guided him toward the couch, slow and steady, until they both sat down.

Kaminari still clung to him, arms loose now but present, like he didn’t want to let the quiet slip away.

It took a minute.

Then, muffled against Kirishima’s skin, Kaminari finally asked, “If I told you everything I did… back when I was a demon…”

He trailed off.

Kirishima leaned back just far enough to see his face.

Kaminari looked hurt. Not physically—no blood, no bruises.

But his eyes were red-rimmed, his mouth was drawn tight, and every line in his body screamed pain.

Kirishima didn’t let him finish the question. “Yeah,” he said, simply.

Kaminari blinked. “Yeah…?”

“I’d still be your friend,” Kirishima said. “No matter what.”

Kaminari let out a breath. “But you don’t even know—”

“I don’t need to,” Kirishima said, firm now. “Because I know you. Current you. And that’s enough for me.”

There was a silence after that. But it was a warm one.

Kaminari’s face crumpled—just a little—and he looked away, blinking fast. “You’re like… the nicest person I’ve ever met, dude.”

Kirishima laughed softly. “Nah. I just love you.”

“Like… love love, or—”

“Don’t get greedy,” Kirishima said with a grin, gently nudging him. “Best friend love. Ride-or-die love. I-will-literally-punch-a-demon-for-you love.”

Kaminari finally smiled. A small one. Fragile and crooked, but genuine. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

Kirishima reached for the remote. “You wanna stay? Hang out? I got snacks. We can watch people cry over cake disasters or whatever.”

“God, yes,” Kaminari said, already curling up against the arm of the couch like he belonged there.

Kirishima stood to grab snacks—chips, leftover Halloween candy, some weird fizzy drink Kaminari liked—and came back to find Kaminari half-buried in a blanket, waiting with wide eyes like a puppy being offered a treat.

“I got sour gummies,” Kirishima said, tossing him the bag.

Kaminari caught it like it was life-saving medicine. “You’re the best.”

They didn’t talk about demon experiments. Or vampires. Or blood. Or fear.

They just ate gummy worms and watched someone on TV set their soufflé on fire.

Kaminari’s head found Kirishima’s shoulder sometime in the second episode, and Kirishima didn’t even blink. Just let him rest there.

Just held him, the way Kaminari had always done for him.

When the night got late and the city outside quieted down, Kaminari’s voice broke through the low hum of the credits. “Thanks for being my person.”

Kirishima smiled into his soda. “Anytime, Kam.”

And he meant it.

*

Bakugo was lying flat on his back, one arm flung over his eyes, the other holding his phone to his ear.

His comforter was twisted around his legs like he’d been fighting it instead of using it, and the only light in the room came from the lamp on the far side of the bed, casting the whole space in a lazy glow.

“…You didn’t kill it?” Midoriya was asking.

Bakugo scowled. “No.”

“You didn’t kill it?”

“I said no!”

“Holy shit,” Midoriya muttered. “Who are you and what have you done with our Slayer?”

“It wasn’t about me,” Bakugo snapped. “It was for dumbass Kaminari.”

“Ohh,” Midoriya said knowingly, and Bakugo could already hear the smug little grin forming. “So Denki asked you to spare it? And you actually listened?”

“He didn’t ask,” Bakugo muttered. “Begged. Like—hand on my arm, pleading eyes, whole thing. Said it was his old friend or something.”

Midoriya hummed thoughtfully. “Did it seem… safe?”

“No,” Bakugo said immediately. “Everything about it made my skin crawl. Looked like one of those demons that’s too smooth and too pointy at the same time, like a horror artist made it in Photoshop on nightmare mode. But it talked normal. Made a deal. Seemed… not totally feral.”

“Still weird you let it go.”

Bakugo sighed and rubbed a hand down his face. “I dunno, man. It was important to Kaminari. I figured I’d wait. See what it says. Then maybe kill it.”

Midoriya chuckled softly. “Such character development.”

Bakugo snorted. “Bite me.”

“Seriously, though,” Midoriya said. “Do you know anything about Denki's demon years?”

That gave Bakugo pause.

He blinked up at the ceiling, frowning. “…No. Not really. I mean, I knew he was one. But he never talked about it. And I figured if he wanted to forget it that bad, I’d let him.”

Midoriya let out a low breath. “Yeah. Same here.”

“Tonight I learned that he used to go by 'Kaminushi.' So that’s new.” Bakugo stared at the ceiling a second longer. Then said, “Sho’s old as shit. Maybe he knows.”

Midoriya perked up. “Actually… that’s a good idea. He’s been around. You should ask him.”

“Yeah, I will. I think he’s home,” Bakugo said.

And, as if summoned by name, the door to the bedroom creaked open.

Bakugo turned his head just in time to see Todoroki walk in, jacket half-sliding off his shoulder and hair wind-blown like he’d just come in from outside.

He gave Bakugo a sleepy wave and a quiet smile, trying not to interrupt the call as he toed off his shoes.

Bakugo blinked, then smirked. “Never mind,” he said into the phone. “He just walked in.”

Midoriya laughed. “Speak of the vampire.”

“I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” Bakugo said. “We’ll figure it out.”

Bakugo hung up, tossing the phone onto the nightstand.

He watched Todoroki finish peeling off his jacket and hang it on the back of a chair before flopping onto the bed beside him.

“Lot of vamp energy on you,” Bakugo muttered.

“I was pretty much surrounded,” Todoroki replied, rolling onto his side to face him. “The ceremony ran late.”

“Everything okay?”

Todoroki nodded, smile lazy and a little crooked. “It wasn’t as bad as I thought it’d be.”

“Enji?”

“Awful as always,” Todoroki said. “But avoidable.”

Bakugo narrowed his eyes. “That it? No other vampire tea to disclose?”

Todoroki hesitated.

Then smirked. “Oh,” he said. “And Toya’s gay.”

Bakugo blinked. “Sorry—what?”

“Gay,” Todoroki said again, like it was a casual weather update. “Dating a half-human. Name’s Keigo.”

Bakugo stared at him. “That’s… amazing,” he said finally. “Two gay vampire sons. Suck on that, Enji.”

Todoroki hummed contentedly and settled closer, like he was very pleased with the karmic alignment of the universe.

Bakugo reached over, found Todoroki’s hand in the dark, and tangled their fingers together. “Good. Glad it wasn’t total hell.”

“Not total,” Todoroki murmured, eyes slipping shut. “Just partial. And now I’m home.”

“Damn right you are.”

They lay there in silence for a while, fingers laced, sharing a pillow, breathing slow and even.

Tomorrow, Bakugo would ask about Kaminushi.

But tonight, they could rest.

***

Chapter Text

Bakugo pulled Todoroki onto the bed like he’d been waiting all night to do it.

Clothes hit the floor in sharp, graceless bursts—shirts tugged over heads, pants kicked off mid-snarl, mouths clashing between every movement.

Bakugo was practically growling as he dragged Todoroki down into the sheets, hands already everywhere.

And then he saw it again.

The ink.

Stark black tattoos curling across Todoroki’s ribs and arms, wrapping over his collarbone, kissed by light and skin and power. Like ancient runes had decided to wear his body as scripture.

Bakugo bit back a sound—low, hungry—and leaned in. “Still obsessed with these,” he muttered, voice gone rough.

Todoroki smirked, breath already uneven. “You keep saying that.”

“Because they’re hot, dumbass.”

And then he was on him.

Mouth dragging over Todoroki’s chest, over ribs and symbols and the vulnerable skin between.

He bit just above a rune near Todoroki’s sternum, then sucked hard, leaving a bruise that bloomed dark and fast.

Todoroki inhaled sharply through his teeth. “Ouch.”

“Keep whinin’. See where that gets you.”

Bakugo was ravenous—licking over bone and ink and warm skin, marking Todoroki like it was some kind of territory ritual. Like he could brand him with his mouth alone.

And Todoroki let him. For a while.

Until, calmly—inevitably—he flipped them.

Bakugo landed on his back with a grunt, eyes flashing. “You—”

“Shh.”

Todoroki leaned over him, palm spread across Bakugo’s chest, weight warm and unmoving.

He kissed him slowly, like they had all the time in the world.

Bakugo responded with heat, hands already wandering, but Todoroki caught his wrist mid-motion and pinned it to the pillow. “Don’t rush me.”

“I wasn’t rushing,” Bakugo muttered, tugging at his grip.

Todoroki raised a brow.

“Yeah, well—” Bakugo started, but stopped when Todoroki leaned in again, lips brushing the corner of his mouth before trailing lower.

His other hand mapped slow circles over Bakugo’s stomach, then up over his ribs, like he was memorizing the shape of him.

Bakugo shivered. “Quit it.”

“Quit what?”

“Touching me like I’m… soft.”

“You are soft,” Todoroki said, maddeningly calm. “Under all the snarling.”

Bakugo flushed and immediately scowled. “Shut up.”

Todoroki kissed his throat, then his shoulder, then the spot just below his collarbone where his heart kicked a little harder.

“I like this,” Todoroki said, like it was nothing. “You like this. You just don’t want to admit it.”

Bakugo huffed and tried to lift his hips, but Todoroki gently pressed them back down. “I swear—”

“Easy,” Todoroki murmured. “Let me.”

And somehow, even with all his fight, Bakugo did. He let Todoroki touch him like something to be unwrapped slowly.

Let Todoroki worship him in the same way he’d worshipped those runes.

And somewhere in the middle of all that stillness, all that maddening gentleness, Bakugo realized his heart was pounding harder than any fight ever had.

Todoroki’s hands were still steady.

His mouth, slow and searching. His breath, warm against Bakugo’s skin.

But when Bakugo reached down—fingers slipping beneath the waistband of Todoroki’s underwear—he froze.

Not because Todoroki stopped him. Not because he was told no. But because… there was nothing.

He wasn’t hard. Not even a little.

Bakugo blinked, heart skipping for just a beat. Then he eased back, just enough to look at him properly. “Hey.”

Todoroki’s eyes fluttered open, confused at first—then a flicker of realization. Embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” he said, already exhaling like he was bracing for a fight. “I thought I could—”

Bakugo sat up a little more. “Babe. It’s okay. Just—what’s going on?”

Todoroki stared at the ceiling for a second, jaw tight. Then, softly, “I’m thinking about the ceremony. About Toya. About what happens tomorrow morning. I thought I could… focus.”

Bakugo felt his chest tighten. Not in anger. Not in frustration. Just—understanding, laced with a little ache. “You’ve been in your head all night?”

Todoroki gave him a helpless half-smile. “Kind of.”

“Then why the hell didn’t you stop me?”

“I didn’t want to ruin the mood.”

Bakugo blinked. “What?”

“I like making you feel good,” Todoroki said, voice quiet. “Even if I’m not really there. I thought I could push through. Just… make it about you. It’s not that I don’t want you. I just—”

“Okay,” Bakugo said, holding up a hand. “Pause. One: you’re an idiot.”

Todoroki frowned a little. “That seems harsh.”

“You’re my idiot,” Bakugo clarified, softer now. “But still an idiot.”

Todoroki looked away, visibly ashamed, but Bakugo caught his chin and tilted it back.

“Listen to me,” Bakugo said. “You never have to do that. Not with me. Not ever. I’m not some fragile asshole who’s gonna sulk because you’re stressed and not in the mood. You’re allowed to say no. You’re allowed to be worried. You’re allowed to tell me to back off.”

Todoroki blinked up at him. “I just didn’t want you to think—”

“I don’t think anything except that you’ve got too much in your head and not enough sleep,” Bakugo interrupted. “So here’s what’s gonna happen.”

He kissed Todoroki’s forehead.

Then his temple.

Then the corner of his mouth.

“You’re gonna lay down,” Bakugo said, voice low and gentle now. “And I’m gonna trace these stupid tattoos until you pass out. You don’t gotta do anything else. Got it?”

Todoroki swallowed. “…You really don’t mind?”

Bakugo snorted and slid down beside him, hand already smoothing over Todoroki’s bare chest. “You’re hot, you’re half-naked, and you trust me enough to tell me when your brain’s being an asshole. You think I mind?”

Todoroki let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like relief.

Bakugo reached out, dragging a single finger along the curve of a rune near his shoulder. “You gonna tell me what this one means yet?”

Todoroki hummed. “Eventually.”

“Uh huh.” Bakugo kissed just beneath it. “I’ll wear you down.”

“You always do,” Todoroki murmured, finally relaxing into the pillow.

Bakugo let his fingers roam in soft, lazy patterns.

Over ancient symbols, over battle-earned muscle, over a heart that beat just a little differently than his own—but was his all the same.

And as Todoroki’s eyes drifted shut and the tension bled from his shoulders, Bakugo stayed right there.

Tracing warmth into his skin. Kissing softness into his bones.

Loving him the only way he knew how—loud heart, gentle hands, and no pressure.

*

The next day of classes went on as scheduled. No demon sightings at all.

Kaminari stuck close to Kirishima, but Kirishima didn't mind. He was worried about his friend, and didn't want Kaminari to spin out. 

Bakugo and Todoroki were wrapped up in their own little world, as usual. 

The only person having a hard time it seemed, was Midoriya.

He went through his normal routine, went to class, stopped by the gym on campus, and came home to make dinner like he always does. 

And then he did something unusual.

He decided to get drunk.

The wine was too sweet. The snacks were too salty. And the movie was too emotionally manipulative.

Midoriya was three-quarters through a bottle of terrible grocery store wine, elbow-deep in a bag of off-brand cheese puffs, and sobbing silently to a decade-old romcom where everyone ended up together—except the character that reminded him the most of himself.

You know. The sweet one. The dependable one.

The one who listened. Who helped.

Who never got picked first.

He sniffled into his hoodie sleeve.

"Pathetic," he muttered, voice thick with self-directed scorn, then immediately winced. "Okay. That’s not nice. We don’t name-call, even internally."

The TV played on in the background. A soft pop song swelled as the couple reunited in a rainstorm.

“Ugh,” Midoriya groaned, throwing a piece of popcorn at the screen. It missed by several feet and hit his coat rack.

He picked up his phone again.

Still no response from Bakugo.

Kaminari had sent a cheerful little wolf emoji about twenty minutes ago, followed by a, "Can’t talk rn! Training w/ Kiri n Aizawa!" message.

Uraraka had texted, “Love you, sorry! Big spell night at the club meeting. You okay??” and he’d immediately lied and said “Yep! All good!”

He wasn’t going to keep her from her witchy coven just to talk about his very human inferiority complex.

And Bakugo…

Well. He was busy.

Probably out slaying hellbeasts with that “I’m the Slayer, not your emotional support hero” energy. Which was fair. Totally fair.

Midoriya sighed and closed his phone again.

He didn’t know what he expected.

For everyone to drop what they were doing to come coddle him while he spiral-Googled ancient demonology websites and stress-ate half his pantry?

He took another swig of wine.

“God, I’m the guy they leave behind in horror movies,” he muttered. “The one who dies offscreen. Not even cool enough to die with an audience.”

The knock on his apartment door was so soft, he thought he imagined it.

Then it came again. Gentle. Polite.

Not at all what he’d expect from a burglar, intruder or a vampire—or Bakugo for that matter.

Midoriya blinked, wine bottle halfway to his lips. “...Hello?”

He stumbled to the door, looked through the peephole, and just about dropped the bottle on his foot.

Because there, standing perfectly still in the flickering hallway light, was Todoroki Shoto.

Wearing a dark coat. Holding a small grocery bag.

And looking for all the world like he’d just wandered out of an indie vampire drama to personally ask if Midoriya wanted to talk about his feelings.

Midoriya opened the door slowly. “Uh. Hey. Need something?”

Todoroki nodded once. “Katsuki asked me to check on you.”

Midoriya blinked. “...Why?”

“He said you texted him, and it felt off. And that if you were dead, he was going to be pissed.”

“Oh.”

There was an awkward pause.

Midoriya stepped aside. “You… wanna come in?”

“I brought snacks.” Todoroki held up the bag. “Uraraka said you like strawberry Pocky and those matcha cookies shaped like bears.”

Midoriya’s eyes welled up again. “Aw. You’re so nice to me.”

“I can just drop these off, or... I can stay,” Todoroki offered, glancing away.

“No!” Midoriya practically yelped, then immediately composed himself. “No, no, stay. Please. I’m just… having a night.”

“I can see that,” Todoroki said mildly, stepping inside.

He took in the half-eaten snacks, the wine bottle, the glowing TV screen with the rain-soaked lovers kissing dramatically.

He looked back at Midoriya.

Midoriya cringed. “Don’t say it.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Todoroki said, setting the bag down and unbuttoning his coat. “But I do think that guy could’ve done better.”

Midoriya barked a laugh before he could stop himself. “God, I needed that.”

Todoroki sat on the couch and patted the spot beside him. “Then come sit. Eat a bear cookie. Tell me what’s going on.”

And Midoriya—tipsy, emotionally fragile, and entirely unsure why the prettiest vampire he knew had brought him bear-shaped baked goods—crawled onto the couch and did exactly that.

*

The movie had gone from tragically romantic to just… tragic.

Somewhere in the last ten minutes, the male lead had confessed his love to the wrong woman, and now she was crying in the rain again, because everyone cried in the rain in these movies, apparently.

Todoroki, expression unmoving, calmly reached out and handed Midoriya another tissue.

“I don’t even like her,” Midoriya sniffed, blowing his nose with way too much force. “She’s so dramatic. She cries in every single scene. I hope she’s drinking a lot of water.”

“People who don't hydrate are so lame,” Todoroki agreed seriously, holding up the glass he’d just filled. “Unlike you. Everybody knows a good sob session needs some serious H2O.”

Midoriya took the glass and gulped it, flopping sideways onto the couch like he’d just run a marathon. “You’re literally the best vampire ever.”

“That seems unlikely,” Todoroki said. “But thank you. And just so you know... You could’ve texted me too. I’d make time for you.”

Midoriya blinked at him, eyes wide and glassy. Then he gave a watery laugh. “That’s not fair. You can’t just say that with your... face. And your snacks. I’m emotionally compromised.”

The next scene began.

A montage of sad flashbacks and piano music.

Midoriya groaned loudly, his head landing on Todoroki’s shoulder with a dramatic thump. “Oh my god, they’re flashing back to their first kiss. How dare they weaponize nostalgia like this. I hope I can have a big dramatic kiss in the rain one day.”

“Technically, they already used this clip twice,” Todoroki pointed out. “Once in a dream sequence, and again during the midpoint crisis. Very inefficient editing.”

Midoriya laughed so hard he had to sit back up, wiping his eyes. “God,” he wheezed. “You’re… you’re terrible at comforting people.”

Todoroki tilted his head. “I was told sarcasm and humor helps.”

“It does,” Midoriya said quickly, hand pressed to his face. “It really does.”

Midoriya looked at him and something inside his chest eased. A quiet, gentle breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

Todoroki didn’t look uncomfortable, or bored, or irritated by the mess of emotions Midoriya had apparently become.

He just… sat there. Quiet and steady. Unbothered by the drama, the snacks, the mood swings, the wine.

A safe person.

The kind you could lean on without worrying you were being too much.

Midoriya tucked his legs underneath him and leaned into Todoroki again, this time without the dramatic flop.

His head settled on his friend’s shoulder. “Thanks for coming,” he said softly.

Todoroki nodded. “Katsuki was worried. He didn’t say it like that, but he was.”

“Yeah.” Midoriya smiled faintly. “That tracks.”

“I was also curious what kind of movie could emotionally destroy someone like you,” Todoroki added, peering at the screen. “I thought it would be more… I don’t know. Sports-related.”

Midoriya snorted. “Okay, rude.”

They both laughed—quiet, tired, and a little delirious.

Then Todoroki reached for another snack, bit into a cookie, and said, completely deadpan, “For the record, I think if you were in that movie, you’d be the one who gets the happy ending. You seem like the kinda person who deserves it.”

Midoriya blinked. His cheeks went pink. “Oh,” he said, eyes wide. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Todoroki replied, completely oblivious to how much it meant.

They sat like that for a long time. Sharing snacks. Watching the movie.

Every so often, Todoroki would lean down to refill Midoriya’s water. Midoriya would laugh at something dumb and bump his head into Todoroki’s shoulder. Neither of them moved away.

And even though the world outside was still full of demons and secrets and heavy truths… right now, in this little apartment, Midoriya didn’t feel so alone.

***

Chapter Text

The credits rolled in a slow, melancholy crawl.

The room fell quiet again, save for the soft hum of the apartment’s mini fridge and the occasional rustle of a snack wrapper.

Todoroki was still sitting beside him, posture relaxed but eyes alert—like he was keeping watch, even now.

Midoriya knew he probably was.

Midoriya tugged the blanket tighter around his shoulders, chewing at the inside of his cheek. “I feel stupid,” he muttered.

“You’re drunk,” Todoroki replied, not unkindly.

“I’m barely drunk,” Midoriya said, nudging him. “I’m just... tired. Of being normal.”

Todoroki blinked. “You’re not normal. You’re Midoriya.”

“Exactly.” He gave a dry, breathy laugh. “I’m Midoriya. Human. No powers. No claws. No spells. No immortality. Just—just blood and bones and anxiety.”

Todoroki tilted his head. “I’m fairly certain you’ve fought three vampires, exorcised a haunted vending machine, and saved Katsuki’s life twice. I wouldn’t call that ‘just blood and bones.’”

Midoriya gave him a grateful little smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“It used to be me and Kirishima,” Midoriya said softly. “We were the human ones. The... normal ones. And now he’s learning how not to murder people under the full moon, and I’m just... here. Researching things. Taking notes. Texting people to drink water.”

Todoroki didn’t say anything. He just let the silence sit between them.

Midoriya swallowed hard. “To be so close to all these powerful people... So close to greatness, and never quite touch it. I feel like I’m fading into the background.”

Just then, there was a knock at the door.

Before Midoriya could even untangle himself from the blanket, it opened—because of course Bakugo knew where the spare key was.

Of course he let himself in.

He looked... exhausted.

Hair messy from the wind. Hoodie thrown on over his mission gear. Dark circles under his eyes. But he was here.

“Jesus,” he muttered, shutting the door behind him. “It’s like a pity party and a funeral had a baby in here.”

Todoroki raised a hand in greeting. “You’re late. We already cried and bonded.”

Bakugo grunted. “Yeah, well, I was busy threatening a dude with six different bone protrusions and a vendetta against air fresheners. Sorry for being productive.”

Midoriya sat up straighter, guilt flushing through him. “You didn’t have to come, I—”

“Shut up,” Bakugo said immediately, crossing the room and ruffling Midoriya’s curls without asking. “I’m already here. Don’t make me regret it.”

Todoroki scooted a bit to give him room, and Bakugo plopped down beside Midoriya with a groan, rubbing his eyes like the weight of the entire evening was finally catching up to him.

“Izuku’s been feeling normal,” Todoroki offered helpfully.

“I am normal,” Midoriya said.

Bakugo snorted. “You? Normal? You collect hand-written demon prophecies and cry during Subaru commercials.”

Midoriya cracked a laugh. “Okay, those dogs are heroic and loyal and very underrated.”

Bakugo rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched.

“I just…” Midoriya started again, quieter this time. “I want to help. I want to matter.”

“You do,” Todoroki said simply.

“You do,” Bakugo echoed, but rougher. Firmer. “You think I’d let just anyone talk me down from punching a demon in the face? But I let you do it all the time.”

Midoriya looked down, trying not to tear up again.

“You think I let just anyone drive my bike? Even Sho hasn’t had the privilege.” Bakugo continued. “You think anyone coulda talked to Uraraka about stabilizing the new spells? Or cross-referenced half the archives we’ve used for our hunts?”

“I mean, yes,” Midoriya mumbled.

“No, dumbass,” Bakugo snapped. “Because they’re not you. You’re the one who fucking cares enough to do all that. To check in. To write things down. To worry.”

“He’s right,” Todoroki added gently. “You’re the only one who takes notes at every meeting. Who knows everyone’s coffee order. Who double-knots his shoes before a fight.”

“That last one is survival,” Midoriya muttered, but his smile was brighter now.

Bakugo leaned back on his elbows. “You’re the heart of this group, idiot. And if you ever doubt that again, I’ll kick your ass with love.”

Midoriya laughed. Loud and bright and unfiltered. “Okay,” he whispered. “Okay.”

They sat there together.

Todoroki quietly unwrapping another cookie and passing it to Midoriya. Bakugo finally relaxing enough to lean his shoulder against Midoriya’s. Midoriya holding the cookie like it was a medal of honor.

He wasn’t a demon. Or a vampire. Or a werewolf, or even a witch.

But maybe that was okay.

Maybe he was something else entirely. And maybe he had something that even the strongest members of their group didn’t have.

*

Later that week, Kaminari called a meeting.

The evening was mild, the air still warm enough that Midoriya didn’t need his jacket.

Streetlamps flickered on one by one as he and Uraraka made their way across campus, the quiet between them companionable.

Uraraka swung a paper bag of snacks in her hand—contributions for the “group meeting” Kaminari had texted them about. The details had been vague, but the everyone come over tonight urgency was clear.

“You sure you’re okay?” she asked, breaking the silence. “You didn’t answer my texts for like… two days after that movie night you had.”

Midoriya scratched the back of his neck. “Oh, uh—yeah. Sorry about that. I was fine. Just… a little embarrassed.”

Her brows lifted. “Embarrassed?”

“Yeah. You know.” He gestured vaguely at the air. “Sad wine. Bad rom-com. Me crying into a vampire’s sleeve like I’m auditioning for a tragic supporting role.”

Her laugh was soft, and something about it made his chest feel lighter. “Everybody’s allowed to have a night like that.”

“I know. I just…” He trailed off, chewing the inside of his cheek. “Sometimes it feels like everyone in our group is this big, powerful, supernatural something, and I’m just… me.”

Uraraka gave him a curious look. “You say that like being you isn’t a good thing.”

He glanced at her and quickly looked away. “It’s not bad. It’s just… ordinary.”

“Ordinary,” she repeated, like she was trying the word out. “Right. Because saving Bakugo’s life, organizing half our research, and remembering everyone’s coffee order is so ordinary.”

Midoriya laughed, ducking his head. “That’s different. Anyone could do that.”

“Not anyone would,” she said, bumping her shoulder lightly into his. “You care enough to do it. That’s rare.”

For a few steps, he didn’t say anything. His throat felt a little too tight. “Thanks,” he murmured.

They walked on in easy silence, the sounds of the city humming around them.

Every so often, she’d smile at something—at the smell of fresh bread from the bakery they passed, or the way a cat darted across the sidewalk—and he caught himself smiling too.

“So,” Uraraka said after a moment, “what if you weren’t just you? What if you learned some magic?”

Midoriya blinked. “Magic?”

She nodded. “I mean, you’re always helping me set up for rituals, and you have the focus for it. You could come to the next Wiccan club meeting on campus. See if you like it.”

He stared at her. “You’d teach me?”

Her smile was warm. “Of course I would.”

His ears felt hot, and he hoped the dim streetlight kept it hidden. “Uh… yeah. I’d like that. A lot.”

“Good.” She shifted the snack bag to her other hand. “Just promise you won’t start levitating things at the dinner table until you’ve had proper training.”

He grinned. “No promises.”

They turned the corner, and Kaminari’s student apartment building came into view.

Whatever tonight’s meeting was about, Midoriya felt a little steadier walking into it.

*

The bike’s engine cut off with a satisfied growl.

Bakugo kicked the stand, swung off, and took two extra seconds to make sure the handlebars were perfectly straight.

He tugged the chain lock, gave it a test yank, then patted the seat like it was a dog.

“Stay,” he muttered. Bakugo thought it was funny, and turned to Todoroki for his reaction.

Beside him, Todoroki didn’t acknowledge it.

He was statue-still, head bowed over his phone, thumbs moving with precision. The glow lit the sharp line of his jaw; the little crease between his brows said serious vampire business.

Bakugo squinted. “What? Leaving a one-star review for Enji’s party?”

“It’s nothing,” Todoroki said without looking up. “Vampire drama.”

“You know how I love vampire drama.” Bakugo leaned in. “Gimme specifics.”

Todoroki angled the screen away, subtle as a brick. “I said it’s nothing.”

Which, obviously, meant something.

Bakugo slid an arm around his waist like a distraction and shamelessly craned over his shoulder.

Toya: Brunch? Double date? Keigo wants to meet you. I promise he’ll behave. Mostly.

 

Shoto: Busy.

 

Toya: You don’t work nine-to-five, kid. Pick a time.

 

Bakugo barked a laugh. “You’re bailing on brunch? No way. I wanna come. I wanna meet Keigo.”

“No,” Todoroki said. “I’m meeting him alone first.” Todoroki slid his phone into his coat pocket, gaze steady. “You’re not coming.”

“C’mon.” Bakugo stepped closer, crowding him on purpose. “I like Toya. I wanna see the disaster he chose.”

“He’s half human, half demon. He’s dangerous,” Todoroki said flatly, like that ended the discussion.

Bakugo snorted. “You do remember what my job is, right? Slayer. Demons are kind of my thing.”

“And you’re my thing,” Todoroki replied without missing a beat. “Which is why I’m not putting you in front of someone I don’t trust yet.”

Bakugo blinked, thrown. “…I’m sorry, are you—are you protecting me?”

“Yes.”

“That’s ridiculous. I’m the one with the blessed blades, the training, the kill count—”

“I don’t care,” Todoroki cut in, voice low but unshakable. “If Keigo’s a threat, I’d rather find out alone than risk you being anywhere near it. I don’t care how good you are in a fight.”

Bakugo scoffed, following him toward the building. “You really think I can’t handle one guy?”

“I think you throw yourself into danger without hesitation when it’s for someone you care about,” Todoroki said, stopping just inside the stairwell to face him.

Bakugo opened his mouth, shut it again. “…You’re serious.”

“I am.” Todoroki’s tone softened, but his eyes stayed sharp. “You’ve spent every day since we started dating making sure I survive. You don’t get to tell me I can’t do the same.”

Bakugo stared at him, jaw tight. “You’re lucky you’re hot.”

“I know,” Todoroki said, already climbing the stairs.

Bakugo followed a step behind, muttering, “Unbelievable,” but not pulling away when Todoroki’s hand brushed his as they walked.

***

Chapter Text

The apartment was warm and loud in that easy, comfortable way that only happened when all of them were in one place.

Kirishima had staked out the armchair with a six-pack perched on the armrest, laughing at something Bakugo said from across the room.

Uraraka was bent at the coffee table, unloading her tote bag of snacks like she was stocking a bunker—chips, cookies, a suspiciously fancy bakery box.

Midoriya hovered close, helping her arrange everything in neat little rows, his shoulder brushing hers whenever they reached for the same thing.

Bakugo stood near the couch, a beer in one hand, gesturing animatedly at Kirishima as he launched into some story.

Todoroki lingered beside him, occasionally dropping a dry, perfectly-timed comment that made Kirishima snort beer out his nose.

It was easy. Normal.

The hum of conversation, the faint fizz of beer cans cracking open, the smell of something citrusy from Kaminari’s candle on the shelf.

Which is why the sound of the front door opening—without a knock—hit like a record scratch.

Everyone turned.

A tall figure stepped inside, moving with the kind of confidence that belonged to someone who never worried about being unwelcome.

His dark eyes swept over each of them in turn—measuring, cataloging.

Bakugo straightened instantly.

Kirishima’s voice broke the silence. “Uh… Kam? You expecting company?”

Kaminari, who’d been half in the kitchen, froze like a kid caught sneaking in past curfew. “Yeah,” he said slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh… guys… this is Azer.”

Azer’s gaze landed on each of them in turn, unreadable. “Bakugo of Mario Kart. And... Friends,” he said, voice low and deliberate.

“Yeah,” Kaminari said, stepping forward. “They’re here to… help.”

Bakugo’s eyes narrowed. “With what?”

Azer didn’t look at him. Didn’t look at anyone in particular.

He just stepped further inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click that felt a little too final.

The room was suddenly much quieter.

No one moved for a beat. The hum of the fridge was suddenly deafening.

Azer broke the silence first. “You wanted information,” he said, eyes locked on Bakugo now. “I told you I’d give it to you. This is me keeping my word.”

Bakugo crossed his arms, chin lifting. “Start talking, then.”

Azer’s gaze flicked briefly toward Kaminari—something sharp and unreadable passing between them—before he took another slow step into the room.

“There’s a place,” he began. “Underground. Hidden. The kind of place you only find if someone wants you to find it. They take demons there. Tear them apart. Stitch them back together with other demons.”

“The demon hybrids,” Uraraka said quietly, her voice equal parts horror and fascination.

Azer’s mouth curved in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Not just hybridization. They don’t stop at two. Sometimes three, four… however many it takes until the thing in the cage is unrecognizable to whatever it used to be. Stronger than it was. Meaner. Less… predictable.”

Midoriya swallowed hard, notebook already halfway out of his bag. “Why?”

“Power,” Azer said simply. “Some of them can’t survive outside the lab. Some of them… can’t be killed the usual ways. Should pose quite a challenge to your Slayer.”

Bakugo’s jaw tightened. “And you’re one of them.”

“Partially,” Azer said, as if correcting a minor fact. “I was already strong before they got to me. I am… an upgrade of myself.” His eyes found Bakugo’s again. “And you agreed I could keep living in exchange for telling you about them. So here I am. Telling you.”

The air felt heavier now. Kirishima shifted uncomfortably, eyes flicking between Bakugo and Kaminari. “You’re just… letting him live? What if it’s all bullshit?”

“Kaminari’s idea,” Bakugo said flatly, without looking away from Azer.

Uraraka blinked at Kaminari. “And you’re okay with this?”

Kaminari gave a little shrug, a pale shadow of his usual easy grin. “Doesn’t matter if I’m okay with it. This is bigger than me. And if Azer’s got a lead on where they’re making these things, we can’t just ignore it.”

Azer glanced around the room again, and this time his eyes landed on Todoroki.

They lingered there—an unspoken measurement.

Power recognizing power.

Todoroki didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blink. His stillness was sharper than any glare.

Azer’s head tilted slightly, something almost amused in his expression.

“Where’s this place?” Bakugo asked, cutting the silent standoff.

“I can take you there,” Azer said, voice low. “But you’ll want to see it for yourself before you decide how to burn it down. Tonight will be strictly recon.”

Bakugo’s eyes narrowed. “You’re awfully confident giving orders for a guy standing in a room full of people who could end you.”

“I’m still standing,” Azer replied.

The tension in the air was a live wire—Kaminari’s hand flexing against his leg, Midoriya’s pen poised over paper, Uraraka’s magic practically humming in her bag.

But Todoroki never looked away from Azer. Not once.

And Azer never looked away from him.

*

Azer lingered in the doorway like he wasn’t sure if stepping farther inside would get him a beer or a blade to the throat.

The rest of them were bunched up in the narrow space between Kaminari’s kitchen counter and couch, voices low, shoulders angled toward each other in that instinctive huddle you make when there’s a stranger in the room.

Midoriya’s brow was furrowed, notebook already tucked under one arm. “I just think we should… think about this first,” he said, eyes darting toward Azer. “If he’s telling the truth, then yeah, this facility is important. But what if he’s not? What if it’s a trap?”

Uraraka nodded quickly. “Exactly. We don’t even know if we can trust him.”

“I can,” Kaminari said, though it came out with a little too much hesitation to sell it. “I mean—he’s different now. Not like before, but... I think we can trust him.”

Bakugo gave a humorless laugh. “Different, huh? He lied to you the other night.” His eyes swept the circle. “I got an SOS text. I showed up ready to put down whatever was coming after him, and it turns out…” His gaze flicked to Kaminari. “…he was just trying to get to you. To offer you power or whatever bullshit.”

Kaminari rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, but as soon as you showed up, he asked for help.”

“Yeah. Funny how that works,” Bakugo muttered.

Kirishima crossed his arms, jaw set. “I trust Kaminari. And if Kaminari wants to give him a chance, I’m gonna give him one. And we can just deal with what happens. We sorta have no choice, unless you guys suddenly know of other sources of information on the hybrids?”

Midoriya nodded slowly. “Good point.”

From across the kitchen, Todoroki still hadn’t said a word.

He stood slightly apart, leaning against the counter, eyes fixed unblinking on Azer like a lion watching something move just wrong in the grass.

He didn’t usually offer opinions in these moments. He was here for the fights, not the debates.

If Bakugo said “go,” he’d go.

But the weight in his stare said he was ready to tear through Azer the second he made a wrong move.

Azer glanced over, just for a moment, and Todoroki’s expression didn’t change.

Bakugo finally exhaled through his nose, sharp and decisive. “We’re not wasting time. We go. If it’s a trap, we deal with it. If it’s real, we burn it to the ground.”

Nobody argued.

Azer smiled faintly—though whether it was approval or something darker was hard to tell.

*

The room shifted from tense conference to controlled chaos.

Jackets were pulled from chair backs, boots tugged on, Uraraka slinging a bag over one shoulder like they were going on a casual hike instead of… whatever this was.

Midoriya was already on the phone by the window, speaking in the low, rapid tone reserved for talking to Aizawa. “We’ll keep you updated, promise,” he said, scribbling something in his notebook with his free hand.

Todoroki caught Bakugo’s wrist before he could shove his arms into his leather jacket. “Are you sure about this?” he asked quietly.

Bakugo glanced at him, one brow ticking up. “What, the facility? Hell yeah. It’s exactly the kind of shit we’ve been looking for.”

“I’m not talking about the facility,” Todoroki said, eyes flicking toward Azer—still planted by the door, pretending not to listen. “I’m talking about him.”

Bakugo smirked. “You think I don’t know a trap when I see one?”

“I think,” Todoroki said slowly, “that you trust your own strength. And that makes you willing to take unnecessary risks.”

That gave Bakugo pause. Just for a second.

“I can handle him,” Bakugo said finally.

“I know you can,” Todoroki replied. “I’m not worried about you handling him. I’m worried about him handling someone else.” His gaze softened, but only a fraction. “You’ve already given him one free pass. I won’t give him another.”

Bakugo’s smirk turned sharper, like he’d just been handed a challenge he couldn’t wait to take. “Fine. But if you’re gunning for him, you better let me take the first swing.”

“Deal,” Todoroki said, straight-faced.

From across the room, Kaminari called, “Lovebirds, you coming or what?”

Bakugo flipped him off without breaking eye contact with Todoroki. “Yeah, we’re coming.”

*

The campus lights faded behind them, swallowed by the dark as the narrow path curved into the trees.

Nobody in this group had ever really ventured into the forest near the student housing buildings, but Bakugo figured there was a first time for everything.

The air was cool and still, broken only by the crunch of boots on damp leaves and the occasional snap of a branch underfoot.

Azer walked at the head of the group with the ease of someone who knew exactly where he was going.

Kaminari kept pace beside him, phone flashlight cutting a pale beam through the undergrowth, shoulders squared like he was daring anyone to question his choice.

Behind them, Kirishima and Uraraka kept up an uneasy conversation about whether owls counted as good omens.

Midoriya stuck close to Uraraka’s other side, glancing over his shoulder more than he watched the trail.

Each time he did, Bakugo caught the flicker of his gaze—quick, measuring, the kind of look you gave someone you trusted to be the last line of defense.

Bakugo gave him a short nod the first time, and after that Midoriya stopped hiding it.

Todoroki and Bakugo brought up the rear, their phone flashlights off.

Bakugo’s was tucked in his pocket, and Todoroki hadn’t bothered with one at all. His eyes, unblinking, stayed locked on Azer’s back like a scope sighting its mark.

“You could at least pretend you’re not stalking him,” Bakugo muttered under his breath.

“I’m not stalking him,” Todoroki replied, voice low and steady. “I’m evaluating him.”

Bakugo smirked faintly. “Same thing.”

The forest thickened as they went, branches weaving overhead to block out what little light the night offered.

Shadows shifted at the edges of their flashlight beams, harmless underbrush made menacing by the dark.

No one spoke much. The only sound was their footsteps and the occasional whisper of fabric when someone adjusted a jacket or brushed against a tree.

Somewhere up ahead, Azer’s voice cut through the quiet. “Almost there.”

No one seemed particularly reassured.

***

Chapter Text

The trees thinned suddenly, and the ground sloped into a clearing that shouldn’t have been there.

A cemetery.

Even in the dark, Midoriya could see the broken stones jutting from the earth like crooked teeth, their inscriptions half-eaten by moss and time.

A rusted fence sagged in places, more symbolic than protective, and the air carried that faint metallic tang that old cemeteries seemed to hold no matter the season.

“I didn’t even know this was here,” Midoriya murmured.

“Yeah,” Kirishima said, voice low. “Not exactly on the campus brochure.”

In the center of the plot sat a weather-worn crypt—stone doors half-covered in ivy, the family name carved above worn into near-oblivion.

Azer stopped in front of it, letting his flashlight beam sweep across the cracked threshold.

“Entrance is down here,” he said. “Lab’s underneath.”

Bakugo’s instincts flared hot in his chest.

He didn’t like the angle, didn’t like the ready-made explanation.

This was too easy. Too perfect.

“Alright,” he said, turning to the group. “Here’s the deal. I go down with Uraraka and our tour guide here. Smaller group’s easier to sneak. If shit goes bad, I’ve got magic backup.”

Uraraka didn’t even hesitate. “I’ve got extra crystals,” she said, patting the pouch at her hip. “We can mask our presence, maybe lay some wards as we go.”

“You’re not going without me,” Todoroki said instantly.

Bakugo’s head snapped toward him. “Yeah, I am.”

“No.”

“Yes,” Bakugo shot back.

The rest of the group froze like prey animals—Kirishima turning to look away, Midoriya’s flashlight beam trembling slightly in the mist.

“I’m not letting you walk into some unknown hellhole with a monster we barely know,” Todoroki said, voice clipped. “Especially not one who’s already lied to you.”

Bakugo took a step closer, eyes narrowing. “You think I can’t handle him?”

“I think you shouldn’t have to,” Todoroki said. His tone was calm, but his jaw was tight. “You’re the Slayer. You don’t need to prove anything by taking stupid risks.”

Bakugo scoffed, low and sharp. “It’s not about proving anything, it’s about doing the damn job.”

“And my job is making sure you don’t die doing yours.”

“Oh, spare me the knight-in-shining-armor crap,” Bakugo muttered. “You’re staying here.”

“No,” Todoroki repeated, the word heavier this time. “You’re walking into a place built by whatever made him.” His gaze flicked to Azer. “If it’s a trap, they won’t give you time to shout for me.”

Bakugo stepped right into his space now, close enough that their breath mingled in the cold air. “I need you up here,” he said, low but fierce. “If this goes sideways, you’re the only one who can keep them breathing.”

“That’s not a trade I’m making,” Todoroki shot back, voice just as low.

Bakugo’s hand twitched like he wanted to grab him, shake him, something. “Tch. You’re impossible.”

“And you’re reckless.”

They stood there, glaring, the kind of locked stare that had both Midoriya and Kirishima pretending to check their phones like their lives depended on it.

Azer just looked vaguely amused.

Finally Bakugo exhaled through his nose, hard. “I’m in charge. I’m going. You’re staying. End of discussion.”

Todoroki didn’t answer. But when Bakugo turned away, his eyes stayed locked on him—unblinking, cold, and ready.

Bakugo jerked his chin at Uraraka. “Let’s move.”

Azer was already at the crypt door, waiting.

Todoroki didn’t move as they stepped into the dark, but his posture screamed one thing: If he doesn’t come back out, I’m burning this place to the ground.

*

The stone steps were narrow and slick, the air thickening with every step they took below ground.

Their phone flashlights cut pale cones into the dark, bouncing over damp walls slick with moss.

Bakugo went first, jaw tight, one hand on his weapon and the other gesturing for Uraraka to follow close. “Stay on me. Hold onto my shirt.”

She hooked two fingers into the back hem without hesitation, gripping it like a lifeline. “Got it.”

“And don’t get near him unless I tell you,” Bakugo muttered, his voice carrying just enough to reach her over the hollow drip of water somewhere ahead. “Don’t care what he says—if he moves toward you, I’m putting him through a wall.”

Uraraka’s lips twitched, but she didn’t argue. “Yes, Dad.”

Bakugo shot her a quick glare over his shoulder. “Don’t call me that.”

Ahead, Azer’s footsteps were soundless, like he wasn’t even touching the ground. He didn’t bother with a flashlight, which somehow made Bakugo’s nerves rise even more.

The stairwell finally spat them into a low-ceilinged corridor that reeked of iron and something older—something sour.

Their beams swept across the walls and caught on metal.

Rows of cages stretched into the dark, stacked two levels high like some subterranean Alcatraz. Rusted bars. Reinforced locks.

Scratches along the stone where claws had raked for freedom.

And inside—

Eyes glinting in the half-light. Teeth bared in snarls and grins. Hands, some too long to be human, curling through the bars.

A low chorus rose instantly, hisses and shouts in languages Bakugo didn’t know. Metal rattled as inmates slammed against the bars.

One voice, deeper than the rest, rumbled, Let us out.

Uraraka’s fingers tightened in his shirt.

Bakugo shifted so he stood between her and the nearest cell, scanning every movement. “You seeing this?” he asked without taking his eyes off the cages.

Azer didn’t look back. “Told you it was a facility. They didn’t just experiment here. They collected.”

One cell door shuddered under the impact of something huge inside. Chains clinked, taut.

Bakugo’s gut twisted. This wasn’t just some lab. It was a holding pen for nightmares.

“Stick close,” he said again to Uraraka, lower this time, like it was more prayer than instruction.

*

Todoroki paced a slow track across the patchy grass, boots scuffing against the uneven earth between the crooked headstones.

His eyes kept cutting toward the crypt door like it was a fuse about to burn down.

If he went down there now, Bakugo would be furious.

If he didn’t, and something happened...

His hands flexed at his sides. He could still hear Bakugo’s voice in his head, telling him you're staying. Like that was ever going to be easy.

Kaminari stood a few feet away, arms folded tight across his chest. He wasn’t watching the crypt so much as staring through it, jaw set.

“If something goes wrong,” Kaminari said quietly, “that’s on me. I’m the one who said not to kill him.”

Midoriya glanced between them, chewing his lip. “We don’t know that something will go wrong—”

Kirishima cut in, voice deliberately bright. “Hey, uh… speaking of demons… Kaminari. Who was Kaminushi? I mean, before all this?”

Kaminari didn’t answer. His eyes flickered, then dropped to the ground.

It was Todoroki who spoke instead.

“I’d heard the name,” he said, voice even, almost thoughtful. “When I was young, there were stories about storm demons. Ones that thrived on chaos. The kind of thing that makes mortals barricade their homes and hope they’re not noticed.”

Kaminari looked up sharply.

“I also heard that vampires were spared their wrath,” Todoroki continued, meeting Kaminari’s gaze without a hint of malice. “Demons and vampires… we’re not enemies. Not in the bigger fight. But people still told the stories. About the lightning. The floods. The destruction left behind.”

He wasn’t accusing. Just stating facts. But the air between them still felt charged, like a storm front rolling in.

Kaminari’s throat bobbed. “Yeah,” he said finally. “That was me.”

No one said anything after that. The silence stretched, broken only by the wind rattling the branches overhead—and the faint scrape of Todoroki’s boots as he turned again, eyes fixed on the crypt.

*

Todoroki’s pacing stopped abruptly.

He stood still for one long moment, listening to the muted nothing coming from the crypt. No voices. No footsteps. No Bakugo.

That was it.

He turned to Kirishima. “If something happens, you—” His voice caught, and he forced it steady. “You shift. Right away. Protect them.”

Kirishima’s expression sobered instantly. “Yeah. Got it.” He didn’t ask questions, didn’t argue—just straightened his shoulders and glanced toward Midoriya and Kaminari like he was already bracing for it.

Todoroki took one step toward the crypt before Kaminari moved, almost tripping over himself to get in front of him.

“I’m coming too,” Kaminari blurted.

Todoroki didn’t even break stride. “Fine.”

Kaminari blinked. “That’s it? No lecture about staying here? No dramatic ‘it’s too dangerous’ speech?”

Todoroki’s eyes cut to him, pale and unblinking. “If you want to walk into the dark with me, I won’t stop you.”

And then he was moving again—long strides toward the stone stairs, every line of his body tense, like an apex predator following a scent trail.

Kaminari scrambled to keep up, throwing one quick look over his shoulder.

Kirishima was already shifting his stance, watching them go.

Midoriya’s voice carried softly after them. “Be careful.”

Todoroki didn’t answer. He was already descending into the shadows.

*

The further Bakugo went, the worse it got.

The air stank of metal and rot, damp stone slick under their boots. Rows of cages lined both sides of the long, narrow catwalk, stacked two high.

Inside—things. Some humanoid, some so warped by horns, claws, or scales they barely resembled anything living.

The moment Bakugo and Uraraka passed, the cells came alive—claws raking at the bars, fists pounding, voices roaring for release in a dozen different languages.

Bakugo kept Uraraka close enough to feel her pressed against his back.

“Don’t let go,” he muttered. “No matter what.”

She obeyed instantly, her fingers fisting in the fabric between his shoulder blades.

Azer moved ahead without flinching, like the noise didn’t touch him, until they reached a break in the catwalk.

There, a grated platform overlooked a sunken room below—lit by a single swaying lamp.

Bakugo’s eyes narrowed.

The room was empty except for a single operating table.

Stainless steel, gleaming faintly in the weak light. Stands of medical equipment crowded around it—monitors, surgical trays, something that looked like a blood pump.

Nobody there. Not a single shadow moving.

Azer gestured lazily toward it. “That’s where they do the work.”

Uraraka shifted behind Bakugo, trying not to look at the cages. “Okay. Great. It’s real. We’ve seen it.” She swallowed hard. “Can we go now?”

The demons kept screaming, rattling the walls.

Somewhere down the row, something slammed hard enough to shake the catwalk beneath their feet.

Bakugo didn’t answer right away. His gaze stayed locked on the table, jaw tight, like he was running numbers in his head.

Finally, he let out a slow breath. “Yeah. We’re done.” He glanced back at her, voice firm. “Not safe to keep you down here.”

Relief flickered across her face.

Bakugo jerked his chin toward the way they’d come. “Let’s move.”

And without another word, they turned back, Azer falling into step behind them.

***

Chapter Text

The climb back up felt longer than the trip down.

Uraraka’s hand stayed knotted in the back of Bakugo’s shirt until they hit the first steps of the crypt.

A burst of cold night air hit them as they emerged into the overgrown cemetery.

Uraraka exhaled shakily, shoulders loosening once the sounds of the cages faded into the earth beneath them.

Kirishima was the first to spot them. “Hey—” He frowned, looking past them. “Where’s Denki? And Todoroki?”

Bakugo froze mid-step. “What?”

“They didn’t meet you down there?” Midoriya asked, confusion flickering to worry in an instant.

Bakugo’s face darkened. “Goddamn it.” He spun toward the crypt, already moving. “That stupid vampire idiot—”

Uraraka reached for his arm. “Wait, what’s—”

“Raka—demon babysitting’s yours!”

Uraraka’s jaw set. She shifted her grip, eyes snapping to Azer. “Got it. Go.”

But Bakugo was already gone, boots pounding down the stone steps two at a time.

Behind them, Azer lingered just at the edge of the shadows.

That faint, knowing smile ghosted across his face—there and gone before anyone could call it out.

*

The first thing Todoroki felt was cold.

Not the kind he could make.

This was deeper—seeping in through metal, biting at his skin.

His eyes snapped open.

The ceiling above him was unfamiliar—old plaster, spiderweb cracks branching toward a single dim light.

He tried to sit up, but something held him down.

Leather straps. Across his wrists, his chest, his legs.

He tugged once, hard.

The restraints didn’t budge.

A muffled sound left his throat—and that’s when he realized there was something in his mouth.

Not a gag, exactly, but a metal bar wedged between his teeth, pressing against his gums in a way that made his jaw ache.

He tried to shift it with his tongue, but it was fixed in place.

His fangs couldn’t drop, even if he wanted them to.

His pulse kicked hard against the side of his neck.

To his right, another table. Another set of straps.

Kaminari lay there—still unconscious, head lolled to the side, hair spilling over the edge of the table.

His chest rose and fell slowly, but there was no sign he was waking.

Todoroki turned his head as far as the strap at his neck allowed, scanning the room.

This didn’t look like the cage-lined prison he and Kaminari had been walking through earlier.

No rusted catwalks. No damp concrete.

The walls here were painted—faded and peeling, but intact. Cabinets lined one side, their glass doors clouded with age.

An old window sat high on the far wall, moonlight slipping through the dust.

Todoroki’s eyes lingered on the angle, the draft of night air, the faint shift in acoustics.

They were higher than before.

They were upstairs.

But that made no sense.

He remembered the steps leading down.

The sound of Bakugo’s voice echoing in the dark.

The narrow space, the smell of rust and damp stone.

So how the hell were they here?

*

The sound reached him before he saw her.

A soft, deliberate shuffle of footsteps.

Rubber soles on tile.

Todoroki turned his head toward the movement, jaw tight against the metal bar forcing his mouth open.

She emerged from behind a curtained corner—a tall figure in a sterile-white apron, long gloves pulled up to her elbows, a surgical mask hiding everything but a pair of pale, almost luminous eyes. A cap and hood covered the rest.

“Ah,” she said, her voice warm and lilting in a way that made his skin crawl. “You’re awake. Good. I hate wasting anesthesia on something so… resilient.”

She came closer, the overhead light catching faint stains along the front of her apron.

In one hand, she carried a metal tray—surgical instruments clinking softly with each step.

“You’re quite the specimen,” she went on, setting the tray on a stand beside his table. “Strong. Cold. Only a splash of human blood left in you.”

She reached out and brushed a gloved hand along the line of his jaw, following the curve of the bar keeping his fangs in check.

Her fingers slid down to his shirt collar.

With a practiced flick, she popped open the first button, then the next, pulling the fabric aside. The cool air hit his skin.

“Oh,” she murmured, tilting her head to admire the ink curling over his collarbone. “Vampire runes. Interesting. Did you earn these, or were they an attempt at… decoration?”

He didn’t react, didn’t give her the satisfaction.

Every muscle in his body stayed coiled, his gaze tracking her movements, noting the scalpel she set nearest to his right arm.

She chuckled quietly. “I’ve never had the chance to work with something quite like you. But then…” She glanced over to Kaminari, still unconscious. “Why stop at one miracle of nature?”

A small, choked gasp broke the air—Kaminari’s eyes flying open.

“What the—” He struggled against the straps immediately, panic in every line of his body. “What the hell?”

“Shh,” she said, almost sweetly, moving toward him. “You’ll ruin my focus.”

Kaminari jerked hard against the restraints, the table clattering beneath him. “Get the hell away from him! Todoroki—what the fuck is this—”

Todoroki’s eyes stayed locked on her as she moved between them, his mind turning over every possible way to break free.

No panic. Just cold calculation.

*

Kirishima stood at the top of the crypt stairs, eyes fixed on the dark hole beneath him.

His foot tapped in a restless rhythm against the stone, hands clenched and unclenched at his sides.

Every muscle in his body itched to go down there after them.

Behind him, Azer lingered just inside the circle of phone-light, posture loose, expression unreadable.

“You’re awfully tense,” Azer drawled.

Kirishima didn’t turn around. “They’ve been down there too long.”

Azer’s smirk was wasted on the back of his head. “Maybe you should worry less about them…”

The movement was sudden—so fast Uraraka barely had time to gasp.

Azer closed the distance to Midoriya in a blink, one arm snapping around his chest, the other pressing hard against his throat.

Midoriya’s phone clattered to the ground.

“…and more about yourselves.”

“Hey!” Uraraka shouted, already fumbling for her bag.

Azer leaned in, his mouth near Midoriya’s ear. “The Slayer’s human weakness. His best friend.” His grip tightened. “My boss will be thrilled.”

Midoriya’s pulse hammered against Azer’s forearm. His eyes darted to Uraraka, wide and pleading. “Don’t—don’t come any closer. Just run.”

“I’m not going anywhere!” she snapped, pulling a small bundle of herbs and twine from her bag, fingers trembling as she started to untie it.

Azer’s smile curved slow and mocking. “Sweet,” he murmured. “Humans are always so sweet. And stupid.”

That was his mistake.

The sound tore through the night like the crack of a tree splitting—Kirishima shifting in a rush of muscle and fur, his shoes shredding against the stone.

His growl was low and guttural as he lunged, jaws snapping for Azer’s arm.

Azer didn’t let go of Midoriya fast enough.

Kirishima’s teeth closed on his forearm, wrenching it back with the kind of force that made Azer snarl and finally release him.

Midoriya stumbled forward into Uraraka’s arms, coughing, while Kirishima pushed Azer back, claws raking against stone and skin alike.

*

Kirishima drove forward, all teeth and muscle, the force of his weight shaking the loose stones beneath their feet.

Azer twisted, slipping out from the path of those snapping jaws, but not before Kirishima’s claws raked across his ribs, tearing through the fabric of his shirt.

Azer hissed and struck back—no wasted movements, just a blur of hands and a sharp kick that caught Kirishima in the shoulder.

The werewolf staggered but didn’t retreat, a guttural snarl rumbling deep in his chest.

Midoriya grabbed Uraraka’s arm and yanked her toward the edge of the graveyard. “Back, back, get out of the way—”

“I’m looking for it!” she hissed, her hands frantically digging through her bag. “I know I put another one in here—”

Kirishima lunged again, jaws clamping onto Azer’s forearm for the second time.

Azer spun with the momentum, slamming his free elbow hard into Kirishima’s ribs.

The wolf hit the ground with a grunt, rolled, and came up low and ready, yellow eyes locked on his opponent.

Neither of them was giving an inch.

And all the while, Midoriya’s eyes darted from the chaos to the dark crypt stairs, praying Bakugo would come charging up any second.

*

Bakugo almost went completely back downstairs. But he stopped halfway, and took a chance on following the sounds of chaos coming from an upper level instead.

The heavy metal door slammed against the wall as Bakugo barged in, breathless from the sprint and already scanning for threats.

What he walked into was a goddamn nightmare.

Todoroki had torn free of the restraints, the shredded leather straps dangling from the sides of the operating table.

His fangs—long, sharp, and newly dropped—gleamed under the flickering fluorescent light, and the gag meant to keep them hidden lay mangled at his feet, the steel bar bent in two.

Across the room, the surgeon—female, head to toe in sterile white—had bolted to the far wall and was fumbling with the lock on one of the reinforced cages.

“Protect me!” she shrieked as the door swung open.

The demon inside stepped forward, massive and snarling, the stench of its breath rolling through the room.

Todoroki met it head-on without hesitation, the air between them humming with raw threat.

They circled each other once, both lips peeled back over teeth. Then, with a snarl, Todoroki lunged.

“Fuck—” Bakugo cut himself off, sprinting straight for the other operating table.

Kaminari was strapped down, eyes wild, body twitching against the bonds.

“She went down the hall!” Kaminari rasped as Bakugo worked the buckles with fast, rough hands. “You can still—”

“Don’t care,” Bakugo snapped. “You’re getting out of here.”

The last strap came loose, and Bakugo hauled him upright without ceremony.

Kaminari swayed on his feet, pale and shaky from whatever they’d pumped into him.

Without hesitation, Bakugo ducked under his arm, letting him lean his weight fully.

From behind them came the wet crunch of impact, the screech of claws against stone.

Bakugo risked a glance—just enough to see Todoroki drive the demon into the far wall, one hand clamped like a vice around its throat, eyes blazing with something feral.

“Move your ass,” Bakugo muttered, pulling Kaminari toward the door.

They were halfway down the corridor before heavy footsteps joined them from behind.

Todoroki rounded the corner, blood speckling his jaw, chest heaving with quick, sharp breaths.

The growl still in his throat made the hairs on Bakugo’s neck stand on end, but there wasn’t time to deal with that right now.

“Stairs,” Bakugo ordered, finding the narrow stone steps that would lead them back down to the crypt.

Kaminari stumbled, and Bakugo tightened his grip, practically dragging him as they went.

*

The stairs were narrower than Bakugo remembered, stone worn slick with age and damp under his boots.

Kaminari’s weight dragged at his shoulder, but Bakugo didn’t slow.

Not with Todoroki right behind them, breath coming in sharp bursts that sounded more like a predator closing in than a teammate keeping pace.

They hit the bottom, boots scuffing on the uneven floor of the crypt.

The same cracked walls. The same warped iron gate.

Except—

“Wait—” Kaminari’s voice was raw. “We went down stairs when we got here. I swear we went—”

“Not now,” Bakugo snapped, not even looking at him.

He turned instead, catching Todoroki by the front of his torn shirt before the vampire could take another step toward the others.

He yanked him close, close enough to see every inch of his dilated pupils, the fine tremor in his jaw.

“Put ‘em away,” Bakugo barked.

Todoroki didn’t move.

His gaze locked with Bakugo’s, unblinking, like he was measuring whether or not to listen. The low hum of a growl sat in the back of his throat, steady as a heartbeat.

Bakugo’s free hand came up, fingers gripping Todoroki’s jaw hard enough to force his head still. “I said—put. Them. Away.”

For a heartbeat, nothing changed.

Then, like something snapping back into place, the tension in Todoroki’s face eased.

Slowly, his fangs slid back into his gums.

“There you go,” Bakugo said, voice low now, almost rough with relief. “Good. You hurt?”

Todoroki gave a small shake of his head.

Bakugo didn’t buy it for a second—but he didn’t press. Not here.

Behind him, Kaminari stood slouched against the wall, still pale, still blinking against the fog in his head.

But his eyes were fixed on them—wide, almost in awe—like he’d just gotten a front-row seat to something he shouldn’t have seen.

***

Chapter Text

Bakugo’s head jerked up.

The muffled thud-thud-thud of heavy blows carried down through the crypt walls, reverberating like a second heartbeat under the stone.

The next impact cracked through the air—a jagged crash that rattled dust from the ceiling and sent a tremor up through the soles of their boots.

“Shit,” he muttered, low and sharp. His eyes cut to Todoroki, already narrowing with purpose. “Help Kaminari and follow me—now.”

No hesitation. No second glance. Bakugo was already moving, boots hammering the narrow stairs two at a time.

The cold slapped him in the face as he burst out into the night, breath puffing white in the freezing air.

The cemetery yawned out before him—overgrown, shadowed, and alive with the sound of violence.

Kirishima and Azer were locked in a brutal tangle under the lean of a half-buried headstone.

Claws flashed silver in the moonlight. Teeth snapped with a wet, bone-deep crunch.

Kirishima’s wolf form was all muscle and fury, driving Azer back until the headstone cracked with a groan of shifting stone.

Azer twisted, inhumanly fast, and landed a blow that sent the wolf skidding through the dirt in a spray of uprooted grass and loose soil.

Kirishima rolled hard, claws gouging the earth, then lunged again, a snarl ripping out of him like it was tearing his lungs apart.

Todoroki emerged from the crypt with Kaminari slung half over his shoulder, both still mildly affected by the anesthesia they were under.

They both stopped dead when they saw the fight.

Kaminari’s breaths came in shallow, his unfocused eyes tracking the chaos ahead.

“I’ve got it!” Uraraka’s voice rang out from off to the left.

She held up a glowing pink crystal, its light pulsing like a heartbeat between her fingers.

Bakugo didn’t think. He stomped over, ripped it from her hand, and took off in a sprint.

“Kugo, wait—!” Uraraka’s warning came too late.

The air was electric this close to the fight.

He could feel the heat of Kirishima’s rage radiating off him, the snap of jaws slicing the wind just inches from Azer’s throat.

Bakugo crushed the crystal in his palm.

The shards bit deep, sharp and cold, and the glittering dust spilled between his fingers like sand. He flung it into the fray.

The bloom was immediate—thick, swirling pink that coiled through the air like a living thing, curling around limbs and teeth and fur.

It clung to their skin, their hair, their lungs. Azer’s snarl turned into a cough; Kirishima’s growl faltered into something almost human.

When the smoke finally thinned, Kirishima lay naked and still on the grass, the brutal lines of his wolf form gone, replaced by bare skin marked with dirt and shallow cuts.

He lay there blinking slowly, as if trying to come to terms with what just happened.

Azer was on his back a few feet away, gasping for breath.

Bakugo opened his hand. What was left of the crystal tumbled to the grass, sticky with his blood. He exhaled, shoulders tight.

Midoriya moved first, running across the grass.

He dropped to his knees beside Kirishima, dragging him back, away from the Slayer’s shadow.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you,” Midoriya murmured, hands quick but gentle as they mapped over Kirishima’s ribs and throat, checking pulse and breath.

He shrugged out of his jacket, draping it over Kirishima’s bare chest, tucking it close like he could shield him from everything that had just happened.

Then he looked up—and froze.

Bakugo was still moving toward Azer, his pace measured but lethal, murder simmering in the tight line of his jaw.

Midoriya leaned over Kirishima, half-protective, half-pleading, his wide green eyes tracking every step Bakugo took.

Azer coughed again, laughing between wheezes. “Well played, Slayer,” he rasped, teeth flashing through the grin. “Didn’t think you’d be that easy to move around the board. Almost had you…”

Bakugo didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

The fight was already over.

And now came the part no one else ever wanted.

The part that lived in his hands alone.

He felt the blade before he even reached for it—the familiar weight in the inner pocket of his jacket, the cold bite of the hilt pressing against his palm when his fingers closed around it.

This was the job. His job.

The thing written into him before he was born, carved into every bone in his body whether he liked it or not, and only awoken once he had been officially chosen.

He didn’t get to flinch. Didn’t get to walk away.

The metal whispered as it cleared the sheath.

In the corner of his vision, Todoroki moved—subtle but deliberate—stepping between Kaminari and the body on the grass.

Bakugo kept walking. Each step felt heavier than the last, like the ground itself wanted to drag him under with the rest of the dead.

Azer’s grin faltered when he saw the blade, but he didn’t crawl back.

Just lay there, still breathing hard, eyes locked on Bakugo’s like he wanted to see it coming.

Good. Bakugo would give him that.

No speeches. No last rites.

Just the truth: this was mercy and justice and punishment all at once.

From the corner of his vision, Todoroki saw the flick of movement—Bakugo’s hand dipping into his jacket, drawing the blessed blade with a smooth, silent pull.

Todoroki pivoted instantly, blocking Kaminari’s view, stepping in close until there was nowhere else for him to look.

Kaminari’s glassy eyes searched past him, desperate to see what was happening.

“No,” Todoroki said, voice unyielding.

Kaminari leaned anyway, but Todoroki’s hand came up, steady against the back of his head, guiding him forward until Kaminari’s cheek was pressed to the cool, torn fabric over Todoroki’s chest.

The sound came seconds later—a sharp cry, cut short.

It echoed between the stones before the silence dropped heavy over the clearing.

Kaminari went rigid.

Todoroki felt the tremor work through him, the stutter in his breathing.

Then his fists curled tight in the ripped edges of Todoroki’s shirt, his head bowing low, and the heat of his tears began to bleed down over Todoroki’s skin.

He didn’t speak. Almost like he was holding his breath.

Todoroki didn’t move. He anchored himself, steady and immovable, arms braced around Kaminari’s shoulders.

The weight pressed in on them both, but he took it—let Kaminari breathe against him, let him hide from the sight neither of them needed to remember.

Everything settled around them, quiet and unbroken but for the slow sound of Kirishima’s breathing.

The night held them in its stillness.

*

The pink haze had thinned to nothing, leaving only the cold and the quiet.

Bakugo didn’t linger. His gaze swept over the group—alive, breathing, battered but standing—and landed on Kirishima’s still form in the grass.

“Let’s move,” Bakugo said, voice flat but brooking no argument.

He crossed the distance in long strides, crouching beside Kirishima.

The werewolf’s skin was clammy under his fingers, muscles slack, the rise and fall of his chest steady but shallow.

Bakugo hooked one arm under Kirishima’s knees, the other behind his back, and lifted.

The weight was nothing compared to what was already sitting on his shoulders.

Midoriya fell in behind him instantly, hands fluttering at the edges like he wanted to help but didn’t know how.

He kept pace for maybe ten steps before darting in front, fussing with the jacket draped over Kirishima’s chest, tugging it lower to cover his hips better.

Bakugo didn’t slow, just grunted a quiet, “Thanks,” and kept moving.

Behind them, Todoroki’s gait was even but stiff, a dark stain spreading down one side of his shirt where blood was soaking through. He didn’t look at it.

Kaminari sagged against him, pale and glassy-eyed, the lingering drug haze still dragging at his focus.

Uraraka appeared at their side, sliding under Kaminari’s free arm. “I’ve got him,” she said, gentle but firm.

Kaminari tried to lighten it, his mouth pulling into something like a grin. “Oof, thanks—kinda embarrassing, huh? Gonna have to get my security deposit back on that crypt—”

But the quip cracked halfway through, and his voice went thin. The shine in his eyes wasn’t just from the drugs.

Uraraka didn’t push. She just tightened her arm around him, steering them both toward the narrow trail that led out of the cemetery’s back edge.

Todoroki slowed as he passed Azer’s body. Todoroki crouched, waiting, as Azer slowly turned to dust.

Just like the others.

“Oi!” Bakugo’s voice cut through from a few feet ahead, sharp and impatient. “Move your ass, I’m not carrying you too.”

Todoroki’s mouth twitched. He straightened, falling back into step with the others.

Even with Kirishima in his arms, even leading the way out, Bakugo still had a bead on every one of them.

The forest swallowed them again, boots crunching over leaves, and the lights of the apartment complex felt a lifetime away.

*

Bakugo sent everyone home. 

Midoriya promised to notify Aizawa of the situation, and Aizawa only asked that they all look after each other for the night.

Kaminari and Kirishima went back to Kirishima’s apartment to rest, and Uraraka followed Midoriya to his apartment so she could apply an herbal healing spell to his neck, just to help the bruises fade.

Of course, Todoroki ended up at Bakugo’s apartment. 

The water hit Todoroki’s head in a steady, unbroken stream, running over his face and down the slope of his shoulders. Steam curled up around him, clinging to the walls, fogging the glass.

He just stood there, eyes closed, letting the heat soak into him. The adrenaline had burned out hours ago, but the tension still coiled tight in his muscles.

The door slid open with a muted scrape.

Bakugo stepped in, and crowded into the small space until his chest brushed Todoroki’s.

Without a word, he ducked under the spray, shoving a palm into Todoroki’s wet hair and pushing it back out of his eyes.

“You spacing out on me again?” Bakugo muttered, his voice low under the hiss of water.

Todoroki opened his eyes slowly, blinking like he was still surfacing. “…Just thinking.”

Bakugo’s gaze searched his face, tracking every twitch of expression. “About today?”

Todoroki’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t answer.

Bakugo’s thumb traced along his cheekbone, the gesture gentler than his voice. “I’m checking on you, dumbass. Talk to me.”

“I’m fine.”

“Bullshit.” Bakugo leaned in just enough that their foreheads nearly touched.

“You went through enough today. You don’t have to...”

For a moment, they just stood there in the steam, breathing the same damp air. The water pounded against Bakugo’s shoulders, pooling at their feet, and neither of them moved to step away.

Bakugo’s hand slid from Todoroki’s hair to the back of his neck, the pads of his fingers kneading the tense muscles there before he stepped aside just enough to grab the soap.

“Turn,” he said, voice gruff but quiet.

Todoroki obeyed without comment, letting Bakugo work up a lather and drag his hands over his shoulders, down the planes of his back.

Bakugo followed the curve of his spine with both hands, thumbs pressing slow lines into his skin.

He moved to Todoroki’s side, catching his wrist and washing his arm from shoulder to fingertips, deliberate in every motion.

Todoroki finally broke the silence, his voice barely louder than the hiss of water. “I should’ve—”

“Nope.” Bakugo didn’t even let him finish. His tone cut clean through the steam.

Todoroki blinked down at him. “What?”

“You’re about to say something stupid like you should’ve protected Kaminari, or you let him get captured,” Bakugo said flatly, fingers tightening briefly around his forearm. “And that’s bullshit.”

Todoroki’s mouth closed.

Bakugo’s hands skimmed lower, over the line of Todoroki’s ribs, until his thumb caught on the faint ridge at his hip.

He paused, swiping the pad of his thumb across the dried blood there, skin already knitting smooth under his touch. “Tch.”

Todoroki glanced down at him, unreadable.

“You bled for us,” Bakugo muttered, voice rougher than before. “You did enough.”

Bakugo’s palm flattened against his hip anyway, lingering over the faint scar like he could hold it closed himself.

From this angle, the black lines of Todoroki’s rune tattoos stood out against wet skin, the water slicking them to a shine. The marks ran jagged down his side, curling sharp across his ribs, old ink woven with power.

Bakugo moved to his other arm, washing it just as carefully, not looking away from him. “You fought like hell today. You tore through a goddamn demon. You don’t get to stand here and act like you failed because you weren’t in two places at once.”

Todoroki’s shoulders dipped, tension bleeding out of him as Bakugo’s hands finally stilled.

Bakugo reached up, brushing a wet strand of hair from Todoroki’s face. His voice softened. “You did your job. And I’m not letting you tear yourself apart over something that isn’t even your fault.”

Todoroki let out a slow breath, and for the first time all night, the tight line between his brows eased.

Bakugo kept his hand in Todoroki’s hair, thumb brushing slow against his temple as if he could smooth away what was left of the night.

“C’mere,” he murmured, not waiting for permission before tugging him in.

Todoroki stepped forward, closing the small gap between them until the steam-warmed skin of his chest pressed to Bakugo’s.

The water beat over their shoulders, trickling down in droplets that clung to the sharp lines of Todoroki’s jaw before dripping onto Bakugo’s collarbone.

Bakugo tilted his head up, catching the drop with his lips in a kiss that was barely a brush at first—testing, soft.

The kind of kiss that asked more than it demanded, as if he was checking whether Todoroki wanted it too.

Todoroki leaned into it, hands finding Bakugo’s hips, pulling him closer until their bodies aligned fully.

The kiss deepened in unhurried increments, warm and wet from the shower spray.

Bakugo’s palm slid down the side of Todoroki’s neck, across the slope of his shoulder, lingering at the steady rise and fall of his chest like he was counting each breath.

“Feel better?” Bakugo asked against his lips, voice still low.

Todoroki nodded, eyes half-lidded. “Much.”

Bakugo smirked faintly, just enough to be felt in the next kiss. “Good. Now let me finish getting the blood off you before you stink up my sheets.”

Todoroki huffed something that might’ve been a laugh, but he didn’t step back.

*

The cooler air of the bathroom hit them like a wave, raising goosebumps on Bakugo’s arms.

Bakugo snagged a towel off the rack and dropped it over his head, scrubbing briskly. Another he tossed to Todoroki, who caught it without looking, eyes still tracking Bakugo.

“You missed a spot,” Todoroki said, voice low. He stepped in, catching Bakugo’s wrist, and tugged the towel away.

With slow, steady hands, he dragged it down Bakugo’s shoulders, across his chest, over the sharp lines of muscle.

Bakugo rolled his eyes, but he didn’t pull away. “You’re making this weird.”

“Just making sure you’re dry.”

Todoroki’s tone was even, but there was weight behind it—something Bakugo couldn’t quite shrug off.

The silence stretched until Todoroki spoke again, softer this time. “You were… amazing today.”

Bakugo blinked. “The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“I just want you to know that I saw it. You did well. You led us. You made the right choices.” Todoroki’s gaze was steady, unflinching. “Even when they were hard.”

The towel stilled between them. Bakugo’s throat worked, a swallow he didn’t bother hiding.

“Are you okay?” Todoroki asked, and the way he said it—calm, patient, but insistent—left no room for the usual deflection.

For once, Bakugo didn’t try.

His jaw flexed, the fight replaying behind his eyes, and then he exhaled, ragged. “Yeah. It was… difficult.” His voice dropped low, softer than Todoroki had heard it in a while. “But its the job. You know?”

Todoroki nodded, towel forgotten in his hand. “I know. That’s why I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

Bakugo huffed out something that was almost a laugh. He shoved the towel against Todoroki’s chest, not unkind. “You’re such a damn softie.”

But when Todoroki pulled him closer, damp foreheads brushing, Bakugo didn’t resist. His hand found Todoroki’s waist, holding there like if he let go, the weight of everything might finally drag him under.

*

They made their way to the bedroom in a comfortable hush, hair still damp, towels slung low on their hips.

The sheets were cool when they slid beneath them, the kind of cold that made the warmth of skin-on-skin feel sharper, more grounding.

Todoroki leaned in first, bracing one hand against the mattress while the other traced along Bakugo’s chest.

His touch was slow, almost clinical at first—fingers brushing across the faint shadows of bruises, the shallow lines of half-healed cuts.

Each time his fingertips skimmed a mark, his eyes flicked up, as if checking for a wince.

Bakugo didn’t give him one. Just smirked faintly, voice low. “I thought I was taking care of you. You totally spun this on me. You’re treating me like I’m made of glass.”

“You’re not,” Todoroki murmured, fingers sliding down to the scar across his ribs. He bent his head and pressed a kiss there. “But you’ve been through enough.”

The words sank deeper than Bakugo wanted to admit. He huffed, more air than laughter, and let himself fall back against the pillows.

But Bakugo didn’t stop him.

Todoroki kept going—down his ribs, lower, pausing to map every scratch with his lips.

A kiss just below his stomach, another at the jut of his hipbone, feather light but steady.

Every touch felt like a vow, an acknowledgment of the body that had carried so much weight tonight.

Bakugo’s hand lifted almost without thinking, fingers threading through Todoroki’s damp hair.

He pushed it back, not to guide him, but just to see. To look.

The dim light caught on pale skin, on the line of Todoroki’s shoulders as he bent over him.

And Bakugo thought—

This was a creature of the night in his lap.

Soft hands, gentle mouth, moving like every mark on him mattered.

Like he mattered.

But he knew better. Todoroki was dangerous.

The strongest fighter they had. Maybe stronger than him.

He could burn down everything they’d built with a thought, or freeze him solid before he could even raise a blade.

And yet—

Todoroki kissed his scars like they were sacred.

Like eternity itself was something Todoroki had decided to spend here. With Bakugo.

Another kiss pressed low to Bakugo’s stomach, stealing his breath.

The fond little smile pulled at his mouth before he could stop it.

He held Todoroki’s hair back gently, just so he could keep watching—every kiss, every brush of lips against skin. He wanted to memorize it all.

Todoroki lifted his head briefly, eyes meeting his.

His mouth was damp, his expression unreadable but intent. “Too much?” he asked softly.

Bakugo shook his head, voice catching rough around the edges. “Nah. Just... Love you.”

For a moment, Todoroki didn’t move. Then something eased in his face, a flicker of warmth softening the sharp lines.

He lifted a hand, wrapping his fingers gently around Bakugo’s hand where it rested in his hair.

Carefully, he pulled it closer and pressed a kiss against the inside of Bakugo’s wrist, lips lingering there for a breath.

His eyes never left Bakugo’s. “Love you too,” he murmured.

And when he bent back down, kissing just above Bakugo’s hip, Bakugo let himself sink into it—into the quiet, into the heat, into the impossible softness he never thought he’d get.

***

Chapter Text

The classroom was all dim corners and stale air, curtains half-drawn against the morning light.

Bakugo had claimed the front-row desk, slouched low with his boots planted wide.

Todoroki leaned against the wall beside the windows, hands in his pockets, gaze fixed somewhere far past the glass.

Kirishima sat hunched two rows back with sunglasses on despite the gloom, head tipped back like he was trying to catch a nap.

Uraraka had two mugs of tea on her desk — one steaming for her, one untouched.

Midoriya was already scribbling in a notebook, and eyeing that spare mug.

Kaminari…was quiet. Arms folded, his eyes tracked every movement in the room like he was trying to predict the next threat.

The door opened.

Aizawa stepped in, gave them one long, measuring look, and dropped his scarf on his desk. “Talk.”

Bakugo started. “We went in through the crypt. Azer led us down to the lab. Except it wasn’t a lab — it was a damn underground prison. Wall-to-wall demons. Kept in cages like it was Alcatraz. Raka saw it too.”

Uraraka nodded once, no humor in her face. “They were screaming at us the whole time. And whatever was keeping them in those cells… I don’t think it’s magic. More like restraints baked into the room itself.”

Kaminari’s mouth quirked faintly. “Guess you’d have to, to keep them from ripping the place apart.”

Bakugo’s eyes flicked his way but he kept going. “Meanwhile, Sho and Kaminari got separated. They swear they went down after us, but somehow ended up upstairs. In the real operating room.”

Todoroki spoke then, voice low but clear. “The woman there wanted to combine a vampire and a demon. She knew about me. Knew about my soul. She… She touched me like I was something laid out for dissection.”

His jaw tightened; he didn’t elaborate.

“And you got out… how?” Aizawa’s gaze swept from Todoroki to Kaminari.

Kaminari shrugged, leaning back. “Easy. Once he was loose—” he jerked his chin at Todoroki, “—it wasn’t much of a fight.”

The words hung heavy. Everyone in the room knew what that meant — that once Todoroki stopped holding back, there was nothing human left to stand against.

Bakugo’s eyes flicked toward him, sharp with something between pride and wariness. Todoroki didn’t meet the look; his mouth pressed thin, as if the compliment tasted bitter.

Aizawa’s brow furrowed. “Describe the lab.”

Todoroki gave a brief rundown — surgical table, restraints, medical equipment.