Chapter Text
The lake house was too perfect.
Too symmetrical. Too curated.
Like someone had typed cozy lake getaway into a search engine and built the results.
Vaulted ceilings, soft lighting, pine-scented candles, and security cameras tucked discreetly behind hanging ferns.
Every room felt like a trap wrapped in a warm blanket.
Bakugo slammed Todoroki against a bookshelf hard enough to rattle the fake books.
“You always think you’re in control, huh?” he growled.
Todoroki didn’t flinch. “I am in control.”
And then they kissed.
It was raw, frantic, teeth and lips and breath stolen like it was wartime.
Todoroki pulled Bakugo in by the collar, and Bakugo shoved a knee between Todoroki’s legs like he needed leverage just to keep from falling.
Somewhere in the room, a silent camera operator adjusted their lens. The soft whirr of a zoom cut through the air.
Across the lounge, Midoriya and Uraraka ducked behind a potted plant the size of a vending machine.
“Are they--?” Midoriya whispered.
Uraraka risked another glance. “Yep. They are. Oh my god.”
“They hate each other.”
“They absolutely hate each other.”
They watched Todoroki practically melt into Bakugo, who had just grabbed Todoroki’s jaw like he owned it.
Midoriya looked horrified. “We have to do something.”
*
Uraraka shoved Todoroki through the door of a different room, while Midoriya dragged Bakugo by the arm.
The room was dim, quieter, and blissfully free of cameras—at least, for now.
“What the hell was that?” Midoriya snapped.
Bakugo was red in the face, his hair a mess, lips swollen. “Why are you always such a cock-block? I've never been attacked by a man like that, and then you come in and--"
“You kissed me.” Todoroki shot back, equally flushed.
“You leaned in first!”
“I did not.”
Uraraka raised her voice. “Hey! Snap out of it. You’re under a Quirk-based suggestion spell. Both of you.”
They paused.
Bakugo blinked like the room was coming into focus for the first time. Todoroki’s breathing slowed.
“This isn’t a real lake house,” she went on. “You two need to wake up. It’s a trap. You’re in a reality-show-themed illusion run by villains. They’re filming you, broadcasting it to private villain networks. It’s sick entertainment.”
Midoriya pointed a finger at Bakugo. “Your name is Katsuki Bakugo. You’re one of the top heroes in the country. You’ve been friends with me since we were kids—kind of—and you despise romantic theatrics.”
Bakugo could only blink.
Then Midoriya turned to Todoroki. “You’re Shoto Todoroki. Your father is Endeavor. You swore you’d never be emotionally vulnerable in public, let alone get caught making out with him in a living room that smells like pine and shame.”
Bakugo clarified. "So, I don't... I don't actually think he's hot?"
"No--Well actually, I don't know. Maybe?" Midoriya stumbled over the answer.
Todoroki wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “I almost said he tasted like smoke and tragedy.”
Uraraka looked away. “Okay, ew. But also, yeah. That’s how deep it goes. You start narrating your own love arc. It’s gross.”
Midoriya nodded grimly. “The Quirk alters emotional perception. It makes you want to fall in love. It bends your judgment, pulls from your subconscious. The longer you’re in it, the harder it is to tell what’s real.”
Bakugo gagged loudly. “Ugh—blegh—I need mouthwash and fire.”
"Don't be so dramatic, you narcissistic idiot." Todoroki rubbed his temples. “So we're being watched?"
“Constantly,” Uraraka said. “There are cameras in the walls, in the lamps, probably in the damn fruit bowl. You have to play along, or they’ll know you’re waking up. And then it gets worse.”
“Worse how?”
“Some people don’t wake up at all. Or they get taken away."
Midoriya’s voice dropped. “You need to blend in. Date people, kiss people, whatever. We’re working to find the Quirk user, but until then, the only way out is to survive the narrative.”
Uraraka added, “We’re doing it too. Faking it. It sucks. I told him he was my destiny yesterday and then nearly cried in the shower.”
Bakugo looked disgusted. “So I’m supposed to flirt with someone like it’s high school again?”
“Flirt,” Todoroki repeated, deadpan. “Not tongue-wrestle.”
“You started it!”
“I’ll end it next time.”
Midoriya opened the door.
A camera turned toward them immediately. Somewhere deep in the house, soft music began to play.
“Showtime,” he muttered.
The lake outside glistened under a pink sunset that had lasted just a little too long. It hadn’t changed in hours.
The house wanted them to fall in love.
They were going to have to lie their way out of it.
*
The lake looked fake.
Too still. Too perfect. Like the whole surface had been lacquered over.
Even the ripples moved in slow, measured circles, as if they were performing for someone watching.
Midoriya and Uraraka walked ahead, hand in hand, leading Todoroki and Bakugo down the stone path toward the dock.
They held each other like it was second nature, like they weren’t both quietly whispering every step of the way.
“Holding hands isn't so bad,” Midoriya murmured through a smile. “Could be worse."
"True." Uraraka grinned, teasingly. "At least I didn't stick my tongue down my enemy's throat."
Bakugo’s fists were in his pockets. “This place is sick. You hearin’ yourselves right now?”
“We hear it,” Uraraka said, eyes forward. “We’ve been hearing it for days.”
Todoroki trailed behind, silent, steps too quiet on the wood.
The sun hadn’t moved in an hour. The clouds were all in the same spot as before.
Midoriya spoke again, voice lower now. “So far, we’ve spotted a few heroes. Kaminari, Kirishima… A couple others we haven’t gotten close to yet. But the rest?” He shook his head. “Civilians. Real ones. Most of them don’t even know they’re trapped. Or maybe they do and it’s just easier not to fight it anymore.”
They reached the edge of the dock.
Uraraka let go of Midoriya’s hand and stared out at the water, arms folded tight.
“There’s a pattern,” she said softly. “Anyone who throws a fit. Anyone who doesn’t flirt. Anyone who doesn’t touch or kiss or play along. They get taken.”
Bakugo squinted. “Taken where?”
“We don’t know,” Midoriya said. “Some part of the house, or maybe somewhere underground. Off the property. They’re just… Gone.”
“We’ve tried asking questions,” Uraraka added. “But every time we do, people get vague. Eyes glaze over. Smiles stiffen. Like they’re buffering.”
“And at the end of each day,” Midoriya said, “the villains vote.”
Bakugo blinked. “Vote? On what?"
“It’s a show, remember?” Uraraka turned to him. “A game. If you’re not entertaining enough, sexy enough, dramatic enough—if you’re not giving them what they want —you’re voted the lowest. And we're not exactly sure, but it seems like if you're on the bottom of the board a certain number of times..."
“You vanish,” Midoriya finished. “No goodbye. No announcement. Just one less person at breakfast.”
Bakugo was unusually quiet. His mouth was tight, jaw set.
He looked at the lake like he was daring it to come alive and fight him.
Todoroki finally spoke. “And we have to pretend. That we’re still under the spell.”
“Exactly,” Midoriya said. “We can’t let them know we’ve woken up. Not until we figure out how to shut this whole thing down.”
Bakugo scoffed, voice bitter. “So what, I gotta find some dumbass to mack on while being constantly filmed by a bunch of voyeuristic freaks?”
Midoriya nodded once. “That’s exactly what you have to do.”
Bakugo looked like he wanted to scream.
Instead, he muttered, “This shit fuckin' sucks. If one more person pisses me off, I’m setting the whole dock on fire.”
“No Quirks,” Uraraka said quickly. “Not unless it’s an emergency. That’s the one thing they will punish in front of everyone.”
“Right,” Todoroki said softly. “Wouldn’t want to break character.”
He glanced at the water. The sky was still stuck in that golden-hour glow.
The same clouds. The same birds. Nothing moved unless they did.
“How long have you two been here?” Todoroki asked.
“Three days,” Midoriya said.
“Feels like twenty,” Uraraka added.
Bakugo turned away from the lake, scowling hard. “This place is a damn stage play. And I’m not built to act.”
“Then fake it badly,” Midoriya said. “Overact. Make them think you’re caught up in it. But keep your eyes open.”
Uraraka continued. “They want drama, intimacy, secrets. Give them just enough to keep watching.”
“And don’t,” Midoriya added, “under any circumstances, fall for the illusion again. That’s how it gets you. That’s how it keeps you.”
They all stood in silence for a moment. The lake made soft, artificial laps against the dock.
Somewhere behind them, a distant chime rang—like a dinner bell on an invisible schedule.
“Time to mingle,” Uraraka said, voice flat.
They walked back up the dock together, four actors in a show none of them had auditioned for, headed toward the house that smiled too wide and never blinked.
*
The firepit crackled gently, a little too perfectly.
Even the flames felt staged—like someone programmed them to rise and fall on cue.
The four of them sat in a tight circle of Adirondack chairs just off the back deck. No one else was nearby.
Yet the camera drones still hovered, silent and ever-present like ghosts with lenses.
“So far,” Midoriya said, voice low, “we’ve confirmed at least three people who’ve been ‘removed.’ No announcement, no warning. They just... weren’t there the next morning.”
Uraraka nodded. “We tried asking one of the crew where they went. He just smiled and offered us cocktails.”
Bakugo leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “This whole place makes my skin crawl.”
“Good,” Midoriya said. “That means you’re still you.”
From the shadows, a fifth figure suddenly stepped into the firelight.
“Kacchan?” Kaminari grinned, but his eyes flicked between them like a scanner. “Shoto?”
Todoroki straightened up, surprised—but before he could say anything, Kaminari practically bounded forward and dropped himself directly into Todoroki’s lap with zero hesitation.
“Kami—!” Todoroki started, startled.
“Shhh,” Kaminari whispered, pressing a quick kiss to Todoroki’s cheek, then three more down his neck like a practiced routine. “Play along. Eyes everywhere.” He pulled back just enough to smile like this was the most natural thing in the world. “You okay?” he murmured.
Todoroki nodded, heat rising to his ears. “I’m okay. I’m glad you’re okay too.”
Kaminari didn’t move from his lap.
Instead, he leaned against Todoroki’s chest and looked over at Midoriya and Uraraka like this was just a casual group hang. “Good news, by the way. I glanced at the board on my way out here. None of us are in the bottom tier tonight. We’re all safe. For now.”
Bakugo made a noise that was somewhere between a grunt and a growl.
Kaminari ignored it. He reached around Todoroki to grab one of his hands, then gently tugged it across his own waist, encouraging Todoroki to rest it there. "But you and Bakugo are gonna have to play catch up."
Todoroki obeyed, stiff but understanding. His fingers rested lightly on Kaminari’s side, just enough to look casual. Intimate. Real.
Uraraka shot him a sympathetic glance.
Midoriya just kept talking.
“We’ve mapped most of the main house,” he said. “Kitchen, bedrooms, game room, hot tub area... Nothing too out of the ordinary, but there’s a hallway near the master suite that’s always locked. I think that’s where they take people.”
“Noted,” Kaminari said, still smiling. He glanced down at Todoroki’s hand on his waist. “Just relax. Everything's gonna be okay."
Todoroki didn’t respond, but he didn’t move either.
From across the fire, Bakugo stared at the flames like they’d insulted his mother.
His leg bounced. His jaw worked overtime. He hadn’t said a word since Kaminari arrived.
And Todoroki—he didn’t look at Bakugo. But he noticed.
The quick flick of his eyes. The subtle jaw-clench.
The way he kept his mouth shut, even when Kaminari pressed another kiss behind Todoroki’s ear just as a robotic cameraman glided past them.
Todoroki told himself it was nothing.
A trick of the light. Leftover tension from earlier.
But the jealous flicker in Bakugo’s eyes felt real.
And for the first time since waking up, Todoroki wasn’t entirely sure what that meant.
*
Bakugo woke up the next day with a headache and a vague sense of injustice.
The sun—if it even was a sun—filtered fake and soft through gauzy curtains, warming the edge of his bed in a way that pissed him off for reasons he couldn’t name.
The whole room smelled like lavender, vanilla, and lies.
He rolled over, stretching—and froze.
He'd fallen asleep with Todoroki in bed beside him. He was sure of it.
His eyes flicked across the room.
Midoriya’s bed. All three of them crammed in—Todoroki, Midoriya, and Uraraka. A tangled mess of limbs and faux domestic bliss.
Todoroki’s head rested on Midoriya’s shoulder. Uraraka had one hand on Todoroki’s chest like a damn movie still.
Bakugo looked away, teeth grinding. What the hell is this. What the actual hell.
He got dressed with too much force. Nearly ripped a sock. Didn’t care.
*
The long dining table looked like it had been pulled out of a designer catalog. Smooth wood, fake plants, pastel plates.
Platters of fruit and protein bars laid out like a brunch trap.
Bakugo barely sat down before he heard it.
“Bakugo!”
Kirishima. Finally.
He strode up with a huge smile and pulled Bakugo into a side hug that lingered just a second too long to be casual.
Bakugo didn’t pull away. Not entirely.
“You okay, man?” Kirishima asked under his breath. “I saw your name on the board yesterday. You were close to the edge.”
“I’m fine,” Bakugo muttered. “This is the stupidest shit ever.”
Kirishima’s smile faltered. “I know. But you gotta play along. I don’t want them dragging you off next.”
Bakugo said nothing, jaw tight.
Midoriya appeared behind them like a ghost with bad news. “The board’s still shifting. One more day like yesterday and you’ll be in the red.”
“I’m not gonna fake fall in love for some creeps to jerk off to from behind a screen,” Bakugo hissed. “This whole setup is sick.”
Midoriya gave him a hard look. “Then die righteous. Or survive dirty. That’s the choice.”
Bakugo’s chair scraped against the floor as he stood. “Screw this.”
*
The hallway was empty. Too quiet.
His footsteps echoed weirdly, like the air was padded wrong.
He didn’t hear them coming.
A hand grabbed the collar of his shirt and yanked him sideways into a narrow closet.
The door slammed. The dark swallowed them whole—except for the faint red blink of a mounted camera in the corner.
“Hey— ” he started, but was immediately cut off by a mouth crashing into his.
Teeth. Lips. Hot breath.
Fingers still clenched in the front of his shirt, dragging him closer until he hit the back wall.
It was rough, desperate, nothing like the curated intimacy they were supposed to perform for the cameras.
This felt like being devoured.
Bakugo’s fists clenched. He didn’t stop it.
It almost felt like a good way to get out his frustrations.
If this was the play, if this was the act he had to give, then fine.
If he was gonna play this stupid game, you bet your ass he was gonna win it.
He kissed back. Harder.
Grabbed a handful of hair and yanked, twisting, trying to take back control.
That’s when he heard it.
A sound—soft and broken.
A quiet, involuntary moan that cracked in just the wrong place.
So clearly Todoroki’s.
Bakugo froze, breath caught halfway through his lungs. “...Shoto?” he said into the dark.
There was a pause. A hesitation.
Then a whisper, breath warm against his ear. “Cameras are watching. Don’t stop.”
*
The closet was hot. Airless.
The kind of heat that came from breath and friction and too much skin too close.
Bakugo didn’t know where his hands were supposed to go—so he didn’t stop to think.
He shoved Todoroki harder into the wall, grinding their hips together like it might shake the logic back into his brain.
It didn’t.
Todoroki’s mouth was on his again, kissing like a threat, biting like it meant something.
His hands slid under Bakugo’s shirt, palms flat over his ribs. Hungry. Steady.
Bakugo grunted, lips ghosting over Todoroki’s jaw, his neck.
“This—” Todoroki gasped as Bakugo sucked at the soft skin below his ear, “—doesn’t mean I like you.”
Bakugo smirked against his skin. “You think I’m your biggest fan, Icy-Hot?” He kissed lower, open-mouthed and unrelenting, dragging his teeth across Todoroki’s throat like a warning. “I’m just tryin’ to save your ass.”
"No, I came in here to save your ass." Todoroki’s breath hitched. “You’re leaving marks.”
“Good.” Another kiss. Harder this time. “Let the creeps know you’re taken.”
That stopped Todoroki for half a beat. “You don’t get to claim me.”
Bakugo pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “Not claiming you. Just making sure they think I did.”
He didn’t wait for a reply before pushing him further into the corner.
Their bodies pressed flush, and Todoroki groaned when Bakugo rocked against him, a filthy, involuntary sound that gave away way too much.
It should’ve stopped there.
It was supposed to be strategy. Just a performance.
But Todoroki gripped Bakugo’s jaw and kissed him again— kissed him this time, not the raw, messy clash from before.
This one was slower.
And Bakugo kissed back like he couldn’t stand not to.
Hands slipped lower. Shirts rode up.
Todoroki arched into him, dragging his fingers along Bakugo’s waist like he needed to memorize it to survive.
Bakugo’s mouth was back on his neck, his collarbone, sucking bruises into places that would be visible on purpose.
“Just so you don’t get voted out,” Bakugo muttered.
“Right,” Todoroki whispered, breathless. “Just that.”
But the way he pulled Bakugo closer said liar.
Bakugo grabbed Todoroki’s thigh and hitched it up against his hip, crowding them both into a wall of heat and friction and gasping breaths.
The rhythm changed—less frantic now.
Slower. Dirtier. Focused.
Todoroki’s head dropped back, eyes fluttering shut, lips parted like he was barely hanging on.
“Fuck,” Bakugo breathed, dragging his teeth along Todoroki’s jaw. “This is getting—”
“Too far,” Todoroki said at the same time.
Neither of them stopped.
The camera blinked in the corner.
Red light steady. Watching. Recording.
But neither of them could care anymore. All that existed was breath and teeth and hands and this.
No plan. No mission.
Just heat and the slow, dizzying realization that they couldn’t lie to themselves anymore.
*
The closet was too small for breathing room. Too dark to pretend this wasn’t real.
Bakugo had one hand planted on the wall beside Todoroki’s head, the other tangled in the waistband of his pants.
Everything in him screamed don’t stop.
Todoroki didn’t want him to.
They kissed like they were trying to outdo each other—deeper, harder, hotter.
Todoroki dragged his fingers down Bakugo’s spine, nails leaving trails, and Bakugo responded by grinding into him with a low growl that made Todoroki’s knees buckle.
“This is a mistake,” Todoroki gasped.
Bakugo grabbed his face, forced his eyes up. “Then stop.”
Todoroki didn’t move. Didn’t even blink.
Bakugo kissed him again, rough and possessive.
Todoroki responded with a moan that sounded like it had been ripped from him, clutching at Bakugo’s shirt with both fists.
They were a mess of heat and pressure, fumbling past fabric and breath, their touches more about claiming than caring.
Bakugo shoved Todoroki’s shirt up, hands dragging over skin, possessive and searching.
Todoroki clawed at Bakugo’s belt, like the only way to survive was to win whatever this was.
“Gonna make you fall apart,” Bakugo muttered against his lips. “Not even for the show. Just to prove I can.”
Todoroki kissed him back hard enough to bruise. “You first.”
Clothes shifted. Bodies pressed closer.
The heat between them was unbearable, stifling, addicting.
Bakugo’s mouth was back on Todoroki’s neck, marking him with his teeth, his hands possessive and unforgiving. He wanted Todoroki breathless. Ruined.
Todoroki gave just as much. Fingers in Bakugo’s hair, breath panting against his ear, hips moving in sync with his like he wanted to leave Bakugo gasping and desperate.
Neither of them said it.
Neither of them said please or don’t stop or I want this . They didn’t have to.
It was there in the way Todoroki’s lips trembled when Bakugo whispered filth into his skin.
It was in the low growl Bakugo let out when Todoroki dragged his nails down his back and bit his shoulder to stay quiet.
Their rhythm was chaos—half fury, half need—grinding friction, hands everywhere, breath tangled, bodies crashing against each other with no care for tomorrow.
“Shit,” Bakugo gasped, head falling to Todoroki’s shoulder. “You feel—fuck.”
Todoroki dragged his teeth across Bakugo’s jaw and pushed back, hips rolling with intent.
They didn’t slow down until they couldn’t anymore. Until everything broke loose inside them—messy, breathless, biting each other’s names into the dark.
And when it was done—when the haze cleared, and the only sound was ragged breathing—they just stood there.
Sweaty. Disheveled. Hearts slamming against their ribs like they were still mid-fight.
Bakugo leaned against the wall, head tilted back, trying to steady his breath.
Todoroki stared at the floor, shirt bunched up, mouth still parted, a faint tremble in his fingers.
The red camera light still blinked in the corner.
Neither of them said anything.
Because what the hell was there to say?
*
Later that day, the lake shimmered under the artificial sun, too still and too bright, like it had been rendered in 4K and left on loop.
They stood waist-deep in the water with a small group of civilians—attractive, dazed-looking, and perpetually touching each other.
One couple in the water was already making out like the lake was aphrodisiac-infused.
Another woman floated by, laughing breathily at something Kaminari whispered against her ear.
Kaminari winked, then turned to flirt with the girl next to her, tossing a splash at both with effortless charm.
He moved like someone who had made peace with the game and had decided to win it by leaning all the way in.
Near the edge of the lake, Kirishima stood beside Uraraka, his arm slung loosely around her shoulders.
It was friendly, casual—until his voice dropped just enough for the others to hear. “I saw one of the camera robots go into that hallway again. The locked one.”
Uraraka turned her head slightly. “You think the robots have the key?"
“Maybe,” he said, voice low. “Or in the tech room, maybe. But we’ve gotta start looking before someone else disappears.”
Bakugo stood a few feet away, silent. Arms crossed over his bare chest.
Eyes firmly not on Todoroki, who just happened to be standing next to him in the water like a damn walking ad for chaos.
The creepy house provided all the clothes, of course. Every morning, neatly folded outfits waited in their rooms—perfectly tailored for “TV appeal,” which clearly didn’t include comfort or modesty.
Todoroki’s swim trunks were just a little too snug, clinging to him in ways that felt intentional.
His long legs, toned from years of battle, were on full display. His torso was pale, lean, all quiet power and sharp lines.
And the hickeys—faint but unmistakable—dotted his collarbones like declarations. Ownership. Or evidence.
Bakugo refused to look. But he knew.
Todoroki stood next to him like he couldn’t care less, water gliding off his chest, eyes half-lidded in the sun, posture relaxed.
It was infuriating.
Bakugo clenched his jaw. Unbothered bastard.
Then Midoriya came barreling down the dock like he had good gossip and no volume control. “Guys,” he whispered, but excitedly enough that it came out loud anyway. “Todoroki—you’re at the top.”
Bakugo muttered softly. "I definitely wouldn't use the word 'top' to describe you."
Todoroki smacked his shoulder and turned his head toward Midoriya. “Top of what?”
“The board!” Midoriya grinned. “Whatever you did last night—the camera loves you. You got like, full marks across the ‘intimacy’ and ‘desire’ categories. The villain fans are obsessed. You're totally safe right now.”
Bakugo finally turned. “Wait, there’s categories?"
Midoriya nodded. “Oh, and you too, Kacchan. You moved way up. You were in the red yesterday, but now you’re mid-tier. Almost top five.”
Bakugo blinked, surprised, then immediately scowled. “Tch. Creeps.”
Midoriya chuckled. “Creeps, yeah. But helpful creeps. I was really worried about you getting voted out.”
Todoroki and Bakugo exchanged a glance.
It lasted half a second too long.
Then Todoroki smirked. Just a small twitch of his lips.
And Bakugo—after a beat—smirked back.
No one noticed.
Not Kaminari, still laughing with the girls. Not Kirishima or Uraraka, deep in quiet conversation.
But they noticed each other.
*
Dinner was a staged masterpiece.
Fairy lights wrapped around ceiling beams, soft acoustic music filtered through hidden speakers, and long dining tables were set with sparkling wine glasses filled with rose-colored drinks that no one trusted.
Everything was just right —manufactured, curated, wrong.
They’d barely touched their food when one of the robot cameramen rolled up beside the table.
Its LED eyes blinked once before a smooth, voice-modulated message crackled from its speaker. “Attention contestants. The audience would like to offer you a chance to earn bonus points.”
Everyone stopped talking. Utensils froze mid-bite. Even the civilians looked up from their soft flirting and staged laughter.
“For the truly dedicated,” the robot continued, “fan mail has been delivered. These letters contain personal requests from your most enthusiastic viewers. Fulfill any request, and receive extra credit on tonight’s board. Higher scores ensure your continued presence in the house. Enjoy.”
The robot’s stomach compartment opened with a mechanical click, and it distributed neat stacks of envelopes to each person at the table.
Personalized. Color-coded.
Kaminari whistled low. “Damn, I feel famous.”
Midoriya took his stack with a tight smile, already flipping through the letters. His brows furrowed deeper with each one.
Kirishima set his beside his plate but didn’t open them.
Bakugo stared at his pile like it might bite him.
“This is sick,” he muttered. “They’re watching us like characters on a livestream and now they’re sending in their little pervy fanfiction prompts?”
Kaminari snorted, reading one. “Mine just wants me to make out with two people in one night. That’s, like, a Thursday.”
Kirishima rolled his eyes. "You wish."
Uraraka chuckled at her own stack but her eyes were sharp beneath the smile.
She glanced around the table, then slowly stood up. “Shoto,” she said softly, stepping behind his chair.
Todoroki didn’t look at the letters in front of him. Not even once.
His eyes stayed on his plate, unmoving, calm. “I’m not reading mine,” he said to no one in particular. “I want everyone else to have a chance to get points."
“Help me then,” Uraraka said gently. "One of my letters is about you. Is that okay?"
Todoroki’s head lifted slightly, eyes finally rising to meet hers. And—just for a second—they flicked sideways, directly toward Bakugo.
The look was tiny. Barely there.
But Bakugo saw it.
He didn’t breathe. But he also didn't stop him.
So Todoroki gave her a small nod.
Uraraka leaned down slowly, one hand sliding under Todoroki’s jaw, guiding his face upward as she bent over him.
Her lips brushed against his, slow and deliberate, pressing in as if they had all the time in the world.
One of her hands found his shoulder. His own drifted to her waist without thinking.
The cameras watched.
Everyone at the table watched.
Midoriya's mouth dropped open a little.
Bakugo’s blood boiled.
And then he was moving.
He yanked Todoroki’s chair back with enough force to scrape against the wood floor, his hand gripping the top rail like a threat.
The kiss broke instantly.
“The cameras are gone,” Bakugo muttered. “You can stop now.”
Uraraka stepped back without blinking. “Thanks for the assist,” she said sweetly, brushing her skirt down as she returned to her seat.
Todoroki said nothing. He didn’t even look rattled.
Kirishima opened his mouth, shifting toward Todoroki. "Hey actually, if you wanted--"
Bakugo didn’t let him.
His hand slammed down over Todoroki’s mouth, not gentle, not rough—just firm. Blocking. Possessive.
“Don’t,” Bakugo snapped, glaring at Kirishima. “Pick someone else.”
The table froze. Forks paused halfway to mouths. No one breathed.
“There’s a dozen people in this house,” Bakugo growled. “Go kiss one of 'em. Leave this one the hell alone.”
No one said anything.
Uraraka stared.
Midoriya looked like he was calculating so many things.
Bakugo slowly removed his hand from Todoroki’s face, eyes still on Kirishima.
Then, just as silently, he turned in his chair, stabbing a piece of food like it had personally wronged him.
Todoroki adjusted his seat. Straightened his shirt.
He said nothing.
But he was smiling.
And he didn’t hide it.
*
The soft glow of the digital board flickered against the walls like a sick heartbeat.
Todoroki and Midoriya stood side by side in the corner of the lounge, watching the rankings shift like storm clouds rearranging in slow motion.
A few names rose. Kaminari, as expected. Uraraka, steadily climbing.
One of the brainwashed civilians shot upward after a dramatic poolside confession earlier in the day.
Bakugo’s name dropped a slot.
Todoroki glanced sideways. Midoriya had already noticed it too.
“He’s not reading the letters,” Midoriya said quietly, arms crossed.
“I know,” Todoroki muttered. “I’ll go talk to him.”
Midoriya didn’t try to stop him.
Todoroki walked back into the dining area, grabbed Bakugo’s untouched stack of fan mail off the table, and headed down the hallway toward their shared room.
The hallway was quiet, washed in a low, golden glow meant to simulate twilight.
The air felt too still. Too aware.
He found Bakugo sitting on his bed, back against the wall, arms folded, eyes fixed on nothing.
“Go away,” Bakugo said flatly as Todoroki stepped into the room.
“I’m not here to argue,” Todoroki replied, holding up the letters. “I’m here because you’re falling, and if you keep ignoring this twisted fantasy, you’re going to get kicked out of it.”
Bakugo scoffed. “Good. I’m sick of being a puppet in this voyeur freak show.”
“I know,” Todoroki said gently. “But I’m not letting you get taken.”
"My hero." Bakugo’s glare snapped to him, as sharp as his sarcastic tone. “Don’t worry about me.”
Todoroki didn’t respond.
He sat on the edge of his own bed, flipping through the letters without asking.
The first one had delicate cursive handwriting and a lipstick mark.
Todoroki read the first few sentences, eyes scanning quickly, then paused.
His expression didn’t change—but he nodded once, like he’d just made a decision.
He set the letters aside. Stood. Walked toward Bakugo with quiet purpose.
“Stop,” Bakugo growled. “I’m not interested in playing this game with you tonight.”
Todoroki tilted his head. “You don’t have to play. Just... Help me win it.”
Bakugo narrowed his eyes. “What the hell does that mean?”
Todoroki didn’t explain.
He crossed the room slowly, eyes locked on Bakugo’s, his voice deceptively calm. “I think you like being angry at me,” Todoroki said. “It’s easier than admitting you care.”
Bakugo’s eyes flashed. “Don’t start with your therapy voice, I swear to—”
“You hated watching me kiss her.”
Bakugo stood up so fast the mattress bounced. “You’re full of shit.”
Todoroki stepped back, just one pace, letting Bakugo follow. "Am I?"
Another step back.
"Don't flatter yourself." Bakugo kept coming. “You think you know everything, don’t you?”
Step. Step. Until Todoroki’s back hit the door.
Bakugo’s hands were on his shoulders instantly, shoving—not violently, but firmly, like he needed Todoroki to feel every inch of frustration coiled in his chest.
Todoroki grabbed his arms, holding him there. Eyes steady. Lips parted just barely.
He licked his lips. On purpose.
Bakugo cursed under his breath. “You’re not the one in charge.”
Todoroki didn’t move. “Prove it."
Bakugo didn’t hesitate.
He surged forward, pressing their bodies flush together as he crushed their mouths into a kiss that stole all the breath from Todoroki’s lungs.
It was brutal. Fierce. A declaration made in teeth and tongue and the press of fists curling into fabric.
Todoroki kissed back like he had something to prove—but Bakugo didn’t let him lead. Not this time.
He pinned Todoroki to the door, grinding his hips against him until Todoroki gasped. He swallowed that sound whole.
Their mouths moved together like war.
They didn’t hear the camera whir softly to life in the corner.
They didn’t care.
*
The door behind Todoroki rattled slightly under the force of Bakugo’s body pressing into his.
Their lips never broke, their hands never stopped—grabbing, pulling, holding like they didn’t want to lose contact for even a second.
Bakugo was everywhere—mouth on Todoroki’s jaw, neck, collarbone.
Hands dragging up his sides like he needed to map out the territory before it was stolen again.
Todoroki panted against his ear. “For someone who claims not to act, you're doing a damn good job."
Bakugo bit down just below his throat. “Shut up.”
Todoroki didn’t. “Jealousy suits you.”
"You want jealous? Fine." Bakugo growled, slamming him harder into the door. “Don’t you dare kiss her again."
The words came out sharp. Too sharp. Like they’d leapt past whatever filter he still had left.
Todoroki stilled for half a second, then blinked slowly. “...Ochako?” he asked, breath still shallow.
Bakugo didn’t answer. He buried his face in Todoroki’s neck and sucked, leaving a fresh mark like a brand.
“You said it was just for the cameras,” Todoroki whispered, his voice quieter now. More careful. “So what does it matter?”
Bakugo pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. His pupils were blown wide, his breathing rough. “It matters.”
Todoroki’s lips parted. A hitch in his throat.
Bakugo shoved him again, less aggressive now, more like he couldn’t stand not touching him. “I don’t wanna see her touch you again,” he said. “I don’t care if it gets you to the top of the board. I don’t care what those freaks out there wanna see. It’s weird. It’s—” he stopped himself, jaw clenched. “It’s uncomfortable.”
Todoroki nodded once. No argument. No mockery. “Okay.”
Bakugo stared at him like he didn’t believe it.
Todoroki raised a hand slowly, pressed his palm to the side of Bakugo’s neck.
His thumb brushed just under his jaw, gentle, reverent. “Okay,” he repeated. "I won't kiss her again."
The air between them cracked like something sacred had just been broken.
Bakugo kissed him again, but this time it was different. Slower. Deeper.
Less about control, more about connection.
Todoroki moaned into his mouth and Bakugo swallowed it like a gift.
They moved toward the bed without even thinking.
Still kissing. Still holding. Still too afraid to stop and face what this was becoming.
Todoroki lay back and pulled Bakugo down with him, arms wrapping around his shoulders, mouths never parting.
It wasn’t about performance anymore.
It wasn’t about survival.
Bakugo kissed him like he cared —and hated that he did.
Todoroki touched him like it meant something—and pretended it didn’t.
They were still enemies.
But something else had taken root now.
And it was growing like a secret between their teeth.
*
They were breathless and tangled on the bed, the room dim, warm with body heat and something heavier in the air—something unspoken.
Todoroki had barely caught his breath when Bakugo sat back on his thighs, grabbed the remaining stack of unopened fan letters, and tore one open.
Todoroki blinked up at him. “What are you doing?”
Bakugo didn’t look at him. “You wanted me to play the game, didn’t you?”
He ripped another envelope open with his teeth, eyes scanning the contents, mouth twitching into something between a grin and a snarl.
“If you want someone to throw their inhibitions around like Ochako,” Bakugo muttered, tossing the first letter aside, “then I’ll show you how it’s actually done.”
Todoroki didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
Bakugo leaned forward again, eyes burning as he climbed over him, one knee between Todoroki’s legs. “Let’s see what the fans want from you tonight, pretty boy.”
The next letter had tidy handwriting, polite phrasing.
Bakugo dropped the letter, grabbed Todoroki’s wrists, and slammed them down against the mattress.
Todoroki gasped—sharp, involuntary—and Bakugo kissed him like he wanted to leave him speechless. Like he wanted to brand him with every breath.
Todoroki’s arms strained for a moment beneath Bakugo’s grip, then stilled.
He wasn’t fighting it.
Bakugo quickly read another letter. This one asked for more.
Bakugo yanked Todoroki’s shirt over his head and tossed it to the floor.
He sat back for a moment, staring down at the flushed skin, the faint pink marks already scattered over his chest from before.
Todoroki’s breathing picked up. His cheeks were already red, his hair mussed, his eyes dark with heat.
“Look at you,” Bakugo muttered. “Fucking wrecked already.”
Todoroki swallowed but didn’t speak.
Bakugo leaned down, mouth dragging across Todoroki’s collarbone, then lower—biting, licking, sucking a trail down his chest like the villain fans were watching every inch of it.
Each mark was a signature. Each bite a possessive threat.
Todoroki’s hands twitched where they’d been released, but he didn’t touch. Didn’t dare ruin the moment.
His head tipped back into the pillow, breath coming in shallow gasps.
“You’re not even fighting me,” Bakugo whispered against his stomach, teeth grazing skin.
“Should I be?” Todoroki asked, voice thin, raspy.
Bakugo looked up at him—eyes wild, lips swollen. “Only if you want me to stop.”
Todoroki didn’t answer.
So Bakugo reached lower, palming him through his pants with a deliberate slowness that made Todoroki choke on his next breath.
He arched slightly, eyes fluttering shut, every part of him trembling on the edge of control.
Bakugo leaned up to kiss him again—slower this time. Deep. Dangerous. His hand never stopped moving.
“This is what they wanted, right?” Bakugo growled against his mouth. “You want to stay on top of the board?”
Todoroki nodded once, eyes glazed, lips red.
“Then don’t move.”
And Todoroki didn’t.
Because whether it was for the show or for something else entirely... He enjoyed it.
And he didn’t want it to stop.
*
Todoroki couldn’t breathe.
Bakugo had him pinned beneath him, one hand wrapped tight around his wrist, the other still working his pants open with a slow, deliberate pace that made everything else fall away—rankings, cameras, the game, all of it.
It was just them.
And Bakugo wasn’t stopping.
His mouth found Todoroki’s again, dragging over his lips with a hunger that bordered on feral.
He kissed like he was trying to win something—but there was nothing left to win. Not now.
Todoroki gasped into his mouth, hands gripping the sheets when Bakugo finally got his pants low enough to touch him properly.
His entire body arched off the bed.
“Fuck,” Bakugo breathed, pulling back just enough to watch him squirm. “Look at you.”
Todoroki looked away, face flushed deep, his chest rising and falling fast.
“Eyes on me,” Bakugo growled, fingers tightening around his wrist.
Todoroki obeyed.
And Bakugo froze.
Because what he saw there—half-lidded eyes, parted lips, a little dazed and so damn real—did something to him. Broke something.
“You’re so fucking beautiful,” Bakugo whispered.
The words dropped into the space between them like a live grenade.
Todoroki’s breath caught.
Bakugo’s eyes widened slightly, like he hadn’t meant to say it.
Like it slipped out sideways, bypassing the firewall he’d built around his own feelings.
But he didn’t stop. Couldn’t.
“I hate how much I want this,” he muttered, lips brushing Todoroki’s cheek, then down to his throat. “I hate how good you look like this.”
“Bakugo—” Todoroki tried, but it came out wrecked. Half-question, half-surrender.
“I mean, shit,” Bakugo kept going, pressing rough kisses to his jawline, down his chest. “This wasn’t supposed to be—” another kiss, “—more than survival,” another bite, “but you’re making me lose my goddamn mind.”
Todoroki moaned as Bakugo’s hand moved faster, more demanding now. “Then lose it,” he whispered.
Bakugo kissed him again—harder, desperate—and it wasn’t just for the camera anymore. It wasn’t performance. Wasn’t a tactic.
It was confession.
“You make me want to stay,” Bakugo said into his mouth. “In this fucked-up place. Like if you’re here, it’s not so bad.”
"God." Todoroki whimpered, nails digging into Bakugo’s back. His body was too hot, too close to the edge.
And Bakugo felt it.
Felt him getting close, felt him tremble underneath every word, every touch, every goddamn unspoken feeling they hadn’t dealt with since the day they met.
Todoroki met his eyes. "Baku--"
“Call my name. I wanna hear it,” Bakugo growled.
Todoroki’s eyes fluttered. “Fuck, Katsuki.”
Bakugo lost it. He kissed him like he’d never stop, like he couldn’t, like every last word meant more than either of them was ready to admit.
And when Todoroki finally came undone beneath him, panting, whispering his name like it meant everything—Bakugo buried his face in Todoroki’s shoulder, breath ragged and heartbeat wild.
The room was silent again. Except for their breathing.
And somewhere, a red light blinked steady in the corner.
Still watching.
But neither of them cared anymore.
***