Chapter Text
“Goddammit, Hair-for-Brains! How the fuck am I supposed to fucking be able to tell where the fuck you’re going when I can’t see shit over your damn hair?!”
Oh, yes. Bakugo was in rare form that day.
Eijiro sighed. He’d been totally fine with Aizawa-sensei pairing him with Bakugo for this training session, where the goal of each team was to try and entrap the other. But when they squared off against Midoriya and Iida, it was like suddenly Bakugo lost all sense of himself and could only rage and go one hundred miles an hour. He had flown around the training area, blowing up buildings, shattering windows, and going full-force after Midoriya. He was like a man possessed, firing off his nitroglycerin grenades and using them to propel him along, after Midoriya and Iida, who were working together in tandem, and more than once they had almost caught Bakugo and Kirishima, who was only just able to hold off Iida’s Recipro.
And now Bakugo was fucking yelling at him, and why? Because Eijiro had just stopped Midoriya from going after him yet again? Because his Red Counter wasn’t having the effect that he’d intended it to; Midoriya was just fast enough to get away. And Iida was definitely fast enough to avoid his Red Gauntlet. And what was Bakugo doing?
“Use your Stun Grenade, dammit!” Eijiro howled, just as Midoriya caught him with a Shoot Style that smashed right into Eijiro’s chest, driving him back several meters. Eijiro threw a punch, hitting Midoriya in the jaw; he went flying and crashed into one of Bakugo’s destroyed building walls.
“Fuck you!” Bakugo bellowed back. “Don’t tell me what to fucking do !” He roared—something inhuman and insane, Eijiro thought—and drove his wrist brace into the ground. There was a massive explosion, one that threw everyone back, including Bakugo himself, and Kirishima grunted as he hit yet another exploded wall, his head bashing into concrete.
“Enough!” Aizawa-sensei had jumped into the fray, using his binding cloths to hold Bakugo steady. Eijiro saw his friend’s red eyes widen in anger, his face nearly purple and apoplectic. But Aizawa-sensei merely tightened his grip on the cloths, and Bakugo growled, but after a momentary struggle, sagged into the binds.
“That’s better.” Aizawa-sensei did not free Bakugo just yet, though. “You four have basically destroyed our training grounds; we’ll need some time to fix this mess. Midoriya, Iida, you’ll stay to help Cementoss make repairs. Kirishima…”
“Yes, sensei?” said Eijiro, rubbing his head.
“Take your friend and go see Recovery Girl. You two took the brunt of Bakugo’s Land Mine, and you both look pretty banged up.”
Eijiro coughed. “S—sure, sensei,” he agreed, and staggered to his feet. Aizawa-sensei released Bakugo, who growled, and rounded on Eijiro once more.
“What the fuck, Shitty Hair!” he bellowed. “We almost had them. We were so fucking close…”
“Yo, Bakugo,” Eijiro said, holding up his hands. “You need to chill. Aizawa-sensei is already super tense that you blew up like half the arena. Let’s go to see Recovery Girl—maybe you’ll relax a little bit.”
“Fuck you!” he shouted. “I don’t need to fucking relax! I need to fucking beat the shit out of that damn nerd!”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Eijiro was relieved to hear Kaminari’s voice coming over from where the rest of the class had been watching. “Kirishima’s right, dude. You are way too uptight about this. Come on—” Kaminari reached out to take Bakugo’s arm, “—let’s get you and Kirishima checked out.”
Bakugo ripped his arm away from Kaminari. “Fuck you too, Dunce Face. I don’t have time for this bullshit. I’m not going anywhere with either of you two fuckwads.” He started to storm off, away from Eijiro and Kaminari; Kaminari gave Eijiro a Look, but Eijiro just scowled.
Bakugo was seriously pissing him off.
Like, were they not friends? Had Eijiro just not saved his ass, and multiple times, too?
And this was the thanks that he got? Being called names and Bakugo storming off, without listening to Aizawa-sensei’s directions?
Fuck. That.
“Oi, Bakugo!” shouted Eijiro, and his friend whipped his head around, his face a nasty scowl. “You’re being a super asshole right now, you know that?”
“Fuck off, Shitty Hair.” Bakugo waved his hand dismissively. “I got more important things to do than hang out with you and Dunce Face and go see Recovery Girl.”
“What, like jack off?” Eijiro stilled as Kaminari said the words, slowly and calmly, as though he had not just lit the fuse to the biggest bomb in the history of bombs. “Because if that’s the case, don’t let us stop you, because you sure as hell need some kind of release.”
Eijiro watched, horrified, as Bakugo’s face drained of color. “Say—say what you just said,” he said, his voice deadly, “again.”
Kaminari smirked. “Nah,” he said, with a wave of his hand, “we don’t wanna stop you if that’s where you’re going. Come on, Kirishima,” he added. “Let’s get you to Recovery Girl, at least. Sounds like Bakugo’s got his own plans for making himself better.”
“I do fucking not, you goddamn motherfucking stupid Dunce Face bastard! ” Bakugo was standing in the arena, his arms tensed and out to the side, shouting with everything that he had. “Fuck both of you! Oh my fucking god where do you get off Kaminari! I swear I will Howitzer your fucking face next time I see you!”
Eijiro watched Bakugo’s tirade, his heart in his throat, but Kaminari merely hummed and pulled Eijiro along. “He’s fine,” Kaminari murmured. “Ignore him, like we always do.”
Eijiro allowed Kaminari to take him out of the arena, back into school, and to Recovery Girl’s office, but as they walked, he couldn’t get Bakugo’s face when Kaminari told him to have a wank out of his head. He was...so angry, so irate, so…
So fucking funny.
Eijiro thought of Bakugo, so angry that someone had suggested he jerk off to get a grip on himself, and he laughed.
Bakugo didn’t return for lunch, but he turned up just before math class. Eijiro immediately noticed a difference in his friend. Bakugo’s countenance was...calm, collected, his face a perfect picture of serenity. He slipped into his seat next to Jiro and in front of Midoriya; when the latter tried to ask Bakugo how he was feeling, Bakugo simply said, “Better than you, ya damn nerd,” and pulled out his math book, looking over the pages they’d been assigned with interest. Eijiro saw Mina-chan shoot him a look, and Kaminari turned slightly, mouthing “what the fuck?” to him. Eijiro shrugged; he had no idea what had happened between the time Bakugo had stormed out of the practice arena and now, but he was like a whole different person. For the first time, Eijiro noticed that his friend had a handsome face; when it wasn’t twisted in rage, his skin was creamy, and smooth, and his nose well-formed. His eyes weren’t large, but Eijiro could almost call them soulful, the way that he was pouring over his math textbook.
“All right, everyone.” Aizawa-sensei had come back into the room, with Ectoplasm close behind him. “Give Ectoplasm your best attention; he tells me you have a calculus exam coming up, and we wouldn’t want you to fail that, along with your hero training.”
Eijiro and Kaminari both shot a look at Bakugo, but he was now looking out the window, his firm chin resting in his supple palm. Kaminari’s eyes shifted to Eijiro; the eyebrow closest to him lifted slightly.
“Dude,” Eijiro whispered, “I don’t fucking know.”
“If you could all please open your textbooks to page 351,” Ectoplasm intoned, “we’ll go ahead and begin.”
And that’s how it went all afternoon. Through the rest of their classes that day, Eijiro and Kaminari kept a close eye on Bakugo, but he seemed to be completely at ease and relaxed. When Ectoplasm called on him, he answered, his voice soft and far away; when Aizawa-sensei was going over their homework for their hero class for the next day, he was taking copious notes; when Midoriya queried Bakugo about his Land Mine move that he had used in training, Bakugo answered him politely—well, as politely as Bakugo could answer Midoriya, anyway.
When the final bell rang, Eijiro and Kaminari raced over to Bakugo, who looked up at them placidly. “You okay, dude?” Eijiro asked him. “Because you seem…”
“Way more relaxed than you did before lunch,” Kaminari joined in. “So did you go see Recovery Girl after all, and just not tell us?”
Bakugo leisurely got to his feet. “Something like that,” he said vaguely, and picked up his bag. “I’m gonna go hit the gym before going back to the dorm,” he said, his face slowly morphing into a grin. “Do either of you nerds wanna try me?”
Eijiro breathed a sigh of relief. This was the Bakugo that they knew and loved.
Maybe he was fine, after all.
But Bakugo wasn’t fucking fine.
Eijiro was sure that Bakugo had some kind of fucking secret.
Every day, he came downstairs, irritated as fuck, sniping at absoultely everyone in the class. Then, for the whole of their morning classes, he was insufferable to be around—in fact, his mood seemed to be even worse in the mornings than Kirishima remembered. He yelled at Yaomomo, he bitched at Mina-chan, and he even picked a fight with Tsuyu-chan (which, when she shot something out of her stomach at him, made him even more pissed off than before). But then, Bakugo would disappear during lunch time, and not show up again until afternoon classes, where he would be totally calm, and relaxed, and sit through the rest of the day, a model student, a model classmate...hell, he was a model friend.
That was how Eijiro just knew that something else was going on.
The only question was: how could he find out Bakugo’s secret? How could he get his friend to admit where he was going at lunch, and, more importantly, what he was doing? He and Kaminari tried all kinds of things: they tried to follow him when the class was going to the cafeteria, but Bakugo always got lost somewhere along the way (conveniently, Eijiro thought). When he tried to ask Bakugo outright what was going on, Bakugo’s response was to either punch Kirishima in the face, or to blush and grumble something about how it was none of Eijiro’s damn business.
Which, yes, he knew. But…
He was determined to find out anyway.
His next opportunity came on a day when the class had PE before lunch. Aizawa-sensei and All Might were putting them through some extremely rigorous athletic training: run four times around the track, do fifty crunches and fifty burpees, run four more times around the track, do fifty push-ups and fifty pull-ups...which, didn’t sound hard on the initial round? But they had to do it five times, and then, just as they were all about ready to collapse, Aizawa-sensei announced one more round: run ten times around the track, fifty crunches, fifty burpees, fifty push-ups, fifty pull-ups, followed by one round of lunges around the track.
Eijiro thought his legs were going to fall off; he saw Jiro hanging on Kaminari for dear life; Mina-chan and Tsuyu-chan both were sagging, too. Only Midoriya, Iida, and Todoroki seemed unaffected; Yaomomo had made herself a little fan, and he was pretty sure that Uraraka had activated her quirk to make herself lighter.
He paused in the middle of his seventh time around the track, his hands on his knees, breathing heavily. How the fuck could they call this gym class?
“Hey, Shitty Hair! I’m gonna lap you if you don’t hurry the fuck up!”
Great . Just who he wanted to talk to.
“Oh, hey Bakugo,” he called half-heartedly, “wait up!”
“Fuck you!” shouted Bakugo, as he easily lapped Kirishima and kept running. “This is fucking child’s play. If you can’t keep up, you should drop out of the fucking hero course, you asshat!”
“Just wait up!” Eijiro called, and dashed after Bakugo, who cackled.
“See, Dumb Hair!” he yelled. “I knew ya fucking had it in ya! Hey, All Might!” he bellowed to the former Number One hero, “why the fuck are you and sensei making us do this bullshit work?”
“Patience, Bakugo-shonen,” All Might called back, his voice slightly wheezy. “Endurance. Stamina. All things you will need when you are out in the field. It might seem boring to you now, but you never know when you will need it.”
“I’ll—tell—you—when—I—fucking—need—it,” Bakugo panted. “Down—your—mother’s—”
“Come on, Bakugo!” Eijiro interrupted, dragging his friend along the track. “Just three more laps to go!”
“Fucking fucker fucks fuck,” Bakugo muttered, but Eijiro merely dragged him along.
Three more laps and way too many push-ups later, Eijiro was ready to collapse. He thought he’d been in pretty good shape, but holy hell, Aizawa-sensei and All Might had really worked them hard. Kirishima couldn’t remember the last time he’d sweat so much.
“Class is dismissed,” All Might intoned. “Go hit the showers and then you may head to the cafeteria for lunch.”
“Thank you, sensei,” the class chorused, and Kaminari caught up to Eijiro and Bakugo as they headed back into the gym.
“Dude.” Kaminari was gasping for air. “Who wouldn’t have thought some push-ups would…”
“Yeah,” agreed Eijiro. “That was not an easy workout.”
“At least we get a nice hot lunch to look forward to,” Kaminari commented.
“If you’re not Todoroki,” Eijiro snickered. “Him and his cold soba...like, how is that a good meal after a workout?”
“Oh, man,” Kaminari moaned, rubbing his stomach. “I’m looking forward to a cold shower, and then maybe some katsudon. All the katsudon.”
“Hey, Bakugo…” Eijiro started, but then he noticed that his friend was gone. He blinked, and looked around the gym; he caught a glimpse of a door on the far side of the room clanging shut, and he grabbed Kaminari’s arm.
“Hey, dude, what the…” Kaminari started, but Eijiro yanked him hard and pulled him along.
“Not now,” Eijiro hissed. “We got him. ”
Kaminari clamped his mouth shut and nodded, and together they scurried across the gym, away from the rest of the class, and towards where Eijiro was sure that Bakugo had gone.
He caught the door with his foot before it fell fully shut, and used it to gently prod the door open. He put a finger to his lips, and stepped over the threshold, Kaminari at his heels. They were in a small, dark hallway; Eijiro had never seen this part of the building before, even after three years of attending the school, and he wasn’t sure where this went. He listened, and heard quiet footfalls leading away, down the hall, and he tugged on Kaminari again.
“I wish we had Kyoka with us,” Kaminari muttered, but Eijiro ignored him. Jiro’s quirk would sure come in handy, but Eijiro felt a quickening in his veins that told him this was something he and Kaminari needed to figure out on their own. Together, they hurried down the hall, letting the footsteps get slightly louder, but Eijiro made sure that they stayed a good distance back.
They heard another door open, and when Kaminari saw that it was closing on them, he dashed up and gently, like Eijiro had done before, placed his foot between the door and the frame. He held up his finger, then pointed, and he and Eijiro both leaned their faces into the tiny crack Kaminari had created, trying to peer into the room.
It was some kind of old, abandoned classroom—one that Eijiro had never seen before. He could see the outline of their friend; he was resting with his back against the old teacher’s desk, and his hands were…
Wait, what were his hands doing?
Eijiro felt his stomach dropping, but he couldn’t look away. He needed to know what Bakugo was up to every damn day.
Slowly, Bakugo unzipped his gym uniform top, exposing his chiseled chest and his muscled abs. His fingers drifted down his torso to the waistband of his pants; there, he unbuttoned his fly, and reached in with his hand. Eijiro heard Kaminari suck in his breath slightly as Bakugo drew out his dick: Eijiro had seen it before, in the shower, too many times to even count, but never hard—it was long, and thick, and meaty, and if Eijiro himself wasn’t well-endowed (no complaints from Mina-chan, anyway!), he might have been a little bit jealous. There was a dim light shining on it, and Eijiro could see Bakugo’s cock throbbing, the head already glistening with precum.
Bakugo’s right hand gripped the shaft; his left thumb swept over the tip, and Eijiro and Kaminari watched as Bakugo began to jerk himself off.
If Eijiro had thought that Bakugo’s hands worked fast in a fight, well…
They could hear him breathing from across the room: it was loud, and raspy, and Bakugo was muttering to himself as he stroked the length at a fevered pace. His left hand dropped into his pants, and Eijiro could see Bakugo massaging his balls, strangled sounds now coming from his throat, followed by a series of swear words. They saw him grip his dick more tightly; they heard his utterings, his breaths, become louder and louder as he neared climax.
They shouldn’t be watching. They should not be watching.
And yet...Eijiro felt a little bit of smug satisfaction in knowing that his friend was beating it every single day to calm himself down. Looks like he took Kaminari’s advice, he thought to himself, unable to keep the smirk off his face.
Bakugo’s groans and grunts grew even louder as his hand circled his cock and he tugged and he beat it against his stomach and he banged his head back against the desk, his teeth gnashing and his body vibrating with every stroke. Fuck. Even when he was masturbating, Bakugo was violent.
Eijiro bit the inside of his mouth to keep from making any sound. Watching Bakugo...seeing his dick...seeing the way he was egging himself on...Eijiro may have liked girls, but he could definitely understand what anyone would see in his friend. Bakugo’s face was flushed, and he was sweaty all over again, and he now grit his teeth and bent over his cock, working it over with a savage force that Eijiro found both terrifying and incredibly hot. Grunting, groaning, his hand sliding now, they could see Bakugo’s entire body go rigid, then…
“DEKU!” he moaned, and he convulsed as jet after jet of hot cum streaked over his stomach, and Bakugo collapsed forward from the effort, leaving Eijiro and Kaminari staring at each other, their hands over their mouths in disbelief.
Bakugo was...was he coming here everyday to...to jerk off and...fantasize about…
Midoriya???
Commissioned Artwork by kalcia