Even If He Won't Say It, Touya Really Is A Big Softie For You.

FILLING IN | BAKUGOU x READER ˖˚˳⊹

summary: A production assistant for an erotic arts studio, you think you've seen every ridiculous plot line under the sun. But not even porn tropes can compare to the absurd reality you find yourself in when the on-screen talent drops out, and you're asked to fill in opposite the studio's number one star Bakugou Katsuki.  contents: The classic oh-no-the-porn-talent-has-gone-missing-let's-sub-a-rando-in trope, no quirks au, pornstar Bakugou, soft dom Bakugou, gn + afab reader, unrequited-requited crush, slight bondage, descriptions of afab genitalia, nipple sucking, cunnilingus, piv sex, pet names used: angel and sweetheart, porn with surprise feelings, 18+, 8.2k words notes: This is my Bakugou x Reader commitment for @ficsforgaza, and I am sorry it is late enough to also count for Valentine's Day (but also Happy Valentine's Day!!) Additionally, a special thank you to my angel princess @ofmermaidstories for handing me the nerd + pornstar combo when I was worried about Bakugou's characterization. I think this is the only way I could have ever written a pornstar Bakugou that felt right to me. Love you, Mermie.

The studio was churning in chaos by the time you arrived.

The first sign that things weren’t right was Komori, one of your fellow production assistants, propped against the wall outside. Her cellphone was pressed against her ear, and she looked nervous, her foot tapping a thousand miles a minute. She had a thumbnail pressed to her mouth and was chewing steadily through the nail like a rabbit through a lettuce leaf.

You didn’t want to disturb her, so you buzzed inside the studio, only to find the hallways filled with an equally nervous energy. Yaoyorozu, one of the production managers, hovered in the doorway of a dressing room. She looked to be arguing with someone, her normally sweet expression pinched in profile. A small circle of people took up the hallway behind her, shifting apprehensively.

A shrill voice filtered out of the dressing room as you tried to wedge yourself by. “I said I’m not doing it. We’re getting married and we agreed I wouldn’t do this anymore.”

“Bibimi—” Yaoyorozu started.

“Effective immediately. Find someone else,” Bibimi’s voice replied.

You stopped in your tracks, blinking as you turned back to the doorway, peering over Sato’s shoulder.

Bibimi Kenranzaki was one of the studio’s top actresses, the very performer scheduled to shoot the production you were working on this afternoon. The shoot was a Valentine’s Day special, and had already been delayed at Bibimi’s request several times. If you’d understood Yaoyorozu’s previous concerns correctly, today was the last possible day to shoot it with enough time for it to make it through editing to post on Valentine’s.

This was not good.

“Bibimi, of course we would never force you to do something you did not consent to,” Yaoyorozu said patiently. “But you can see how having delayed this shoot many times already puts us in danger of not delivering on our commitments.”

You heard a dismissive snort issue from the room, and peered over one of Yaoyorozu’s slender shoulders. Bibimi lounged across one of the waiting room couches, arms crossed over her chest. An enormous diamond ring you’d never seen before glinted from one of her fingers, clearly the source of today’s change of heart.

Oh, production was not going to be happy.

You winced as you ducked out from behind Yaoyorozu, heading back down the hall to stuff your things into one of the vacant lockers. It was a struggle to fit everything in as today you’d come directly from a lecture—two textbooks the size and weight of cinderblocks choking up all the space in your bag. You would have thought that, considering that a wide swath of the production staff were college students—including several of the performers themselves—the studio would have had a better set up. But it was often a fight to the death to even find an open locker amongst the many other bookbags, and an equally Sisyphean struggle to get the door shut on the tiny cubbies.

Once you finally managed to finagle the door shut on your backpack, you made a beeline for the supply room. Typically, your first task of any shoot was acquisition of about a million pounds of baby wipes and lube, though you wondered if they would be needed today, given the scene with Bibimi you’d just witnessed.

You checked the film schedule posted in the staff entry to find the allotted set room. Then you made your way down the twisting maze halls carpeted with ancient olefin to the set for You Cumplete Me, the obnoxious working title Kaminari had come up with for this particular Valentine’s Day project.

The room was set up like some generic apartment, a large bed with a wire-framed headboard dominating the majority of the space. A cherry wood nightstand cluttered with fake knick knacks stood diligently at the bedside, and two fake windows with their curtains drawn shut overlooked the whole affair, red dressings fluttering slightly in the breeze from a fan.

Most of the production staff was already inside the room, the cameramen and director huddled together in the corner, whispering nervously. You spotted Mina, the wardrobe coordinator and makeup artist, fussing with her phone in the other corner, her various products and brushes spread out across a plastic folding table, looking put out.

“You know if we’re going to be able to sub anyone in for Bibimi?” you asked as you approached her, flopping down in one of the chairs set up at her makeshift dressing table. You arrayed your armful of lube and plastic packs of wipes at the corner so as not to disturb her arrangement.

Mina’s eyes flicked up to yours and she grinned, the upturn of her mouth accented with perfectly-applied hot pink lipstick.

“Komori’s called like ten other actresses so far and can’t get anyone,” Mina answered. “And Shiozaki and Kendo are in-studio but both just got off another shoot so we contractually can’t use them. I think Yaomomo is ready to start shaking people down.”

You winced. Yaoyorozu never lost her cool, but the pressure must be mounting. You knew marketing materials had already been put out on the studio’s website, specifically promising the return of the studio’s highest-grossing star—Bakugou Katsuki—opposite Bibimi.

While Bibimi might be the highest paid actress, Bakugou was the real draw of UA Productions. UA churned out projects that were largely targeted towards less traditional markets—largely women—porn that was often of higher production value, higher quality scripting, and careful coordination showcasing enthusiasm and consent. It also subsequently employed more than its fair share of beautiful men.

And Bakugou Katsuki crowned that pile of performers. Though foul-mouthed and often irascible, he was undeniably breathtaking to behold, both on screen and in person. He was the typical blend of tall, strong, and well-muscled that most UA actors were. But he moved with a singular precision and intention that drove fans wild, and came equipped with bed-rumpled blond hair, mile-long lashes, a surly, pouty mouth, and a facial symmetry that Euclid himself would have wept over.

He was also nearing the end of his doctoral and would not be filming for much longer, you were given to understand. So the studio stood to lose a significant amount of audience trust and money, should this production fall through.

As if on cue, Bakugou Katsuki himself stomped through the doorway. The expression on his face told you he was already well-aware of what was happening with Bibimi, and he was getting annoyed with the hold up. He set a direct line for you and Mina, mouth twisted in dissatisfaction.

Your ears promptly went hot, the way they always did when Bakugou was in your line of vision.

You’d unfortunately had something of a crush on him from the minute you’d become a production assistant at UA, your third year of college. Funds were tight and your masters program loomed large in front of you, its meager stipend like a slap in the face. You’d needed something else flexible, and you’d found UA through the friend of a friend—its proximity to the university, and ever changing schedule of ongoing productions offering the perfect amount of flexibility for your situation.

Bakugou had been there that first day as Yaoyorozu gave you the tour, too. He’d been tucked up on the couch of the waiting room as you passed through, blonde hair rumpled, someone’s lip gloss still smeared at the corner of his jaw. He looked like a soft, relaxed mess—clothes askew like he’d pulled them back on after a shoot and immediately migrated to the couch—though his scarlet eyes tracked intently across the page of an enormous engineering text spread across his thighs. His long fingers twirled a pen absently, tapping against a notebook peeking out from just under the textbook, headphones jammed over his ears.

He did not look up as you made your way inside, but your stomach had flared to life with a sudden flutter of butterflies. You were startled by the pretty set of his mouth, the long lashes that swept over his cheeks as he read, the flex of those long, beautiful fingers on his pen. You had never seen a person so perfect in real life, and the effect was dumbing.

“That’s Bakugou, one of our performers,” Yaoyorozu had told you, leading you through the room. She did not stop to introduce you. “He’s working on a PhD in chemical engineering, and performs once every couple of months for us. He’s—erm—not quite friendly, so we’ll skip the introduction today.”

You’d followed her, nodding obediently, leaving Bakugou behind. You’d dutifully concluded your tour and signed all the paperwork, and met several other members of the staff. It was only when you’d been released from your onboarding obligations that you saw Bakugou again, as you ran out into the parking lot to start your car.

It was raining out, a torrential downpour much worse than when you’d arrived that came down in thick, pelting sheets. Visibility was bad enough that you almost missed the tuft of blonde hair across the parking lot, ducking under the awning of the nearby bus stop.

You knew the route headed back towards your university, and subsequently your apartment, and it dawned on you that Bakugou’s would most likely be attaining his cited PhD at your same college. You felt your mouth twist, impressed. PhD tracks were notoriously difficult to attain at Musutafu University—no wonder Bakugou needed a job that was, for lack of better phrasing, quick and dirty. He probably was drowning in post-grad labs and dissertation materials.

The memory of those long fingers tapping at the edge of his text suddenly flickered again in your brain, and something possessed you as you started up your engine. Before you knew what you were doing, you had pulled your car around into the bus stop bay, leaning out to call out to him.

“Hey—Bakugou, right?” you said, watching as scarlet eyes found yours, narrowing suspiciously. His pretty mouth lifted in an immediate, reflexive snarl, and those broad shoulders squared off, like he was getting ready for trouble.

You cut in, quickly explaining yourself when you realized he had no context for the rando hanging out of their car window at him. “I’m Yaoyorozu’s new production staff. Just joined today. Are you headed towards Musutafu U and do you want a ride?”

A blonde eyebrow lifted. “You’re with UA?” he asked. His voice was a kind of low growl, not unlike the thunder suddenly echoing overhead, and the sound shot through you like a bolt of lightning.

“I—yeah. Just signed the paperwork this afternoon.”

Several spatters of rain dampened your cheeks where you had your head poked out of the window, and Bakugou’s eyes tracked them closely as he leaned in. “Then let’s get one thing straight right off the bat—I don’t fuck coworkers off the clock.”

You recoiled, horrified at the conclusion he’d immediately brought himself to. “No! That’s not what I—I didn’t mean like—! I just thought because it’s raining out, you might want—”

“I want you to fuck right off, is what I want,” Bakugou said, crossing his arms over his chest. He made a show of leaning back against the glass wall of the bus stop, its interior papered over with moldering ads. It was a clear dismissal.

You blinked at him stupidly for a moment, mind reeling that your gesture had been received so poorly. But then you realized he hadn’t seen you, in your trek through the staff room during your afternoon tour. You’d only just seen him, and you hadn’t spoken to him besides. Despite your immediate interest in and respect for him, he knew nothing about you.

And he was a pornstar, come to think of it. He probably had had a fair number of creeps proposition him out of the blue. Enough that he was suspicious now, as you might have been, were you in his position.

Your cheeks heated, suddenly ashamed. You nodded, gritting your teeth as you ducked back inside your car.

“Right, fucking off, as requested,” you said, turning your blinker on to move back out into the road. “Sorry to scare you. See you, um—see you at work sometime.”

“Oi—I ain’t fuckin’ scared,” you heard him growl, but then you were turning back out into the street. You rolled your window back up as you sped up, resisting the urge to look back at Bakugou in the rearview.

What a humiliating first impression that had been.

You'd fretted about it for another week before your first official day at UA, and for several weeks more when you didn’t immediately run into Bakugou. When you’d finally met him properly, however, Bakugou acted like he’d never even seen you before in his life, and you somewhat gratefully followed his lead. He treated you like anyone else, with the same kind of universal severity he turned on the other production staff. You discovered very quickly that he was impatient, brusque, no-nonsense. He stalked onto every set with all the latent energy of a nuclear missile strike, and never softened until after the shoot was over.

His general attitude, and your humiliating first encounter should have been enough to turn you off of him. But the occasional glimpse of him after a shoot—rumpled, relaxed, open in a way he normally wasn’t, in the way that you'd first seen him—was unfortunately enough to keep those initial butterflies aflutter.

The fact that he was smart—and annoyingly adept in the bedroom, considering the number of reshoots his costars often needed after they accidently came too early—did not help matters.

“Where the fuck is Yaoyorozu?” he demanded of you and Mina, as he approached you in the set room now.

You met his scarlet gaze, holding very still under his regard.

“She was negotiating with Bibimi just now when I came in,” you told him, cheeks heating as his eyes flicked over you. He had a very direct way of evaluating people, and rarely missed a detail. You hoped your makeup wasn’t smudged from where you’d had your head propped up in your hand, valiantly resisting falling asleep in your earlier lecture.

“Bibimi’s a waste of fuckin’ time,” Bakugou growled.

You rolled your eyes. He couldn’t very well act opposite his own hand, so someone was going to have to fill in.

“Well Mina says we’re not having luck finding anyone else either so Bibimi is your best bet,” you told him.

Bakugou looked down his perfect nose at you. “Anyone in this damn studio could do better than she does.”

You felt your eyebrows raise. Bibimi was popular with a variety of audiences for her exaggeratedly dollish features—you doubted just anyone could fill in for her and look as good. You said as much to Bakugou, and he scoffed.

“‘S not about looking good, it’s about showing that you’re feeling good,” he said plainly, igniting a wave of fire across your cheeks. The flames worsened when he crossed his arms over his chest and you had occasion to notice he was in nothing but a workout tank, his bare biceps flexing enticingly in the studio lighting.

You were thankfully spared from having to form a coherent response by Yaoyorozu stepping into the room. She was tailed by Komori, and wore a troubled expression. She waved an elegant hand that encompassed both your camp in the corner and the directors on the other side of the room.

“Bibimi is unfortunately out. And we cannot use Shiozaki or Kendo. I am afraid we may have to call off the shoot this afternoon,” she said.

“So get someone else in,” Bakugou said, with his usual brisk directness. He turned to face her. You caught the whiff of something light and clean on him as he did so, laundry detergent and recently-applied shampoo.

Yaoyorozu fixed him with an expectant look. “We’ve unfortunately worked our way through the roster of available performers. Unless you know someone else?”

Bakugou stared back at her evenly, arching a blonde brow. “There’re a bunch of extras already here, aren’t there?”

A little shock went through you. Extras. As in the…people in the room right now? Did he really mean the production staff?

Yaoyorozu blinked, apparently taken aback. Then her gaze slid thoughtfully between Komori, Mina, and you. Another little thrill raced through you, like you’d suddenly missed a step. Surely they both could not actually be considering that.

“I’m a hoe but I’m a loyal hoe,” Mina said from next to you, immediately putting up a rosy palm. “Eiji is my one and only, sorry babes.”

Yaoyorozu nodded. “Of course, I would not expect you to violate any commitments you already had to a significant other.”

“I am also seeing someone,” Komori volunteered, a shy little blush sweeping across her cheeks. You smiled a bit at her obvious regard for whoever it was—until you sensed a dozen pairs of eyes suddenly turning to you.

Your stomach dropped—less of a missed step then and more of a sudden push off a cliff.

Worst of all was the pair of scarlet eyes suddenly burning with undue regard in your direction. You stared straight at Yaoyorozu, unable to meet Bakugou’s gaze. You still felt like you might burn up under his scrutiny, like an ant under a magnifying glass.

“I—uh—” you said dumbly, floundering for the right set of words to explain yourself. “Uhh.”

“You seeing anybody?” Bakugou prodded, prompting a fresh wave of heat to your cheeks.

“Well—no—”

“You clean?” he asked.

Your face burned hotter. “Yes, if you must know—-but uh—”

“Then what?” he prompted.

“Is it that easy for you? To just switch partners like that?” you asked. You weren’t exactly a blushing virgin but you still had only slept with partners you had cared for. Bakugou had worked with you for years and never signaled anything beyond dismissal and semi-professionalism—so it wasn’t like he had that same level of interest in you, despite your enormous crush on him. How could he just switch, just like that?

Bakugou uncrossed his arms to settle his hands on slim hips instead, and he gave you another evaluating once over. “Something the matter with you?” he asked. You noticed he did not ask if you thought something was the matter with him. You wondered if your crush on him was that apparent.

“No,” you said defensively. “Just—I don’t know that I’d be any good on camera.”

“You’ve been in videos before,” Mina pointed out, tugging playfully on your belt loop. “You were in Bibimi’s Christmas special a couple years ago.”

“That was different,” you said, staring at her. “I was her evil coworker who sent her running into Tetsutetsu’s muscular arms. I didn’t have to get naked.”

“We can give you time to get prepared,” Yaoyorozu promised kindly. “If you wanted to um, clean up or trim—”

“It’s not that!” you said quickly, waving your arms. Your ears burned. “I just mean I would be shy.”

Bakugou watched you silently for another long moment, his full mouth pursed in thought. His gaze dragged down your body and then back up to your face, and you felt it like a physical touch.

“Then if you forgot you were on camera?” he asked, a rasp in his tone.

You blinked at him dumbly. “If I—forgot?”

“If I made you forget,” he said, flashing a sharp smirk. The arrogance looked so good on him, zinging through your veins like an electric current. Your cheeks and ears flared even hotter, until you thought you might actually be emitting smoke from them.

You tried to form words but seemed to have trouble shaping the proper ones with your tongue, making a series of choking noises before you managed. “There is no way you could—you’re not that good.”

Something hot flared to life behind Bakugou’s eyes, and his smirk curled even sharper. “We’ll see about that.”

“What if Bakugou helps you get over your nerves, and we just try it and see how you do.” Yaoyorozu prompted gently. “Is that something you would be willing to do? Of course we won’t pressure you.”

Your gaze jerked back to her as you startled. For just a second you’d sort of forgotten there was anyone in the room but Bakugou.

“I sort of doubt—but if you really need—I mean I could—try…” you fumbled out.

Yaoyorozu nodded gratefully, looking pleased again. “Alright, then let’s at least try it. Mina please find proper costuming and help get Y/N ready. I will draw up a short contract with the same terms we promise all our on camera talent for you to look over when you’re done.”

You nodded, a little dazed. Had you really just agreed to—?

But then Mina was laughing, grabbing you by the elbow and drawing you out of the room. She marched you towards the back of the studio building where she’d amassed a respectable wardrobe, racks upon racks of clothes. “Alright, this is going to be so fun! I love dressing new talent! It’s always fun to work out what’s going to work with your coloring and style on screen.”

The mention of you doing anything on screen had all the blood draining from your veins, but Mina didn’t seem to mind. She kept up a stream of happy, easy chatter as she pecked around in the racks like a chicken hunting a grasshopper. Eventually she emerged with a robe in a deep pink, slippery and silky and glistening faintly under the overheads.

“Okay so you’re supposed to be a loving couple celebrating your anniversary and looking for ways to spice things up,” she said. “So you’ll be waiting for him to come home, looking delicious in this little slip of a thing. He can unwrap you like a V-Day present!”

Her callback to the plot of the shoot suddenly made you realize there were way more things involved in the project than just being pawed at on screen—and you did not know any of Bibimi’s lines. How the hell were you supposed to deliver any kind of performance?

“Don’t worry about it, I assure you the gears are already churning in Momo’s big brain,” Mina said when you asked as much. She peeled you out of your sweater and jeans, and ushered you into the robe. Cheeks burning, you let her look you over to make sure you were properly groomed for the camera.

Then before you could get cold feet, she bundled you up and shepherded you back into the set room and set to work on you with her various pots of paint and ointments. She worked a couple things into your hair, applied something glossy and sticky to your mouth, and adjusted the fit of your robe to her liking until she pronounced you ready.

Yaoyorozu was already leaning over you by the time Mina released you, laying out a packet of sheets in front of you. She detailed the terms to you in the professional, clipped tone you’d heard her conduct business in before, and soon enough you were penning in your own name in a shaky hand. The strokes looked almost foreign on the page, and you felt a little more than lightheaded thinking about what you’d just signed yourself into.

“So—what am I supposed to do about Bibimi’s lines?” you asked, your voice coming out kind of dry and crackly.

“We’re going to improvise,” Yaoyorozu said. “Bakugou will guide you. Try to respond as best you can to what he says, along the framework of being a couple celebrating their anniversary. It’s most important to capture your intimacy, however, so we can always come back and reshoot any dialog as needed after. You can call him Katsuki, there are no aliases for this shoot.”

You nodded, feeling even more nervous now that all the prerequisites had been completed.

That left Komori waiting for you. She was apparently assuming the duties you’d abandoned by becoming the star of this absurd alternate dimension. She led you over to what had been meant to be Bibimi’s starting mark on the bed and helped you spread your pink robe out enticingly. You almost laughed as you helped her, feeling foolish and distinctly unsexy for the deliberateness of it all.

There was nothing less romantic than half a dozen other people in the room with you, cameras and hot lights trained on you like you were an escaped convict under a helicopter floodlight. You got the impression that it was going to be a monumental task to work up the nerve to even loosen the tie on your robe, nevermind remove it.

Except then Bakugou walked in.

He’d changed, sometime in the half hour or so Mina had had you in her clutches. He prowled into the room in a dark charcoal suit, the consummate businessman home from his generic businessman job.

He looked unfairly good in it too—the close cut of it highlighted how his broad shoulders slashed inwards into a trim waist, and his pants showcased the flex of a strong, hard thigh. He’d acquired a chunky wristwatch in a dark metal, and it glinted dully under the overhead lights.

He looked sleek and dangerous, even though you’d just seen him stomping around in sweatpants not thirty minutes prior. You felt your breath escape you in a whoosh, your heartbeat kicking up as he prowled closer.

“I’m home, angel,” he said, a smoky rasp curling on the end of his voice. Despite the pet name, he sounded enough like his usual self that you almost answered him in turn.

You vaguely remembered you were obliged to playact with him, and you summoned up your nerve. “Hi, Katsuki,” you said. You hoped your voice did not sound too shaky. “Happy Anniversary.”

Bakugou’s scarlet eyes dipped down to your robe, fastening to the spot where it gaped open suggestively over one thigh. Your skin buzzed like a hive of bees was trapped beneath it.

“This my present?” he asked, stalking closer. He snagged the tie of your robe in his long fingers, toying with it speculatively.

“It should be easy to open,” you joked, then almost cringed.

Sexy. You were supposed to be sexy, not goofy as hell. And what happened when he really did try to open it?

A small amount of panic crept up your spine again, seeping into your veins. You did not feel ready to be naked before all of the eyes in this room, nevermind the roving gaze of the internet. What had you been thinking, signing up for this?

Your hand came up defensively to tug the robe tie back out of Bakugou’s hand, only for it to be captured too. Bakugou tugged you up and to him, and your face broke out in another sweeping wave of flame as you felt the hard planes of him against you. He was so warm, and smelled so good up close and you could not even begin to know what to do or where to put your hands—

Before you could ask him what the heck he was doing, however, he brought your captured hand to his mouth. You almost leapt out of your skin when you felt the gentle press of his lips on the inside of your wrist, the careful flicker of a tongue. Those scarlet eyes slid over you knowingly, near enough that you could see tiny flecks of deep purple in them.

His other hand came up to take your chin, his thumb stroking over the side of your jaw. The feeling made you shiver slightly, and it must have been clearly visible because the corner of Bakugou's mouth lifted into a smirk against your wrist. Your heart hammered against your ribcage, every inch of your skin thrilling with the feeling of your longtime crush doing something this to you.

“Think I’m gonna enjoying opening you alright,” Bakugou intoned.

You struggled to remember what he was talking about, giving up almost immediately as his mouth trailed along the inside of your arm. It traced up and up and up, until he was hovering dangerously close to your face. His fingers tightened on your chin, tilting your face up to his.

And then he bent his head, and crushed his mouth to yours.

Immediately, everything else disappeared.

Kissing Bakugou was three thousand zillion times hotter than you could have ever even imagined. You’d sort of imagined that with an attitude like his, he would be all power and impatience. And the power was there, but leashed, somehow. His mouth was hot and shockingly sweet on yours, and his fingers cupped your face to his, holding you there like he planned to kiss you for hours yet.

Your head was spinning by the time he let your mouth free, and the dip of his blonde lashes as he looked you over was extraordinarily self-satisfied.

His hand on your chin went to your robe instead, pulling the collar wide so that he could lower his mouth inside instead, kissing over your throat. You seized fistfuls of his suit, clinging to him, as he mapped a hot path across your shoulder and collarbone, one of his hands coming up to up your chest.

You heard yourself let out a soft hiss as his thumb pressed over your nipple through the silky fabric. Bakugou sucked a careful bruise into the side of your neck as he did it again, letting out a barely audible snort when you jerked in his hold, unconsciously arching into his hand.

“So sensitive for me, angel,” he drawled as his other hand came up to carefully pinch your other nipple.

You heard yourself make a small, choked off noise like a whine, and you could feel Bakugou’s lips pull into an answering smirk against your throat. You didn’t think you had been quite this responsive to a partner before—but something about the careful, purposeful way he was touching you had your blood running quicker in your veins.

Bakugou’s thumbs traced slow, deliberate circles over your nipples with just the right amount of pressure to make you groan. He teased you again and again as his mouth traced higher on your neck.

Within minutes you were panting, a slow, syrupy pleasure dripping down into your core.

Bakugou tugged your robe wider, then bent his head. You felt the tickle of his hair against your collarbone, softer than you would have thought, as his mouth closed over the point of one nipple. The draw of his mouth had you arching up into him immediately, pleasure zinging through your veins.

“Oh my god,” you said, seizing a fistful of that blonde hair.

Bakugou’s tongue teased at the nipple, and you writhed in his hold. Then he did the same to your other one, and you thought you might die. He hadn’t even touched you yet and you already wanted to crawl out of your skin with impatience.

“Katsuki—please,” you heard yourself say, almost distantly. “Katsuki—oh!”

“Please what, angel?” he said into the skin of your chest, before laying his mouth back over your nipple and giving a sweet suck.

“Oh my god—please!” you said, stupidly. Not an answer to his question but you’d forgotten how to string words together, your brain-to-mouth connection running on autopilot.

“Gonna have to be more specific, sweetheart,” Bakugou said, and you heard the relish in it. Your face burned, and you yanked his hair a little more firmly. He just groaned, and then sucked you a little harder.

“Touch me! Please—Katsuki,” you panted out, hips flexing unconsciously with the pull of your nipple.

“Thought this was my gift, angel. I can’t enjoy it how I want?” he asked.

You considered his words muzzily, having no idea what he was talking about. Gift? What gift was he talking about?

Bakugou’s scarlet eyes flicked up to yours, and something in your expression must have told him you had no idea what he was on about. His mouth pulled up into a self-satisfied grin, and he leaned up to kiss you again.

You flattened yourself out against his chest, all but velcroing yourself to him. You wanted to feel every inch of that hard body against you, wanted to climb as far into him as you could. Something gratifyingly hard pressed against your stomach as you kissed him, and he grunted, locking you to him with a muscled arm across your back.

“Want me to touch you, angel?” he asked.

You nodded. A smile played across his lips.

“Get on the bed for me then, sweetheart.”

It took a minute for you to process but then you were scrambling to obey, scrabbling your way onto the bed, turning and watching as Bakugou stepped nearer.

He shed his jacket as he approached, yanking off his tie too and flinging it somewhere behind him. Then he crawled over you, his fingers seizing the ties of your robe as he did. He pulled it open gently, then yanked a little harder until the silk tie slid free.

His eyes picked over it speculatively, then flashed back up to you. A look of intent interest settled over his features.

“You ever been tied up before, angel?” he asked.

You shook your head, even as it swam with the implication. Your skin prickled, somehow growing even hotter. He didn’t mean to…?

“You gonna let me?” he asked.

You rather thought you would let him do anything he wanted with you. The question was barely out of his mouth before you were nodding hurriedly. A shocked laugh punched out of him, and he gathered up your wrists, scooting you backwards until they pressed against the headboard.

He looped the silk around your wrists, gathering it into a series of complicated knots. He moved with a purpose and precision, his movements sure and practiced. You tested the give of the ties when he sat back on his haunches, finding that they held firm, even when you put a little more muscle into it.

Bakugou’s gaze blazed over you, hot like coals. His eyes traced over your body, spread out under him now, your silk robe pooling at either side of you in a pink puddle.

He bent his head and kissed you again, until you were fuzzy with the feeling once more. Then he worked his way downwards, softly biting your shoulder, licking over one nipple, pressing deep kisses into your belly and then indent of your left hip.

A shock of pleasure raced through you when you realized where he was going with this, and you let out an involuntarily little gasp as he hooked your thighs over his broad shoulders.

“Katsuki,” you began, though you had no idea what you meant to follow it up with. Bakugou didn’t wait for you to finish, ducking his head and licking a hot stripe up the cleft of you.

Immediately you arched, thighs flexing under his hands. Your face heated when he laughed again, but any embarrassment was instantly forgotten when he licked over you again, slower and more deliberate this time.

“Oh my god,” you said again, biting off into a groan when his tongue dipped deeper between your folds, flicking up over your clit.

“Yeah, angel?” Bakugou asked, his voice a heady rasp. “You like that?” He layered another open mouthed kiss over you, slow and thorough, until you were arching up into his mouth again.

It would have been evident to anyone on earth how much you liked it from the noises you made, the way you kicked and squirmed with the movement of his mouth. He sucked your clit gently into his mouth, then laved over it firmly as he pressed his fingers to you, the pads of his index and middle slowly sinking into you.

Your eyes almost rolled to the back of your head when he gave another slow suck, the feeling almost too much. His fingers pressed deeper into you, easily slipping in with how comically wet you were for him. The gentle suction of his mouth made everything a million times better, everything a million times worse, as he carefully curled his fingers within you. He seemed to immediately find a spot within you that felt like he was touching your clit from the other side too, and the feeling was immediately far too much.

“Holy shit,” you heard yourself say, cutting off into an honest to god whine when his tongue swirled around your clit, just as he teased a finger along you from the inside too. “Katsuki—oh! Katsuki please! Please oh my god oh my god.”

Bakugou’s ministrations grew a fraction firmer, and you heard him groan too as he kissed you messily.

“So fucking hot for me, sweetheart. So sweet,” he said, then sucked again, a tiny bit harder this time. His fingers stroked you from the inside, a firm, deliberate rhythm that had you turning your face and muffling a keen into the meat of your arm.

Your hips flexed against his face, wild and uncontrolled, wanting less, more, not enough, too much, oh my god—

“Katsuki!” you cried, as you suddenly hit the crest of your pleasure. Your wrists pulled against their bonds, and the feeling of helpless restraint suddenly made everything feel a thousand times more intense. Every single nerve ending in your body felt like it was on fire, so that even the air of the room seemed too harsh on your skin. You screamed as you rode out your pleasure against Bakugou’s face.

He worked you through it diligently, licking and sucking until you collapsed back to the mattress, panting like you’d just run a marathon.

“Good, angel?” Bakugou asked.

You nodded breathlessly, turning your face to his when he crawled up your body to kiss you again. The taste of yourself on him was both embarrassing and thrilling, but Bakugou didn’t give you much leeway to consider it, kissing you into a stupid, pliant little puddle against the mattress.

You could feel him hard and hot against your hip as he did so, but he didn’t make any move to get inside you yet. Instead, his hands moved over you, slowly teasing you from satiation back into want. His fingers played with your nipples again, pinching them softly and rolling them. It felt like he'd rigged up some kind of wire, leading from your nipples right to your core, that lit the pilot flame of your interest again.

A couple minutes of diligent teasing, and easy, unhurried kisses had you wiggling under him again soon enough. It was only then, when you realized you were unconsciously rocking your hips against Bakugou’s, that he finally sat back to shuck off his shirt and pants.

He was so unfairly beautiful, bared in the bright light of the room. You’d known he was gorgeous, of course, but up close he was something else entirely. He was chiseled with thick muscle, his chest and arms hard and glowing faintly with perspiration. The light and the shadows of the room played over the divots of his muscles with a deliberate care, like he was a painting instead of a man, highlighting him in loving shades. A set of perfect abs trailed down into the hard jut of hip bones over his pelvis, and his cock was just as upsettingly gorgeous as the rest of him. It was thick and full and flush with his arousal, and he wasted no time crawling back between your thighs.

“You ready for me, sweetheart?” he asked. His voice had gone even more gravelly than usual, and it plucked at your core like a string.

“Please, Katsuki,” you said, your voice embarrassingly breathy. You couldn’t help yourself though, couldn’t be ashamed with the easy way your thighs fell apart for him. Your ankles hooked across his back, trying to pull him closer still.

He groaned and surged up over you to grab a condom off the nightstand. He quickly rolled it onto himself in one practiced movement, before immediately pressing himself into you.

He sank in mortifyingly easily, you already half out of your mind with want. He didn’t seem to mind, though—you heard the soft, sibilant hiss of his own pleasure as he filled you, and your robe tugged the skin of your shoulder as he fisted a hand in it, just beside your head.

“Been dying to fuck you, angel,” he said. “Thinking about how hot and tight and sweet you would be for me. Been thinking about it nonstop.”

You made a vague noise of agreement, moving your hips with his as he drew back and pressed inside of you again. The slide of him inside you was mind-numbingly good, the pressure against your stomach as he pressed back in almost sparking stars in your vision. The flex of his abs between your thighs as he found his pace was almost immediately too much for you, and you had to turn your face away. You tilted your face up to his, watching him as he watched you.

Bakugou seemed to read your expression easily, finding the angle and pace you liked incredibly quickly. He slid an arm under the small of your back to angle your hips up into him, yanking you up like you were nothing, and the show of easy strength had your toes flexing and curling against his back.

He kissed you again, catching the sounds of your pleasure in his mouth as he rocked into you. You moved against him, hips bucking, delirious with the feeling of him. Eventually he freed his arm from under you, pressing his thumb to your slit again with deadly precision.

“Oh fuck,” you moaned into his mouth, legs tightening on him as he played with your clit. The almost-too-gentle sensation of his thumb on your clit, coupled with the relentless drive of him inside you had your vision sparking and greying at the edges. His face swam in front of yours, and all of your limbs began to feel shivery, almost too weak to lift yourself into him the way you needed, to rock against him and find relief from the friction.

Bakugou continued to tease at you, carefully pinching and petting. His hips drove into you tirelessly, slapping the bottoms of your thighs, as you strained in your silk bonds, wanting to grab him, pull him even harder into you.

“Katsuki, please please please,” you heard yourself begging. You felt him smile against your mouth, tasted his reply more than heard it.

“You want me to let you cum, angel?” he asked, doing something with his fingers that made your breath catch in your lungs.

“Unhh, yes—please!” you cried, desperation coming over you in a white haze.

You had never—never—been so desperate for anything in your entire life. You didn’t know how Bakugou was doing it, why his touch felt like so much more than anything else you’d ever felt in your life. If he didn’t let you cum you were certain you were going to die, right here and right now.

“You gonna scream for me, sweetheart?” Bakugou asked, his voice raspier than you’d ever heard it. He grit the words out, like he too was on the edge of his own climax, barely staving it off.

“Anything, I will do anything,” you babbled senselessly. “Yes—going to scream for you—Katsuki!”

Bakugou’s gaze was hotter than you’d ever seen it, scarlet eyes clouded with pleasure, glowing like banked coals. “Then you can come for me, angel. Come on, sweetheart.”

“Oh!” you cried in answer, your feet planting themselves on the bed to jut your hips up hard. Bakugou’s thumb pressed hard against your clit, then, firm and merciless, and he fucked into you harder, his pace growing faster, furious.

Your second orgasm hit you like a truck, snapping your spine into alignment, locking all your limbs up as if in rigor mortis.

“Katsuki!” you wailed as you writhed against him, clenching and fluttering around him as you sobbed.

“Oh fuck,” you heard him say, and his hips stuttered. You realized he was coming too, fucking into you sloppily and disjointedly as he rode out his own pleasure. You arched and spasmed with him, clawing uselessly at the silk that bound you, twisting in blissful agony.

When you finally came back to yourself you found yourself slumped on the bed, Bakugou’s weight pinning you down into the mattress. His chest was slicked to yours with sweat, and you could feel the rapid rise and fall of it against you as he caught his breath.

“That good, angel?” he asked, his voice heady with satisfaction.

You nodded, absently turning your face back up to his for a kiss. He granted it, kissing you almost possessively. He looked soft and rumpled, just the way you'd always liked him, and something in you purred with satisfaction at finally getting to have him like this for you.

Gradually, you became aware of other sounds in the room as you came down from your high. Quiet murmuring and the sounds of shuffling met your ears, the shutter click of a camera lens slicing through the atmosphere like a knife.

A sudden shock raced through you when you realized you and Bakugou were not alone—and you were on the set of a porn film, half a dozen eyes glued to you just over one of Bakugou’s thick shoulders.

A porn film. You had been shooting a porn film!

“And cut!” you heard the director’s voice ring out, like a bucket of water dumped over your head.

You tensed up beneath Bakugou, mind racing. Holy shit, he had actually managed to make you forget, exactly the way he'd promised.

You could tell Bakugou was thinking the same thing as he went to untie you, looking extremely satisfied with himself.

“Told you, angel,” he said, flashing something of a feral grin. You hated how good the self-conceit looked on him.

You went to draw your wrists back to yourself as he let them free. But Bakugou caught them instead, carefully massaging the skin there as if to make sure things were circulating properly. It was a startling note of unexpected care, as was the way he drew your robe closed around you again against the sudden chill of the room.

You found yourself saying wonderingly, “Wow. It was just that easy for you to switch partners like that.”

The thought somehow stung, even though you’d known going into this what you were getting yourself into. Somehow, the latent care and intention with which Bakugou had fucked you had addled your brain, made you think your connection had been something more. He had felt like he had feelings, beyond those mimed for the camera.

But here was evidence to the contrary, plain and simple. There literally was a camera.

Except then Bakugou looked down at you, a frown marring his pouty mouth. “Well yeah. ‘Course it was gonna be that easy when it’s you we’re talking about.”

You blinked at him, not understanding what he was saying. “Uh. When it’s—me?”

A crease came in between Bakugou’s blonde brows. “I said it, didn’t I? While we were fucking? Wanted to fuck you for a long time. Of course it was easy.”

Your stomach dropped, like a rug had just been yanked out from beneath you. “You—have? What? Since when?” you demanded.

Bakugou leveled you with an unimpressed stare. “Since the second time we met,” he said, and your mind flashed back to the way he’d seemed not to recognize you, that second time you'd spoken to him. “Once I realized you did work for UA and weren’t actually a little fucking creep trying to lure me into your car.”

You felt your eyebrows shoot towards your hairline. “Then—? For years? You cannot be serious. You never acted like we were anything other than coworkers!”

Bakugou scoffed. “We fucking were coworkers. And I told you, I don’t fuck coworkers off the clock.”

You blinked again, startled by the level of professionalism couched in the crassess of his statement. It made sense, you supposed, for a pornstar of Bakugou’s caliber to have put boundaries like that in place. Probably everyone in the world would just be dying for a shot at him.

“Wow,” you said, almost to yourself. You didn’t know what to do with this new information, wondered how it was going to be possible to behave professionally with Bakugou at all going forward. It was probably obvious to him how big your crush on him was, given that he’d known all along he could make you forget you were on camera. Given the way you reacted to him embarrassingly easily.

Except then Bakugou leaned forward, putting his face startlingly close to yours. “Emphasis on were, since this is my last shoot,” he said.

You stared at him, wondering if you were interpreting the implication correctly. There was no way he meant—?

“Uhhhh, meaning what, exactly?” you prompted, heart beating just a little bit quicker despite yourself.

Bakugou’s mouth turned up into a gorgeous smirk, and he ducked his head even closer, voice going softer.

“Meaning you’re going to get dressed and I’m going to take us to get something to eat,” he said, fingers playing at the edge of your robe. “And then you’re going to give me that ride home in your car after all. And we are going to do this all over again.”

Flames erupted across your face, sweeping across your cheeks. And you were up out of the bed before you even realized what you were doing, catching yourself on the bedside table as you stumbled.

Bakugou’s laugh chased out of the set room as you raced towards the wardrobe again. But you couldn’t find it in yourself to care, this time.

Not when your heart felt like it was going to beat right out of your chest. You smothered a smile as you ran down the hallway.

Much like Bakugou had just done to you—it looked like your hopes and dreams were finally lining themselves up and filling themselves in.

As a window cleaner I just wanna say, in universe, all high rise window cleaners' favorite hero is Hawks hands down. Homie is just. Up there. Like you know he smiles and waves every time he flies by so now he's like a coworker. Yeah that's my buddy Hawks. Sometimes when we have pizza up here he'll grab a slice. He's cool.

touchstarved!hawks who can’t remember the last time anyone touched him because they wanted to, not because they could get something out of him

touchstarved!hawks who melts into your touch the first time you hold him, his whole body going slack as he finally lets himself relax

touchstarved!hawks who preens when you card your hands through his hair, scraping your nails down his neck and in between his shoulder blades. “touch ‘em, baby, please,” he hears himself beg, his wings rustling and fluffing out behind him

touchstarved!hawks who bites back a moan the minute your fingers soothe over his feathers. you’re so gentle, so warm, so perfect. he ruts into your hip before lifting you up and fitting you snugly in his lap, dick pressed against the sopping wet seam of your panties

touchstarved!hawks who can talk circles around anyone reduced to a groaning mess, hardly able to stutter out more than a pititful “feels so fucking good, don’t - ngh - don’t ya dare stop touchin’ me”

touchstarved!hawks who comes against the soft skin of your tummy the minute your nails scratch the base of his wings -

An assortment of non-malevolent doodles as a palette cleanser

under your spell. keigo “hawks” t.

keigo takami’s worst weakness is definitely the cowgirl position. he is sooo the type to be super turned on by that position and overall embarrassed by how much he enjoys it.

so he pretends he doesn’t like the position at all and even when you first start getting into the bedroom he doesn’t let you ride him under any circumstances! he doesn’t even let you grind on it like that! )):

but little did you know, keigo didn’t let you ride him because his cock was most sensitive in that position and he wasn’t ready to be submissive yet with how cocky he already is in bed.

so when he finally lets you after you’ve been begging him all month to just let you ride him, he caves in, telling you it can only be for a couple minutes since he “hated” the position.

“just tell me when—when you’re ready to..switch….”

he forced the words out trying his best to conceal his sluttiest moans. keigo sat against the headboard in a mindless daze, before said he wanted to sit up in this position since “he feels like he’s having his lady do all the work if he’s just laying there” but the way his face looks right now you’re pretty sure he’s not that much help like this either.

the poor blond man could barely even keep up as his voice shattered with every spoken word. his hard, thick shaft couldn’t take much more of the harsh strokes you were taking from it.

“uh-fu—ck”

keigos mouth was slightly parted and his eyes would’ve rolled back into his head if he wasn’t so intent in staring you dead in your eyes, not wanting to miss anything. his hands lazily laid on your thighs as you bounced up and down .

“you still don’t like this position keigo?”

“mmhmm”

keigo kept a starstruck look on his face as he watched you milk his cock for everything it had in it—happy to give it to you. your hands rubbed up and down his chest in an effort to massage him deeper. you couldn’t figure out why he hated this damn position so much!

everytime you leaned down a little for a kiss your boyfriend was more than happy to oblige you the best way he could, messily kissing your lips as he let you shove your tongue in his mouth.

your hips ground in an up and down motion against his pelvis with lustful urgency before lifting your hips up all the way till only the tip was inside and guiding it all the way back down to the hilt until you were fully stuffed again.

“stop doin’ that”

he whispered, like he couldn’t even believe this was happening to him right now. of course you didn’t listen to him though, continuing to slide up and down his cock a few more times before continuing your previous harsh bouncing against him.

“cummin—getoff-getoff!”

his hands came up quickly, thumbs rubbing against the skin protecting your ribs as they wrapped themselves around your sides and lifted you up off of his cock. just at that moment hot creamy ropes of almost clear shot up out of his angry red tip and onto the lips of your wet cunny.

blondieeu xx

"Full Circle"[bkdk mer au]

My 100th Installment of this AU!

Deku and Toshinori go to check up on Tomura mer, when Deku realizes Peaku's been there...and he's missing. Bakugou mer would do anything for his family.... Peaku's pleas are heard, and Toshinori prepares to share his secret...

to be continued...

when they're giving you info on hybrid Kiri before sending him home with you, the person is like, "hey no seriously though, he is going to be pretty possessive of you and you need to nip that in the bud or it'll get unmanageable" and then you just assume it'll work itself out and then Kiri fucking goes rigid-still and growls at any other hybrid who even looks at you in public lol

free falling is a taste of freedom

feat: keigo takami / hawks

warnings: language, heaviness, implications of reader and keigo being groomed by the commission, violence (if u squint), bittersweet

cache notes: i crashed out during this so many times omfg. but anyways heavily inspired by circles by pierce the veil and monsters by all time low (once we figure out why spotify links aren't working i'll link the songs heh)

m.list

the first day you met hawks, he was in the training gym working on some stupid trick of his– something about flipping forward and bringing his blades out at the same time and landing some stupid comic book hero– and you had to hide a laugh when he tripped over his own feet. he challenged you to a sparring match later that day, after the weekly commission meeting where you were properly introduced to one another; where he promptly kicked your ass with his fast reflexes and sharp wit. 

the two of you became fast friends after that. 

the first day you met keigo, he had found you on the roof, crying to yourself. that mask of indifference cracked almost instantly the second he saw you turn towards him with tear stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes. he doesn’t remember why you were crying, only the fact that the sight made his heart clench in a way that foreign and uncomfortable and he needed to do something about it. 

more times than not here recently, you receive hawks more than keigo. it hurts in a way that’s more nostalgic than anything, like remembering an old childhood friend that drifted away or a home-cooked meal whose recipe you can’t remember because the originator died years ago. 

a lot of people say that young heroes are very mature for their age. you don’t know if that’s just true for the females, or if it qualifies for any of the kids raised in the commission. in yours and hawks’ case; maturity was something learned far too young and quickly. death was a subject brought up before you even got to think about how the summer would feel spent on the side of the lake with a bottle of booze and grilled food. 

the two of you take turns every thursday at each other’s agencies to visit and spend some time with each other. you usually bring paperwork to thumb through, hawks brings coffee and distractions. this thursday, hawks is at yours. he’s got his wings spread so they cover a small portion of your office floor– which scatters feathers everywhere, but you’d scold and make him clean them up later– laying upside down on the small couch to the side of the room. 

he kicks his feet lazily as they hang over the back of the couch, humming as he scrolls through his phone. when he speaks, the sentence is so casual it causes you to choke on your own tongue. “we should run away one of these days.”

when you’ve managed to compose yourself, hawks is not looking at you. his eyes are still locked on the screen, the same look of relaxed concentration that you’ve seen all through childhood on his expression. 

your eyes narrow. “don’t be stupid,” you’re careful about how tight your voice sounds. your fingers pause their actions from typing on your keyboard, your gaze split from the document on your computer to his figure draped over your office sofa. “they’d never let both of us go at the same time.”

hawks barks out a laugh, though the corners of his mouth never fully lift to his natural smile. your tongue is pressed between your lips, biting back a snarky remark. it’s hard to tell if he’s being serious, or just yanking your chain. 

“you’re always so serious, [y/n],” he’s chuckling, still looking at the screen in front of his face. “just indulge me for once?”

your back meets the arch of your office chair as a sigh racks through your body. the blinking cursor stares back at you, taunting you to just continue working instead of diving into the silly hypothetical he’s proposed. but part of you wants to dabble in it– to hear him out. see just how far he’s actually thought into it, if he’s actually planned anything out or just talking casual shit just to have something to talk about like usual when he’s over visiting you. 

“say we did run. where would we go?”

you can see him pause for a moment in his scrolling. “leave the country, obviously. south america maybe?”

a snort leaves your lips, your grin is purely sarcastic. “south america?”

“hypothetical,” he replies, his eyes finally leave his phone and meet yours, flashing that signature grin of his. in the back of your mind you’re wondering if all the blood has rushed to his head yet. he’s been sitting upside-down for a while now, his face is still a normal color. 

“so we’re flying, i suppose?” 

hawks shrugs. he pulls his phone away from his face and lets his arms fall gently to the floor beside his head. “we can,” he starts, his bottom lip juts to the side like it always does when he says something he doesn’t exactly agree with. “or take another mode of transportation.”

a single eyebrow raises to that, and you let out a chuckle. “yeah, i can see you on a public bus very vividly.”

you don’t miss how his eyes narrow, his eyebrows knitting together as he glares at you for that response. he knows he sticks out like a sore thumb, he’s painfully aware of that. at eighteen he should be worrying about going to college or something, getting his driving license or other normal things teenagers worry about. 

“could always split it up though,” he offers, his eyes rolling the slightest bit as he adjusts himself. he slides a bit further– his shoulders now meet the floor. instead of looking at you, he traces imaginary shapes on the ceiling. “i could fly us part of the way and we hitchhike some of the way.”

“not hitchhiking,” you disagree almost instantaneously. your fingers find miscellaneous paper, fiddling with the corner as you swing back and forth in your office chair. “i’ve heard too many horror stories about that kind of shit.”

there’s a noise from the other side of the room. hawks slides the rest of the way off the couch, now moving onto his knees before righting himself– stopping once his eyes meet yours. “you act like i wouldn’t be there to protect you,” there’s a flash– almost as quick as his skills in the sky, he tries to cover it; but you see it. for just a moment, hawks lets keigo out, evident in his tone and vague possessiveness in his words. 

the corner of your mouth lifts, but it’s to alleviate tension. the small smile is not genuine and hawks can’t tell if it hurts more than it pisses him off. 

the next time running away is brought up, it’s not by his mouth. it’s by yours. 

you’re agitated. pissed off, pacing back and forth and walking with purpose towards his office like your life depends on it. you know he’s not on patrol at the moment– he’s been online posting so you know he’s in his office with his feet propped on his desk like he has nothing better to do. 

it’s not a thursday. he’s surprised to see you storm into his office, but he doesn’t comment on how hard you slam his door shut or how you look like you’re practically steaming. his feet merely drop from his desk to the floor and his eyebrow raises. he knows better than to open his mouth– something stupid would come out anyways. 

“let’s run away.” 

keigo reels back like he’s been slapped. he takes a good look at you– frazzled, eyes bloodshot from either stress crying or strained from overuse, hair mussed and not in the attractive way he’s come to find extremely endearing– he can’t tell if you’re of sound mind at the moment. but your voice– your tone– how you sound so sure of yourself, so firm and demanding–

it’s been years since he brought up the idea. the two of you were eighteen and fresh into the hero scene, keigo was a popular favorite and immediately in the top ten and since then he’s been steadily climbing through the ranks. you’ve been pushing the burning feeling of being left behind and stuck in his shadow to the back of your mind for a while now. 

“are you okay?” his tone is gentle, but it’s artificially sincere. you know this subject is a sore spot. there’s a reason it hasn’t been brought up since that day. it’s clear in the way his shoulders are tense, the muscles in his jaw taut and teetering over the edge of pulling the fight or flight card. 

there’s a distraught sigh that leaves your lips. “no, i’m not okay,” your tone is tight. your hands are clenched so hard that they ache and your knuckles are white. you’re pacing in short strides– back and forth, back and forth– your eyes wild as they pick out small objects on shelves. small objects. throwable objects. 

“we could hit the gym if you want–”

“i can’t fucking do this anymore, keigo!” 

you can feel the tears trailing down the apples of your cheeks and your tear ducts burn. the last thing your tear clouded vision sees is keigo surging towards you before your hands clap over your face, shielding your actively crumbling expression. 

“i’m stressed, there’s so much pressure,” you feel the sob rack through your body. “they want me on back to back patrols and then this mission in another city and then training the new hires at the agency–”

suddenly, the two of you are fourteen again. the way his hands cradle your jaw– bare fingertips because he knows how much you hate the fabric of his gloves against your skin– you didn’t even see him remove his gloves. the touch clearly rattles you, causing you to stiffen against his palms. 

keigo doesn’t allow you to move away. even as your hands slide down and off of your face, even as your forehead meets his own in such a tender form of comfort. suddenly, the two of you are fourteen again, out on the rooftop of the HPSC, comforting each other in the only way the two of you can when you’ve been abandoned by the people who had gifted you life. 

keigo’s nose bumps against your own, an intimate gesture that you’ve seen only reserved for yourself. the two of you had never talked about dating, or love or anything romantic revolving whatever kind of relationship you shared– you never had the time, nor the privilege to– but you knew what was there. he held you as if you were priceless, a treasure that he would fight tooth and nail before handing over. 

his lips part to speak, breath warm as it ghosted over your own; but the abruptness of his office door swinging open causes both of you to flinch and separate. it’s not like the two of you were doing anything lewd– but the wide eyed intern in the doorway couldn’t tell that. all she saw was the two of pull apart, a look of embarrassment and a flush on each of your faces before keigo clears his throat and addresses her. 

and as quickly as the moment is interrupted, it is forgotten. 

in the next years that follow, keigo rises to number two, you stay locked in the upper twenties of the rankings. the threat of a war sends your agency into a frenzy, more employees being sent out, more sidekicks on missions and more patrols passed around and shared. every hero is on high alert, not just yourself. 

you still catch glimpses of him, but its scarce. thursdays are practically empty now without the once welcomed noisy distractions in your office. your thursdays are now spent on patrol well into the night, stationed just on the outskirts of town where the league was spotted before. 

they never show up, you never get any action; but you don’t complain. it’s nice to have silence to yourself. 

this particular thursday, you catch a familiar flash of red and tan slip past your peripheral. whether he wanted you to catch him or not, you’ll never know. the surprise on his expression was hard to decipher once you finally did catch up to him. 

although you were elated to see him after so long, the first words out of your mouth were not praise nor sweet. “the fuck happened to your wings, keigo?”

you watch as his form pauses, stiffening at his given name before he turns– wide eyed and guilty– like you caught him doing something shady. and you hated how immediately your walls shot up, your muscles on guard and tense. this was keigo. he was not a threat. why was your body reacting the way it was?

“they’re fine, they just need some time to heal,” his voice is low– sheepish. the corner of his mouth lifts to create that boy-ish grin that wins screeches and squeals from crowds of women– but to you, it’s only manufactured. 

his hair, once long and shaggy with those few stupid curls that you always found annoyingly endearing; was now trimmed short and cropped closer to his head. it’s a jarring look, compared to how you’ve always known him– but you can’t help but think it looks better on him. 

the scar is also new. and granted, you’ve seen him on the news and during his press conference; you’ve seen his appearance change. 

but it’s earth-shattering, to say the least, to see it in the flesh. you want to reach out to the small appendages hanging from his back. to touch and feel them– see if they still react how they’ve always done to your touch and presence. 

keigo steps back from you, seeing your outstretched hand. the motion causes your hand to drop slowly, a ringing can be heard in the outer part of your ears. “what are you doing out here?” 

he knows what you mean. and yet he deflects it, “patrolling. our routes overlap, y’know?”

they don’t, and he knows that. you take a step towards him once again. “keigo.”

he takes another step back, forcing you into some kind of twisted dance. “[y/n].”

you hate being held at arms length. you can clearly tell he’s lying, hiding something from you. and granted, the two of you haven’t really been around each other the past couple years, but you grew up with him. this is your best friend, your first ally– the person you trust the most with the darkest parts of yourself. in some ways, you know you love him. of course you love him. you’re just not sure in what ways. 

“why are you being so weird?” the dance continues. you don’t miss how his jaw clenches when he realizes he’s got four more steps until you have him backed against the wall. he chews on the inside of his cheek– one of his tells you’ve been able to pick up over the many years of training and being around him– before he sidesteps and turns the tables. the edge of his blade rests carefully against your jaw for mere seconds before you take a shaky step backwards. 

with your back now facing the wall, keigo advances. his fingers flex around the handle of the blade and his steps are firm as they chase your own unsettled and rattled movements. “i’m not being weird,” he sounds like he’s forcing the words out. “stop itching for a fight, [y/n].”

your brows furrow with undiluted confusion. your body feels tense and rigid, uneasy with emotions that don’t connect coherently to thoughts. the complete flip of his mood and tone have you spiraling. you aren’t face to face with keigo anymore– this is a new side of hawks, one you haven’t had the ‘joy’ of meeting yet. 

“i’m not itching for a fight!” you hate how your voice trembles. like you’re scared. 

your back hits the wall and the tip of the crimson blade in his hand knicks your chin. there’s a dull stinging, but you can barely feel it over the roar in your eardrums. 

keigo is not normally an intimidating guy. yes, he can be, but you’ve rarely seen it or experienced it. and his little hawks persona is just the same as well— you’ve been on patrol with him before. you’ve seen him take down villains, you’ve seen him in training; you’ve seen every side of him. 

except this one. this intimidating, intense— frightening aura before you, you’re at a loss for words. 

“you’re pushing for information that doesn’t concern you,” keigo growls, his head dipping to meet your eyes. he holds a palm out—either to subtly pin you against the wall or grab at you if you choose to attack— you’re not sure. he adjusts his hold on the handle and fixes the tension in his jaw with a click. 

the both of you are close enough to share breaths, but far enough apart to know that there is something different between the two of you. you are no longer fourteen, eighteen, or fresh in your twenties. when you breathe in, keigo breathes out. 

your hand lifts, reaching forward— towards him— all the tension melts. instead of leaning into your touch like he would back then, his head surges forward and seizes your lips with his own. 

keigo had told you before that the freest he’s ever felt is in the skies. you’ve been flying with him before, you know exactly the type of exhilarating, adrenaline inducing emotion he’s talking about. with the lack of ground beneath you and the limitless sky above, keigo was exactly right. it was the closest thing to freedom he had. 

with his lips on yours, you feel like you are free falling, hurling towards the earth at untamable speeds and the impact into the dirt is the sensation of his mouth pulling away from yours. 

keigo might get a taste of freedom everyday, but it was nothing compared to the taste of freedom he had just given you. 

“i’m just scared,” he mumbles, his voice is small. he sounds so young, so impossibly childlike that you have to open your eyes a blink to make sure it was still him that was brushing against your lips with each breath and syllable. “i… i almost died. i got reckless and screwed everything up and—“ 

your hand moves to the back of his head— a twinge shoots through you when you remember the curls aren’t as long so you can’t hook your fingers through them— and your hand steadies at the back of his neck, pulling his forehead to rest against yours. “why didn’t you come find me?” 

it’s selfish of you to say that. it really is. but the two of you have been each other’s support systems since you were adolescents. 

keigo winces slightly at your statement. “i couldn’t face you like that, [y/n].” 

his blade is still against your jaw, cold and a firm reminder that you were supposed to be elsewhere. your eyes meet his, a silent exchange between the two of you. 

i’ve seen you look worse. 

you always have, haven’t you? 

the silence holds more words, but neither of you put the weight down. whether it be the risk and danger of speaking on it, or the action being a spur of the moment between two childhood friends trying to fit pieces in where they don’t quite fit yet. 

that night you get home from patrol and dream of the feeling of keigo’s lips. you wake up crying. 

you haven’t seen hawks face to face in years. when you finally do run into him at the office, both of you are visibly different from those early years at the commission. you’ve grown your hair out, he’s lost the plumage of red that used to hang behind him. you’re only passing through, grabbing paperwork for your own agency when the two of you stop dead in your tracks in front of each other. 

he’s only grown a couple inches, and he’s kept his hair short. the scar from the war has healed and faded into his skin, but the outline still shows. it makes him look more rugged, more defined. he had always argued with you that the facial hair he tried so desperately to grow did most of the work— the scar did it perfectly on its own. 

hawks is the first to speak. his eyes are shining in a way that’s hard to tell if he’s seconds away from bursting into tears or just looking at something brighter than the sun. “it’s been a while.” 

the inhale you take in is shorter than the exhale you push out. your smile is shaky, and your grip around the files in your hand tightens. “it’s been a while, yeah…” 

there’s a lot to be said. the two of you can’t continue to stare at each other with so much longing, so much emotion. 

there’s a stretch of silence, hawks shifts awkwardly. the katanas against his back slap against muscle and he raises a hand to scratch at the back of his neck. he can tell time is running out, with the way that you shift the files against your waist and the impending footsteps of employees and commission workers down the hall. 

“you ever wish that we did it?” 

your tongue feels dry. “did what?” 

“run away,” hawks whispers. he chews on the inside of his cheek and it forces you to pause. “we should’ve done it.” 

your vision feels sluggish, dragging up from his lips, to his cheek where his tongue pokes at the inside; up to his eyes. 

you don’t know if you’ll get that taste of freedom only he could give you ever again. 

“we’re still here,” you murmur. your tongue presses in between your lips and you watch hawks physically hold himself back. i’m still here. you’re still here.

by now, the group from down the hall has caught up. your words are rushed as you force them off of your tongue; “do you want to—“ 

he’s swept up by the commission workers before he can hear the latter part of your statement. he reaches for you as he brushes past, bare fingertips against your wrist that send static throughout your skin. you squeeze him back in the half of a second he gives you and you can see the corner of his mouth lift as he’s ushered down the hall. 

freedom was always so close to you, you realize. in your case, it wasn’t a feeling or an action— but a person. 

© accidentcache do not repost, translate or alter my work without permission. all rights reserved.

todo sibling gc: merry crisis

feat: todoroki siblings, you are dating touya 🖤

warnings / cache notes: language, kys joke, touya being a brat, fem!reader, texts to fuyumi are touya’s pov!

req📌: more holiday todo fam content! creds to my bitches in switch city who gave me the idea <3

m.list

© accidentcache do not repost, translate or alter my work without permission. all rights reserved.

Bakugo wasn’t exactly… unaware of the fact that he gets a little bit in his head about you. It took him months to finally get settled into a relationship mindset without losing his sense of cool (being so in love with you, that is)… but then, suddenly, you’ve been dating for a year or so and have asked him to pick up some essentials for you at the pharmacy… and it turns out, in the meantime of his early-relationship-anxious-bliss, he forgot to actually pay attention to the little things about you (he doesn’t know what deodorant you wear).