Flexin’

toge inumaki // fic recommendations

note: remember to read the tags! + i do not own any of these works

salmon!

dog-gone it.

intimacy is subjective

the sky, the sun, getting beat up by inumaki

bitter eclipse

puppy love

tongue-tied

be not afraid of my body

sweet dreams and other cursed demands

i leave you

come

our hands

the sun will rise again

1999

transatlanticism

my home is where your heart is

i know when you're around ('cause i know the sound of your heart)

let's talk.

nightmares

paper wings

pull me close

this love

secret admirer

favorite

muse

a coffeeshop phone call

crush

fillings for you

IN 2019 WE HEAL + WE THRIVE

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.

(x)

A concept: @danielhowell wearing Billie Eilish’s “Bellyache” outfit  (click for better quality)

Artist: @genen0x (permission to post)

~Please don’t repost/remove text~ Reblogs are appreciated!

nekoma // fic recommendations

note: remember to read the tags! + i do not own any of these works + the synopsis for each fic belongs to the author who wrote the fic

kuroo tetsuro

taste test - kaientai

synopsis: when you taste the same thing as your soulmate, things get interesting

red all over - meldve

synopsis: you are trapped in an elevator with your work rival, kuroo. what else could go wrong?

your name - tsukisemi

synopsis: kuroo finds you really cute, too bad you keep giving him a fake name every time you come into the coffee shop he works at

public transit - orphan_account

synopsis: your heart pounded, knowing you were being touched, and he was watching you.

but when he loves me - sweetcandyliar

synopsis: there are so many ways that kuroo tells you he loves you.

somewhere only we know - wanderwithme (wanderlustt)

synopsis: four times kuroo proposes to you - and the last time he does

meeting the boys - orphan_account

synopsis: in which no one really believes kuroo could get a girlfriend as incredible as you

落葉 | rakuyou - deltachye

synopsis: maple leaves are most beautiful in which they have died, falling slowly, waiting patiently to be reborn

riverbank - itsleese

synopsis: you're reminded of the little boy you loved way back then, the riverbank you played at together. maybe you should go see it?

caring cats - haikyuu_philia

synopsis: nekoma is family

disrupted meetings - sansos

synopsis: dr. tetsurou kuroo’s research group has transitioned to hosting meetings online. what could go wrong?

cat ears - just__j

synopsis: kuroo approaches you, captain of the girls club, with a proposition of a bet for the losing captain

kozume kenma

change the channel - alkale

synopsis: "i want to buy your game from you"

kodzuken does not have a girlfriend - bunnytime

synopsis: it has been a running joke that kodzuken lies about having a girlfriend for years now. needless to say, his fanbase is convinced he doesn’t really have a girlfriend

second place - yourqueenhasarrived

synopsis: kenma forgets your anniversary and once again pushes you aside for his gaming career. how much can you take?

an inconvenient crush - the_only_iris

synopsis: kenma has had the biggest crush on twitch streamer, (y/n). what happens when their paths cross?

learning process - nomazee

synopsis: you and kenma always had an interesting dynamic. kuroo found it nice for everyone involved

thank you for being a friend! - heichoe

synopsis: ”if it helps: when you gave kuroo head in high school, he said it was great"

yaku morisuke

who dares speak aloud these words (intended for the heart to speak) - sunmoonstarsrain

synopsis: yaku bursts into her life like a hurricane, even whilst akaashi lingers on like the memory of a summer breeze

artists eyes - teapots_and_teacups

synopsis: yaku was used to being ignored on the court

if only i were selfish - this noodle writes

synopsis: yaku was anything but a selfish man, but being selfless had cost him you once before. so, when he gets the chance to see you again, will he finally be selfish enough to try?

note: as you can tell, i'm trying a different recommendations style- what do you think? do you think i should switch back to the first one or is this one better? would love to know your thoughts

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛 ─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─ 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬

★ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: it's your senior year at the aerospace academy, and over the course of nine months, your connection with caleb shifts from mere classmates and acquaintances to something deeper. but there's one problem—the girl he loves back home.

★ 𝐜𝐰/𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: first person pov, non-mc reader, feminine implied reader, some connections to caleb’s 4-star tender moments, angst/hurt + no comfort, kinda long but fast paced

★ 𝐰𝐜: 11.1k

★ 𝐚/𝐧: longest fic i've written yet, go me woot woot :p i wanted to write heartbreak so here it is. pls do not have your therapist bill me, thx! anyways when caleb goes, ‘i wont get a girlfriend’ in stage observer, he sounds kinda down, right? yeah imagine hes thinking about you (the reader) in this as he says that LOL. okay, (try to) enjoy lovelies!! <3

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠, 𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐬𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝!

I never believed I’d let something like this happen to me. 

Yet it crept in quietly, the way all irreversible things do. A shift so subtle I almost missed it, until I was already too deep to turn back.

It was in the lingering glances, in the way the air felt charged in the spaces between us. In the laughter that came too easily, the silences that felt safe, the moments that stretched just a little too long. It was in the way he looked at me; like maybe, for a second, he saw something more.

But love, if you can call it that, isn’t always kind. Sometimes, it’s a quiet war. A battle between logic and longing, between what’s real and what’s only ever been wishful thinking. And when the person you want is still holding onto someone else, someone they can’t seem to let go of, where does that leave you?

I swore I’d keep my balance; though gravity has a mind of its own.

August-

It was breezy, as are most August days in Skyhaven. Fumbling my fingers through my hair, desperately trying to comb through any loose strands from the wind, I tried to make myself look somewhat presentable for my first day of classes. It was senior year, and I wanted to make the most of it for once, as it felt like the past few years had been me barely passing by. 

I sat down in the lecture hall, music blaring through my headphones as I fidgeted nervously with the pen in my hand. It wasn’t long before a figure sat next to me in my peripheral, and I internally groaned.

‘You have this whole ass lecture hall with so many empty seats in this row, and you sit right next to me. Dick.’ I thought to myself.

Seeing the person tap on my desk, I glanced over to notice it was Caleb.

We had crossed paths before, orbiting the same social circles through mutual friends. Our interactions had been fleeting, exchanged pleasantries at gatherings or brief moments of conversation that never really dug beneath the surface.

His lips moved as he spoke but I didn’t hear a word he said over the sound of my music. I pulled one of the speakers off my ear, “What?”

“Well first I said ‘hey, what's up?’, then told you I’m glad to know someone in this class.” Caleb smiled, “But then I realized you weren’t listening.”

His grin was infectious. Then again, everything about him was. Caleb was a campus favorite, and for good reason; his effortless charm and magnetic charisma drew everyone in, leaving them captivated.

I smiled back, “I would’ve listened, I just couldn’t hear you.”

“Shoulda tapped you sooner then.”

We talked as more people trickled in, and conversation with him flowed effortlessly. He was almost unfairly likable, the kind of person who won people over without even trying, it was no wonder he had everyone wrapped around his finger.

“Yeah, I failed this class the first time around, so if I want to graduate this spring, I have to finally retake it,” Caleb sighed, shaking his head. “The Caleb failed a class? No way…” Gasping, I clutched my chest in mock shock. “I had no idea you were even capable of failure, Mr. Perfect.”

His lips twitched into a smile at the nickname, but his eyes betrayed him. He shrugged, “Well, I can do it this time around.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I totally didn’t realize I needed this credit.” I poked his hand resting on his desk with my pen, “We’re in this together.”

The professor was about halfway through the syllabus when Caleb started writing on my notebook. 

Do you have class after this?

I looked over at him, mouthing “No”. Not for a few hours, I wrote back. 

Hangout with me after this then

And that’s how I ended up sitting in the quad with Caleb, with the itchy grass prickling my legs and a sweating can of soda in my hand beneath the warm August sun. Yet Caleb’s presence was still warmer; my cheeks and stomach hurt from laughter, and every giggle of mine only fueled the fire of his jokes. 

As the laughter died down, Caleb leaned back on his hands, squinting up at the sky. “Man, I forgot how nice it is to just sit around like this on campus. No deadlines yet, no stress… just kinda existing.”

I took a sip of my soda, nudging his knee with mine. “You make it sound like you’re constantly suffering.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I mean, maybe a little. Gotta keep up the ‘Mr. Perfect’ image, right?”

I tilted my head, studying him. For a second, he looked almost… tired. Like there was more he wanted to say but wasn’t sure how.

“You know you don’t have to be perfect all the time, right?” I said, softer now. “You’re allowed to mess up. You’re allowed to breathe.”

He glanced at me, something flickering in his eyes—surprise, maybe. Or relief. Then, just as quickly, his signature grin returned. “Good to know I’ve got my personal cheerleader.”

I rolled my eyes, but my smile gave me away. “More like your reality check.”

“Even better.” He bumped his shoulder against mine, before laying down on the ground. The sunlight hit his eyes just right, making them glimmer like polished amethyst. With his brown hair tousled against the grass and his shirt riding up just enough to reveal a hint of skin, it wasn’t hard to see why all the girls fawned over him. When it came to looks, Caleb really did live up to the whole Mr. Perfect thing.

“What about you?” Caleb glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. “What’s your kryptonite?”

I raised a brow. “Come again?”

He smirked. “Your weakness. What takes you down every time?”

I pretended to think it over, then shot him a cheeky grin. “Probably failure.”

Caleb let out a soft laugh, propping his head up on his elbow. “Alright, I’m sensing some hypocrisy here.”

“It’s not hypocrisy,” I defended, shrugging. “I just fail to take my own advice.”

He tapped his chin, feigning deep thought. “Mm, no, that just makes you a hypocrite. But hey, at least you’re self-aware, Miss perfect.”

Something between us just clicked, that unspoken feeling when you know you’re going to get along with someone. Nothing about our conversation felt forced, it unfolded with an ease that caught us both off guard. I don’t think either of us saw this coming, but somehow, it just made sense.

And so it continued; messing around with Caleb in class, then hanging out in the quad afterward. Our dynamic quickly shifted from casual acquaintances to good friends as our connection bled beyond the classroom. The progression was almost rapid; natural, but undeniable.

Conversations with him came naturally, filled with dry humor, shared ambition, and the kind of unspoken understanding that made being around each other feel easy. We started saving seats for each other without thinking, sharing notes even when we both knew we hadn’t written anything useful, and lingering just a little longer after class, stretching out the moments before we had to part ways.

Afternoons in the quad turned into grabbing coffee, which turned into late-night study sessions that often had more laughing than actual studying. It wasn’t just that we got along; we started to seek each other out, gravitating toward one another like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

It wasn’t just about sharing space; it was about the way we easily fit into each other’s lives like we had always been meant to.

I found myself opening up in ways I never had before, trusting Caleb with thoughts I usually kept locked away. And in return, he let me see past the carefully constructed walls he had built. 

I learned a lot about Caleb in our time spent together; I learned about his dreams and aspirations, his worries and fears, his home back in Linkon and how much of it still clung to him.

And her.

I learned about her.

MC; the kind of nickname all the cool girls had, lifted from their initials like it had always belonged to them. She was innocent, pretty, just the right balance of book-smart and blissfully unaware. The kind of girl who never had to try too hard because the world seemed to bend in her favor. She was perfect in that way, and maybe that’s why Caleb felt like he had to be perfect, too.

She had been his childhood friend, raised alongside him by his gran, their lives tangled together like roots beneath the same old house.

“She’s your sister?” I had asked, unsure of the dynamic.

Caleb hesitated, something unreadable flickering across his face. “No,” he said finally, his voice careful. “Not really. We just grew up together.”

She was everything to him, the quiet force that shaped him in ways he probably didn’t even realize. Everything he did, every careful step he took, was in her image. And suddenly, it all made sense.

The way Caleb kept people at arm’s length, the reason he didn’t have many real friends at the Academy. It wasn't because he didn’t want them, it was because a part of him was still anchored somewhere else; belonged to someone else.

Once, we had sat on the steps outside one of the buildings, his elbows on his knees, staring out at nothing in particular.

“You never really let people in.” I looked over at him, my statement coming out of nowhere.

He let out a short breath, almost a laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Was it that obvious?”

“I didn’t get it back then. Thought maybe you just had too many friends to be really close with any of them.”

He was quiet for a moment, then shook his head. “It wasn’t that,” he admitted. “I just… I already had MC. Growing up the way we did, it was always just us. I guess I never really learned how to need anyone else.”

I glanced at him, but his eyes stayed on the horizon, lost in something I couldn’t see.

“You still do that, you know,” I said. “Keep people just enough away.”

He swallowed hard, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Some habits don’t go away easy.”

“So why am I an exception?”

Caleb exhaled slowly, rubbing his hands together. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Maybe because you didn’t try to push your way in. You just… stayed.”

I frowned. “That’s it?”

He shook his head, a small, almost self-conscious smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “No. It’s more than that.” He glanced at me then, something raw in his eyes. “You just understand the way I think, and nobody has before.”

A silence stretched between us, thick with things neither of us knew how to say.

“You make it sound like some big thing,” I murmured. “Like I did something special.”

He tilted his head slightly, considering me. “Maybe you did.”

His words awakened something in me, an ache settling in my chest. A quiet, gnawing feeling that signaled the start of an internal war; one I never really meant to step into, but quickly became hard to ignore. A silent competition I didn’t sign up for, but suddenly felt compelled to win. 

It wasn’t against MC, not even Caleb himself.

But against the undeniable truth that no matter how close we got, I may never be the one he chooses.

September-

I barely notice the shift at first; the way August hands things off to September, smooth and effortless, like they’ve done this a million times before. Like they were always meant to meet. It feels familiar in a way I can’t explain, like stepping into a conversation that’s already halfway finished but somehow still knowing exactly what’s being said. 

Things with Caleb had settled into a familiar rhythm. On campus, we were either together or in class, our days stitched together by shared moments. Being with him was refreshing, like the first warm breeze after a long winter, a quiet promise that brighter days were ahead. Silence with him was never awkward; it was understood. He always seemed to know what I was thinking, what I meant to say, even when I didn’t say it aloud.

I’d known Caleb for a while, but the way we grew close so quickly felt natural, like we’d been moving toward this all along. It was as if there had always been a space in my mind shaped just for him, waiting for the right moment for him to step in.

The cloudy sky above turned dark with the impending storm coming, but in a rush to meet Caleb, I had hardly noticed until I was halfway to his dorm. Cursing to myself, I silently tried to manifest the rain would hold off until I got back to my own dorm later. 

It was movie day; every Friday afternoon after Caleb and I finished with our classes for the day we would have lunch and watch a movie. He was on hosting duty this week, and his dorm was on the other side of campus. If I got caught in this rain, I’d still have a bit of a walk in the storm before I arrived. 

Almost as if laughing at me, the sky cracked with lightning and thunder rumbled, and I heard the pouring of rain before I felt it.

“Shit!” I picked up the pace, my sneakers splashing through puddles forming on the sidewalks as I started to run. Thunder booming in the sky, I mentally prepared to get struck by lightning and hoped I would be eaten by the campus birds before anyone found my body. 

Trying to take a shortcut through the grass was the worst decision I could have made, as I wasn’t even two feet from the sidewalk before I slipped, landing on my back and getting waterboarded by the sky. “Argh!” I screeched, tears of frustration welling in the corners of my eyes. I sat up, glaring at the students staring at me as they passed by with their umbrellas. 

My whole body was drenched by the time I was outside of Caleb’s; my hair, jeans, and sweater caked with mud (and probably a few stray leaves). 

Making my way upstairs, my cheeks were pink from the cold and embarrassment as everyone in the building looked at me with confusion as my clothes and hair dripped all over the floor. 

Caleb swung the door open before I could knock, something he’d do as he watched for me through the peephole in his door. Looking me up and down, the corners of his mouth twitched upward as he coughed, stifling a laugh.

He leaned against his door frame, “What happened here?”

“Shut up.” I pushed past him, annoyed but a bit guilty as I continued to drip all over his floor.

“You look like a sad wet cat,” Caleb patted my wet hair, frowning when he saw I was shivering, “a cold, sad wet cat.”

He started to rummage around the room, going through his drawers and closet, pulling out clothes. Tossing them at me, he pointed to the bathroom, “Go shower, I don’t want you all soppin’ wet on my stuff.”

I glanced at the clothes he handed me; hoodie, sweatpants…his boxers? 

“Um, Caleb-”

He shook his head, “It’s only weird if you make it weird.”

Pursing my lips together I nodded, heading into the bathroom. I called out to him, “Caleb, do you have a towel?” 

“Just use the one in there.”

Okay, we were close, but I wasn’t aware we had crossed into this land.

Peeling my clothes from my body, I threw them into a pile in the corner. I nearly moaned when the hot water hit my skin, and basked in the feeling for a bit. I stared at Caleb’s shampoo and body wash, conflicted on if I should actually use them or just try to rinse myself off the best I could.

Feeling the mud and tangles in my hair, I accepted defeat.

By the time I was done, clad in Caleb’s warm clothes with every inch of me smelling like him, it felt like he was smothering me. Like I was enveloped in one of his bear hugs.

I looked at myself in the mirror, and I felt my heart jump a bit. There was something about wearing a boy’s clothes as is, but Caleb’s clothes? 

A bit ago, I had felt the shift before I could name it. 

It’s in the way my eyes flick to my phone more often than before, in the way my chest tightens, just a little, when his name lights up my screen. It’s in the way my pulse stirs when I spot him at our usual spot in the library, twirling a pen between his fingers like he’s been waiting for me. Like he knew I’d show up (and he always did). 

And maybe that’s what unsettles me the most, not just that I notice these things, but that a part of me already expects them. Like I’ve been pavloved.

It was ignorable at first, but it’s become this nagging feeling at the back of my mind. A tugging at my heart. It’s annoying, like a mosquito buzzing in my ear that’s too quick for me to smack it away.

The feeling that I didn’t want to just be friends anymore.

Coming out of the bathroom, Caleb was already sitting on the floor in front of his bed with two cups of tea and food, and my mouth watered when I saw he made my favorite.

He smiled at me, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “You look pretty good in those.”

Heat crept up my neck, and I let out a nervous laugh. “You’re just saying that because I look like you.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Caleb nodded toward the bathroom. “Your hair’s still wet. Grab the towel.”

“It’s fine,” I shrugged. “It’s not that bad.”

He raised an eyebrow, arms crossing over his chest. “You already got caught in the rain once. Stay damp any longer, and you’ll catch a cold.” Then, with a cheeky grin, he added, “And I can’t be left alone in class. That’d be tragic.”

Rolling my eyes, I turned on my heel, grabbed the towel, and tossed it at him. “Right, of course. That’s all I am to you, entertainment in class.”

“For sure,” he said smoothly, catching the towel with ease. “Now sit.”

I sat beside him, reaching for the towel, but before I could take it, his hands found my shoulders, gently turning me away. I barely had time to protest before he took the towel himself, carefully running it through my damp hair.

“Caleb, I can do it myself—” I started, trying to shift back, but his grip was steady.

“Shush,” he murmured. “Let me help.”

I could have argued, but the warmth of his touch, the slow, deliberate way he moved, made it impossible to resist. My shoulders relaxed as he worked, the soft scratch of the towel against my scalp lulling me into stillness. Silence settled between us, easy and unspoken, the only sound the steady rhythm of rain tapping against the window. It was peaceful, grounding. For a moment, I let myself sink into it, let myself be cared for.

Before long Caleb tugged on a strand of my hair, “Okay, done.”

“Thank you” I pinched his cheek, his lips curved upwards and his eyes went soft.

“Now, what should we watch?”

“Nothing crazy, I don’t think my brain can function right now after today.”

Caleb laughed, flicking through the movies, before settling on some random cartoon. I sighed dramatically when I took a bite of the food he made, “Caleb, you’ve outdone yourself yet again.”

He looked at me mischievously before stealing a bite, and I punched his shoulder, “You have your own!”

His phone lit up and I saw the name, looking away as he picked it up to respond to the incoming texts.

MC.

A wedge of jealousy crept up my throat. It was our movie time, and here she was, almost on cue.

I always listen—really listen—when he talks about her. About how much she means to him, how she’s one of the only constants in his life. And it stings, sharper than I expect, because I want to be that constant. I don’t say it, of course. Instead, I throw myself deeper into the friendship, as if proving my place will make it true.

I laugh at his jokes a little too hard. Memorize the way he takes his coffee without meaning to. Notice the small things that make him tick, the way his expression shifts when he’s lost in thought, the songs he hums under his breath.

The internal competition I created against her wasn’t intentional, but once I noticed it, everything about it became hard to unsee.

He sets his phone down just as quickly as he picked it up, shooting me an apologetic look. “Sorry, MC just had a question about something.”

‘That stupid question could’ve waited’, I think, irritation curling in my chest. But I shove it down, nudging his shoulder with a forced smile. “S’alright. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, all good.” He settles back into the movie, but I barely hear it now. The feeling of her lingers, clinging to the space between us, and I try to shake it off.

His presence beside me soothes the sting, like a bandage over a wound, and I start to loosen up, letting my head rest against the bed. The warmth of his clothes, the comfort of a full stomach, the quiet rhythm of rain against the window; it all starts to pull me under, drowsiness settling into my bones. My eyelids grow heavy, and I barely register the way Caleb shifts beside me.

“Sleepy?” His voice is soft, almost amused.

I peek one eye open, managing a lazy smile. “A bit.”

Without a word, he moves closer, wrapping an arm around the back of my neck. His hand finds the side of my head, cradling it gently as he guides me to rest against his shoulder. The touch is careful, deliberate, something more than our usual play punches and casual grabs in a crowd. This is different. More intimate.

For a moment, I forgot about the competition. Because my head fits perfectly in the crook of his neck, and the slow, absentminded way his fingers trace shapes on my shoulder feels so easy, so natural. He watches the TV like this is nothing new, like having me this close is just the way things are meant to be. And for the first time I let myself believe, just for a second, that maybe he feels the same way about me too.

October-

There's a charge in the air alongside the change in leaves, a quiet pull I feel every time Caleb leans in a little too close or looks at me like I’m the only person in the room.

But then, there’s her.

She’s not here, but she is. Always lingering in the pauses between sentences, in the spaces Caleb leaves open without realizing it. She’s in the way his face softens when he says her name, in the light that sparks behind his eyes when he talks about her. And I hate how it makes me feel; petty, ridiculous, like I’ve stumbled into a battle I was never meant to fight.

I just can’t shake it.

Because lately, there’s been something else. An even bigger shift, subtle, but impossible to ignore. The way his hand lingers a beat too long when he passes me something, like he’s reluctant to let go. The way his gaze finds me, even in a crowded room, like I’m the only person worth looking at. The late-night texts, filled with thoughts that could have waited but never do.

Maybe I’m imagining it. Maybe I’m just reading too much into things, seeing what I want to see. But a part of me, deep down, knows he feels this too.

My phone began to ring as I was getting ready for the Senior Gala the Academy holds every year for those graduating in the spring. 

“Yes?” I already know who it is without looking.

Caleb’s voice drifts through the speaker, soft and warm. “Are you almost ready, honey?” The pet name catches me off guard, a shy smile pulling at my lips before I can stop it. He’d started using it recently, and I hadn’t dared to question it out of the fear it would stop.

He was my date tonight (as friends of course), and I was running a little behind.

“I still have to finish my makeup, do my hair, and put on my dress,” I groaned in frustration, “I’m sorry Caleb, I’m trying to go as fast as I can.”

He laughs sweetly, “Well, I’m almost there. I can help you out.”

“Help me…?”

“Yep, Captain Caleb is gonna be there to save the night. See you soon!”

The phone clicks before I can respond, and not a moment later, Caleb is strolling through my door like he owns the place. 

I turned to face him, and my breath caught in my throat. His suit was a deep navy that matched my dress, the rich fabric adorned with his pilot and aviator pins. His hair, tousled yet intentional, framed a face that always felt like home. Caleb stood there composed, sharp but still him; and there was something about the way the badges gleamed against his chest that nearly brought me to my knees.

His gaze sweeps over my desk, taking in the chaos of makeup scattered around, before pausing on my curling iron.

“Is this plugged in?” He picks it up, inspecting it.

“Caleb, you are not putting that anywhere near my head.” I instinctively flinch as he reaches for a lock of my hair.

But he’s quick, his hand firmly grasping the top of my head, holding it still. “I always helped MC with her hair. I know my way around a curling iron.”

The words land harder than he meant, and I can’t help but squint at him, a frown tugging at my lips. He misreads it, thinking I’m questioning him, and gives me a serious look.

“Trust me here.”

I let the assumption hang in the air, letting him believe my discontent is just doubt. I sigh, giving in, “Alright, but if you make me look bad for my Senior Gala, I will hate you forever.”

He starts to section my hair and I raise my brows in approval, ‘Okay, yeah,’ I think, ‘Maybe he does have this’.

Caleb’s touch is gentle as I apply my mascara and lipstick, careful not to mess me up, his hands steady as he moves around me. It doesn’t take long before he pulls back, setting the curling iron down as I finish up with the last touches of my makeup.

“We make a pretty good team, don’t we?” His hands rest on my shoulders as he leans down, chin lightly resting on the top of my head, both of us watching our reflection in the mirror.

I tilt my head, inspecting my hair with a playful smile, running my fingers through a few strands. “I suppose you did an okay job.”

He pinches the bridge of my nose, a mock scowl crossing his face. Laughing, I stand up, reaching for my dress hanging in the closet.

I headed to the bathroom, “I’ll be out in a sec.”

I slipped the dress on, the blue silk molding to my body, the delicate sleeves draping off my shoulders. It was beautiful, I was beautiful; but as I caught my reflection, doubt crept in. Would I look out of place next to Caleb? He was all polished perfection, and I was just… me. Not bad, but not him.

She would look perfect beside him.

‘No.’ I straightened my shoulders. ‘I’m Caleb’s date tonight, not her. He could have asked her, but he didn’t. He chose me. It’s just us.’

Fumbling with the zipper, I let out a frustrated breath before finally pulling the door open. “Caleb, can you help me with this?”

His head snapped up, eyes widening as a flush crept up his cheeks. “Of course.”

Caleb stepped forward, hesitating for just a moment before his fingers brushed against my back. His touch was warm, a stark contrast to the cool fabric clinging to my skin. Gently, he gathered the dress, his knuckles ghosting along my spine as he found the zipper.

I held my breath.

Slowly, he pulled it up, the quiet sound of the zipper filling the space between us. With each inch, his fingertips lingered, tracing the curve of my back, sending shivers down my arms. My skin felt hypersensitive, like every nerve was tuned to him and him alone.

When he reached the top, he didn’t step away. Instead, his fingers grazed the nape of my neck, adjusting the fabric, smoothing it into place. His breath was warm against my shoulder, his voice barely above a whisper.

“There,” he murmured. “Perfect.”

I turned slightly, just enough to catch his gaze. His eyes flickered down to my lips, then back up, as if caught in some silent battle with himself. The air between us was thick, charged, pulling me toward him.

“Thank you,” I said softly, my voice barely steady.

His hand lingered for just a second longer before he finally let go, stepping back, but not too far. Not far at all.

I turned around slowly, my heart pounding as I met his gaze. His eyes traced the length of me, starting at the hem of my dress and lingering as they traveled upward, taking in every detail before finally meeting mine.

Caleb swallowed, his lips parting slightly as if he had something to say but couldn’t quite find the words. Then, as if shaken from a spell, he smiled—soft, almost bashful.

“You look beautiful.”

His voice was quiet, reverent, like he wasn’t just saying it, but feeling it. Like the words weren’t enough to capture what he saw.

Warmth spread through me, creeping up my neck, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe. I’d spent so much time wondering if I looked right beside him, if I fit; but now, standing here, bathed in the glow of his gaze, I didn’t feel out of place.

I felt chosen.

“Hold your compliments until you’ve seen the whole look,” I teased, holding up a finger to silence him. “I still need to put on my shoes and pins.”

Caleb smirked. “Need help with those too?”

I rolled my eyes. “I think I can manage strapping on my own heels and pinning a badge to my dress, thanks.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” He plucked my heels off the dresser, twirling them lazily around his finger, his gaze practically daring me to challenge him.

I huffed but gave in, sinking into my chair. “Fine.”

Caleb knelt in front of me, his fingers warm as they wrapped around my ankle, steady but gentle as if I were something delicate. He slipped the first shoe on, fastening the strap with practiced ease.

“I can do most things myself, y’know,” I muttered, though my voice lacked its usual bite.

“I know.” His fingers lingered against my skin for a fraction too long before he reached for the second shoe. “I just like to be helpful.”

But he still wouldn’t look at me when he said it, and something about the way his voice softened made me think he wasn’t just talking about shoes.

I stood as he finished, reaching for my pins amidst the clutter of my desk and fastening them carefully over my heart. Turning to the mirror, I shifted from side to side, checking every angle, making sure everything was just right.

I glanced back at Caleb. “Are you sure I look okay?”

Without hesitation, he took my hand and lifted it into the air. “Twirl. Let me see.”

I spun for him, the silk of my dress catching the light, and when I turned back, there was something bright in his eyes, something warm, something real.

“You look more than okay,” he said, voice sure with conviction. “I promise.”

I held out my pinky. “Pinky promise?”

He grinned, hooking his finger around mine. “Pinky promise.”

“Lock it,” I reminded him, and he chuckled before pressing his thumb against mine, sealing the deal.

His fingers lingered for a second before he gave my hand a gentle squeeze. “Now come on, we’re definitely going to be late.”

When we arrived at the gala, it didn’t take long for Caleb to be swept away by a group of guys he often talked to. I lingered around, exchanging polite small talk with a few people I still considered friends. I didn’t see them much anymore, as most of my time was spent with Caleb.

“So, are you two dating?” one of the girls asked, tilting her head. “I thought he was seeing that girl from his hometown… What was her name again?”

“MC.” I said, a little too quickly.

“Right, that’s the one.”

I forced a smile. “No, we’re just good friends.”

But even as I said it, my gaze drifted to where he stood, laughing easily with his own friends, his posture loose and carefree. A quiet ache settled in my chest.

I wanted to be next to him.

But then again, I was; just not in the way they all saw. I knew him in moments no one else did, in the quiet spaces between conversations, in the unspoken gestures and late-night confessions.

And for now, that was enough. It had to be.

I excused myself from the conversation, weaving through the crowd until I reached one of the drink tables. Grabbing a glass, I slipped into the quieter halls, letting the hum of conversation and music fade behind me. The walls were lined with grand, extravagant paintings, each one demanding attention. I paused in front of a few, sipping my drink as I took them in, letting my mind settle.

I wasn’t antisocial, I could hold my own in a room full of people, I just needed a break from the carefully choreographed chaos of the ballroom. 

The rhythmic click of shoes against marble echoed through the quiet hallway, followed by a familiar, soft laugh.

“How did I know I’d find you out here?”

I hummed against the rim of my glass. “Maybe because you can read my mind.”

Caleb shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. “Sometimes I wish I could.” Then, extending his hand toward me, he asked, “Dance with me?”

I glanced at his outstretched palm. “Out here?”

He tilted his head playfully. “Well, my possible mind-reading powers tell me you’d rather not go back in there.”

A slow smile spread across my face as I laced my fingers with his. “I think you might be psychic.”

The distant music from the ballroom barely reached us, muffled and softened by the grand halls, but somehow, that only made the moment feel more intimate. Caleb’s hands found my waist, warm and steady, while mine slipped around the back of his neck.

He guided us into a slow, easy rhythm. I rested my head just below his chin, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath the fabric of his suit.

We moved without words; his breath against my hair was the only thing I could focus on, like everything else had paused around us.

The world outside the two of us faded, the grand chandelier lights dimming, the chatter and laughter of the crowd becoming a distant murmur. All that remained was the softness of the moment, our steps in sync, and the quiet, unspoken connection between us.

I could feel his thumb tracing gentle patterns against my back, the touch soft in a way that wasn’t rushed. There was no need to hurry, no need to speak. We simply existed in this space, suspended between the melody and the quiet.

His fingers moved up to brush a lock of hair behind my ear, the gesture tender, almost shy. I looked up at him, and his eyes held mine, reassuring.

“You feel like home,” he murmured, so quietly I almost thought I imagined it.

I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. Instead, I leaned in a little closer, savoring the rhythm of our slow dance, the feeling of him holding me like this, as if the rest of the world didn’t matter at all.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Caleb tapped my shoulder lightly, pulling away just enough for the space between us to feel suddenly too wide. It wasn’t much, but the shift left a coldness in the air, and I immediately wanted to fall back into him.

“Where are you thinking?” I asked.

He pointed toward the window. “There’s a park across the street. We could go there. Away from all… this.” He gestured vaguely, as if the chaos of the gala was still buzzing around us.

I nodded without hesitation, and soon we found ourselves at the park, sitting on an old, rusty swing set. The contrast was stark; our lavish clothes against the worn, weathered metal, but I didn’t care. My dress snagged on the rust as I sat down, but I was too lost in the quiet to be bothered by it. All I wanted was this moment, the stillness, just the two of us away from everything else.

The night air wrapped around us, cool and still, with only the rhythmic creak of the swings and the occasional whisper of wind through the trees breaking the silence. It felt like we existed in a world separate from everything else, suspended in something fragile, something fleeting.

Caleb leaned back against the chain of his swing, his fingers gripping the metal tightly as he looked at me again. That look—like he could see through me, past all the walls I tried so hard to keep up. My pulse hammered in my chest under his gaze.

“You ever feel like… you don’t know where you stand with someone?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes flickered, something unreadable passing through them. “Yeah,” he said quietly, but with a certainty that made my stomach twist. “All the time.”

For a second, just a fleeting, breathless second; I wondered if he meant me.

I forced a smile, trying to ease the tension hanging between us. I nudged my swing into his, making it sway slightly. “You have a really good sense of self-restraint,” I teased, the words a shield to keep myself from feeling too much. “It’s almost a talent.”

His lips curved, but it was thin, hollow—there was something sad in it. “Is that a bad thing?”

I tilted my head, watching him. “No… well, maybe. Sometimes, I guess. I think you have a habit of depriving yourself of what you really want.”

Caleb looked down, his boot dragging against the dirt beneath him. “What if I can’t have what I want?” His voice was rougher now, lower. “What if it’s not allowed?”

I reached forward, gripping the chain of his swing, giving it a slight shake to bring his eyes back to mine. “If it’s within your reach, it’s legal, and you’re not hurting anyone, I don’t see a problem.” My breath hitched, and my chest tightened as I spoke. “If I had to guess, you’re trying to convince yourself you can’t have something.”

His exhale was shaky, and a bitter laugh barely escaped him. “Maybe, yeah.”

I saw it then—the decision in his eyes, the surrender.

And then, he moved.

Caleb leaned in first, closing the space between us with a quiet certainty that made my breath catch. I barely had time to react before his lips met mine; soft, warm, real. My fingers clenched around the swing’s chain for balance, but it didn’t matter. My whole world had already tilted.

The kiss started slow, tentative, but it didn’t stay that way for long. Caleb’s hand found my jaw, his fingers brushing my skin, grounding me as he deepened the kiss. There was no hesitation, no pulling away—only the quiet urgency of something inevitable, something long overdue.

I let myself sink into it, forget everything outside this moment. The cold night air, the weight of the past few months, the uncertainty of what came next—it all melted away as Caleb kissed me like he’d been waiting for this as long as I had.

When we finally broke apart, breathless and dazed, our foreheads nearly touching, Caleb let out a quiet, almost incredulous chuckle. His thumb brushed over my cheek, lingering there like he was memorizing the feel of me.

His eyes searched mine, and for a moment, neither of us said anything—just letting the silence settle between us like something sacred.

I tried to catch my breath, still feeling the warmth of his touch all over me. “I—uh, I didn’t think that was how tonight would go.”

“Me either,” he admitted softly.

I bit my lip, searching for something to say, but my thoughts were still tangled up in the kiss. The taste of him lingered, sweet and unfamiliar, like a song you’d heard once and couldn’t forget. The warmth of his breath was still etched into the space between us, and the silence felt heavy, like it was holding something fragile; something we both weren’t quite ready to name. I felt the words sitting at the edge of my mind, waiting, but they were lost in the echo of his touch, the weight of everything unsaid.

Caleb gently brushed a strand of hair away from my face, his touch so tender it almost felt like he was afraid to break something.

There was a quiet moment, just us sitting there, the air between us charged and delicate. Caleb’s fingers brushed along my wrist, and he gave a small, hesitant laugh.

“Is it weird to say I’m kind of glad we did this here?”

I smiled, the tension easing slightly. “Not at all. There’s something nice about having a moment that’s just ours.”

He glanced up at the dark sky, the stars scattered above us. “Yeah, it’s like we’re in our own little world. Just us.”

I took a deep breath, trying to settle the fluttering in my chest. “Then let’s not rush back. Let’s just stay here for a little longer.”

He grinned, that easy smile of his, and nodded. “I’m in.”

We swayed gently, both of us still lost in the quiet, the stillness of the park and the soft feeling that somehow, things were different now. 

Better.

November-

The moment on the swings stays with me long after it’s over, a quiet echo that pulses in the back of my mind, haunting the spaces between my thoughts. It lingers in the way Caleb reaches for my hand without thinking, in the brief touches we exchange. The kiss, though, that’s the one that lingers the longest; the warmth of him, the certainty that wrapped around me like a promise. 

He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t hold back.

I tell myself it was nothing, that it was just a rush, a fleeting spark that will eventually fade with time. 

But it doesn’t. 

Instead, it settles into the corners of me, a quiet undercurrent beneath everything else.

Everything is subtle at first, in the little things. His hand brushing against mine when we walk, his knee grazing mine when we sit side by side, the way his texts come more often now, careful and soft. When we’re together, it feels like we really have built our own little world, a space apart from everything else. And I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, it’s enough.

Though one night, I find him distant. His gaze fixed on his phone, jaw tight like he’s trying to hold something in. He barely speaks, his words sharp and short, his mind somewhere else entirely. I don’t ask, don’t press him for an answer. But I know.

It’s her.

And in that moment, something clicks.

I’m not the only one caught between two worlds. Caleb is, too.

The realization doesn’t ease the ache, it only makes it worse. Because if there’s a choice, I already know who he’ll choose.

Training’s getting harder, and graduation is only a few months away. The exhaustion is catching up to all of us, but I feel as if it's hitting me the hardest. Barely sleeping, too many long nights and even longer days, each one blending into the next until I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. I can feel my body wearing down, but I keep pushing, because what else is there to do? Let myself stop and think?

Ha.

No.

Caleb notices, though. He’s just as drained as I am, but he’s still there, watching me. He always makes sure I eat, even when I don’t feel like it. Reminds me to drink water when I forget, and always seems to be there after training, hanging around like he’s making sure I don’t collapse right there on the floor.

I try not to let it mean anything, try not to read too much into it. He’s just being a friend, right?

But it’s hard to ignore the way he lingers, the way his eyes flicker with something I can’t quite place when I sway slightly on my feet, too tired to stand straight. He doesn’t say anything, but his hand is there, steady on my arm, holding me like he doesn’t want to let go.

Caleb picked me up from the Academy airport after a training flight. We were supposed to grab lunch, but when his eyes landed on my exhausted form, something in his expression softened.

“Let’s get you home, yeah?” he said, his voice gentle.

I shook my head, trying to shake off the exhaustion. “No, I’m fine. Let’s just go—” But before I could finish, my body betrayed me, and I stumbled forward, barely able to keep myself upright.

Caleb’s hand was there in an instant, steadying me by the shoulder and wrapping his arm around me like he wasn’t letting go. “I think you’d fall asleep in your food and suffocate. When was the last time you slept?”

“Yesterday… no, Tuesday? I don’t really remember.”

I threw on my coat, but Caleb’s gaze was still on me, studying me like he could see right through the act I was trying to put on.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I muttered, glaring at him. “I’m fine. Let’s hurry before we miss the bus.”

Standing outside at the bus stop, I shivered against Caleb's arm around me (that was still trying to hold me up). He asked me about my day, if I had eaten breakfast; simple questions that didn’t require much thinking on my part and patient, non-expectant responses from him. I pressed my body closer into his, trying to soak up his warmth, and maybe even share a bit of my own. 

He looked down at me and chuckled, ruffling my hair, “Just a bit longer, honey.”

And he was right, seconds later the bus pulled up. I was practically bouncing to get inside and out of this weather.

Snatching the window seat, I stuck my tongue out at Caleb as he situated himself next to me. “You’re evil, you know that right.” 

The bus was a welcomed relief from the biting cold outside, the warmth inside wrapping around me like a comforting blanket. My coat was serving as a blanket, and I don’t even remember when I drifted off, but at some point I found myself asleep on Caleb’s shoulder.

I half-awoke to him nudging me gently. “Hey, this is my dorm, let’s get off here.”

Groggily, I shook my head, struggling to form a thought. “No, s’okay, my stop is next…”

He chuckled softly, and I could hear the concern in his voice. “I don’t trust you not to fall back asleep and miss your dorm.” His fingers brushed through my hair to comb the strands away from my eyes, his touch tender as he looked at me. “Just come back up with me. You can sleep there until you’re good to go back.”

I barely had the strength to argue, so I let him lead me, sleepily leaning against him the entire way. By the time we reached his room, I was barely conscious. He helped me take off my coat and shoes, and without a second thought, I crawled onto his bed, curling up into a ball as sleep claimed me again.

When I woke, the world outside was dark, and it took a moment to realize where I was. The blanket was soft against my skin, and I noticed Caleb beside me, his face relaxed in sleep. It was the first time I’d ever seen him look so at ease, so… soft.

I felt a pang of guilt when I noticed the clock beside his bed. It was nearing one in the morning. He probably wanted to sleep, but I had taken over his space.

I started to sit up, but before I could move, an arm wrapped around my waist.

“Where are you going?” Caleb’s voice was thick with sleep, and I froze, my heart skipping a beat as I turned to see him blinking slowly up at me.

“I have to go home,” I murmured, my words barely above a whisper. I reached out, hand instinctively brushing his face, but then I stopped myself and pulled it back.

He toyed with the hem of my t-shirt, and I felt the warmth of his touch spread through me. I could feel myself melting under his proximity. “It’s too late,” he said softly, his voice almost a plea. “Just stay here.”

“Caleb—”

“Or I can walk you home,” he added, his eyes still half-closed, and he stretched as if to get up, but I placed my hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

“No, really, it’s okay.”

He smirked a little, still mischievous even through sleep. “You pick. I either walk you home, or you stay here.”

In that moment, the stillness of the night seemed to press in around us, and my heart ached. Caleb was a vice. He was dangerous.

“Okay,” I whispered, my resolve crumbling. “I’ll stay.”

The room is quiet except for Caleb’s steady breathing. The city of Skyhaven hums faintly outside, the night stretching endlessly around us. I’m awake now, but I can’t bring myself to move. Caleb’s hand rests lightly on my waist, like he’s afraid I’ll slip away if he lets go. It’s nothing, really. Just a small, almost casual touch. 

But it feels like everything. 

It sets my entire body on fire, this little contact. I shouldn’t be here, not like this, not after everything. But I don’t leave. Instead, I sink back down, letting the warmth of the blanket and his presence pull me under.

We don’t speak. There’s nothing to say. No explanations, no excuses—just this fragile moment, suspended in time, hanging between us. Caleb’s breathing evens out again, his grip loosening as sleep pulls him back under. I stay awake, staring at the ceiling, listening to the soft sounds of the night. I know this is a mistake. I know when the sun rises, when the reality of the world outside finally settles in, things will go back to how they were.

He’ll wake up, stretch, rub the sleep from his eyes, and we’ll pretend like this never happened. He’ll go back to talking about MC, and whatever this—whatever we—will remain suspended in the realm of “almosts” and “what-ifs.” But for now, in this quiet moment, I close my eyes. I let myself have this, just for tonight. Because even if it means nothing to him, it means everything to me.

Morning comes too quickly.

I stir first, blinking against the soft light filtering through the blinds. For a second, everything feels warm and comforting. Caleb’s steady breathing beside me, the weight of the blanket, the quiet hum of the city waking up outside.

Then, reality crashes back in. I shouldn’t be here. Not like this.

Carefully, I try to slip out from beneath the covers, but the moment I move, Caleb stirs. His grip tightens around my waist, pulling me closer just a little before his eyes flutter open.

He looks at me, caught between sleep and consciousness, and for a second, there’s something in his gaze; a softness that makes my breath catch in my chest. But then, he blinks, and it’s gone.

“You’re awake,” his voice is thick with sleep, raspy, and it twists something inside of me. He doesn’t let go.

“Yeah,” I whisper. “I should go.”

Caleb doesn’t respond at first. His fingers absently trace the hem of my sleeve, like he’s thinking, weighing something.

Then, finally—

“You don’t have to.”

It’s quiet. Hesitant. It feels like a confession wrapped in uncertainty.

I swallow hard. “Caleb…”

I don’t even know what I’m trying to say. I just know this, this tension, this dangerous line we’re walking, is too much.

He sits up slowly, rubbing a hand over his face, and then he looks at me. His expression is unreadable, and it makes my heart clench.

“Look,” he sighs, like this is some sort of explanation. “I know things have been… complicated.”

Complicated. That’s one way to put it.

I scoff and shake my head. “You think?”

He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

And that hurts more than it should. Because I know what I’m doing. I’m falling. I’ve been falling for so long, and I’m pretty sure I’m about to hit the ground.

“I can’t keep doing this,” I whisper, my voice barely steady.

His jaw tightens. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Something inside me cracks.

“Then stop making me feel like I’m something you have to choose.”

Silence. And that’s when I know.

He won’t say it, but I already have my answer. Because if I was ever truly an option, I wouldn’t be standing here, begging for clarity.

I nod to myself, standing up. “I need to go.”

This time, he doesn’t stop me.

December-

It hurts, it really hurts. 

My chest aches like it’s been hollowed out, and every breath feels too heavy, too sharp. My body trembles, like it’s trying to hold itself together, but it’s already unraveling. 

Is this what dying feels like? 

Is this death? 

The slow suffocation of something that was once whole? 

Or is this grief?

Endless, suffocating grief—bleeding through my veins, consuming everything I am.

I can’t tell anymore. Only that it hurts. So much. 

I don’t even know who I am anymore. 

I feel like a hollow shell.

January-

The snow falls lightly, dusting the pavement with delicate flakes as I walk across campus. The world feels quiet, wrapped in winter’s cold embrace, but inside me? There’s nothing but noise, a clamor I can’t silence. Just as fast as everything had began, it ended just as quickly. 

I didn’t expect Caleb to reach out. After everything, after the silence between us that’s stretched since November, I thought he’d let the distance settle. Let whatever we had fade into something unspoken, unresolved.

But then I got the text.

can we talk?

And because I’m weak, because no matter how much I want to convince myself I’ve moved on, I know I haven’t, so I agreed.

Now, I’m here, waiting outside the coffee shop, my breath clouding in the cold air. Caleb’s already inside, sitting by the window with his fingers curled around a paper cup. When he sees me, he gives a small, hesitant smile. He looks the same, yet it feels so foreign.

I steel myself and walk inside.

“Hey,” he says when I slide into the seat across from him.

“Hey,” I echo, my voice flat, unreadable.

We sit in silence for a moment, the weight of everything hanging between us.

He exhales, looking down at his coffee. “I hate how things have been between us.”

I don’t say anything, just let him speak.

“I miss you,” he admits, and for a moment, my heart stumbles. But before I can process it, he adds, “I don’t want to lose you, I want us to still be friends.”

Friends.

I should have expected this. Maybe I did. Maybe I’ve just been foolish enough to hope for something else.

I swallow, my fingers tightening around my cup. “Friends.”

He nods, earnest, like he doesn’t realize he’s twisting a knife into my chest. “Yeah. I mean, we were good at that, right? Before things got… complicated.”

Complicated. That word again.

I take a slow breath, trying to force the ache in my chest to quiet. Maybe this is what we need. Maybe being friends, just friends, will hurt less than losing him completely.

So I offer a small smile, one that feels forced but I try to make it real. “Yeah. We were.”

Relief flashes across his face, and something deep inside me tugs painfully. But I ignore it.

We can do this.

We have to.

“Are we okay?” he asks carefully.

I hesitate for a second, just a moment, but then I nod. “Yeah. We’re okay.”

And maybe, if I say it enough times, it’ll start to feel true.

We step outside together, the cold air biting at my skin. We walk side by side, but it’s different now. Less certain, more fragile. But for now, it’s enough. We’re still in each other’s lives. And that has to count for something.

February-

The cold of February feels different this year. It’s sharp, biting at my skin, but it’s nothing compared to the way the distance between Caleb and me has settled; thick, suffocating.

We’re friends. At least, that’s what we tell ourselves.

But every interaction feels like a shadow of what it used to be. We pass each other on campus, exchanging forced smiles, awkward pleasantries. He texts me sometimes, but the messages are clipped, casual. The playful banter, the inside jokes—we don’t have those anymore.

I’ve gotten good at pretending it doesn’t hurt. I laugh at his jokes when we’re in class together, crack a smile when he waves in passing. I tell myself that being near him, even like this, is better than nothing.

But it isn’t. It isn’t better at all.

One afternoon, after class, Caleb waits for me while I pack my things, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jacket. His eyes meet mine, but they flicker away quickly, like he’s not sure how to look at me anymore.

“Hey,” he says, his voice quieter than it used to be.

I force a smile, but it feels too tight, too stretched.

We walk together, but the silence between us is thick. We’re not really talking anymore. Not like before.

“How’s everything?” I ask, trying to fill the space with something. Anything.

Caleb shrugs, his gaze far off. “Same as usual. You know how it is.”

I don’t know how it is. Not anymore.

“And you?” he asks, almost apologetically, like he’s afraid he’ll break something if he pushes too hard.

“I’m good,” I say, too quickly. Too easily. I wish I could say something that would make it sound like we haven’t drifted so far apart. But I can’t.

The truth is, I don’t feel good. Not at all.

The rest of the walk is silent, and when we reach the place where our paths diverge, Caleb gives me a tight, awkward smile.

“Catch you later,” he says, already turning away before I can say anything else.

I watch him walk off, the weight of all the things we never said hanging between us.

It’s painful. But I swallow it down. I have to.

The days pass, and we continue this dance; one of shallow conversations, stiff smiles. Every text feels like a performance. Every interaction, a reminder that we’re no longer who we used to be.

One night, I sit at my desk, the glow of my laptop screen casting a pale light over my face. My phone vibrates on the table beside me. Caleb’s name.

I hesitate before picking it up.

hey, are you free later?

My heart skips a beat, but I force myself to respond.

Yeah, what’s up?

There’s a long pause before his next message.

i was thinking we could grab coffee. but no pressure, just thought it might be nice.

The words “just thought it might be nice” sting more than I expected. It’s so casual, so simple—like the idea of spending time together doesn’t carry any of the weight it used to.

But I can’t back out now. I can’t keep pretending that I’m not still craving his company, even if it’s not the same.

Sure, sounds good.

When we meet at our usual café, the air between us is thick. We talk, but it’s like we’re strangers, circling around the things we used to share so easily. Caleb talks about his classes, and I nod, smile at the right times, but it doesn’t feel like we’re really connecting anymore.

I tell myself it’s fine. This is what we agreed to. That being friends is better than nothing.

And no matter how many times I tell myself I’m over it, no matter how many times I remind myself that this is what I chose; it still hurts.

When we part ways that evening, Caleb gives me a small, almost apologetic smile. “I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah,” I reply, throat tight. “See you.”

I watch him leave, and I can’t help but feel like a piece of myself is slowly drifting farther away.

March-

I can’t keep doing this.

April-

The months start to feel like a slow, inevitable slide into something I can’t quite escape. The air has warmed, and the snow is nothing more than a distant memory, but the silence between Caleb and me cuts deeper than any winter chill.

We still see each other every day. We still share the same spaces, the same halls, the same class. But now, we’re nothing more than shadows of what we once were. Just two people who used to mean something to each other, now standing on opposite sides of a wide, unbridgeable gap.

We promised to be friends. We promised we’d make it work. But those promises feel empty now. There’s no joy in our interactions, no spark. Every conversation is forced, every laugh hollow. We’ve become experts at pretending, at wearing the mask of “just friends,” even though neither of us believes it for a second.

I’ve tried to move on, but when I see him, it’s like a miserable cold wave crashing over me. His eyes, once warm and inviting, are distant now; like he’s holding back something I’m not allowed to know. Even though he’s still there, still around, it feels like he’s lightyears away.

It was a Tuesday afternoon, sitting alone in the student lounge, my books spread out in front of me though not really focused on them. My phone buzzes, and I glance down at the message, already knowing who it’s from.

Caleb.

I hesitate before opening it, my fingers lingering over the screen.

i’m outside the library, want to grab coffee?

My heart skips. I want to say yes. 

I want to say yes more than anything. 

But a part of me knows how this will go. Another awkward conversation. Another round of small talk and unspoken feelings.

I’m tired. Tired of pretending things are fine when nothing is fine.

I can’t, sorry.

May-

The day is warm, but there’s a crispness in the air, the kind that signals a transition; between seasons, between chapters, between what was and what will be. The hum of excitement fills the air, the kind only a graduation ceremony can bring. Students in their uniforms mill around the venue, laughter and shouts of celebration ringing through the open space.

I move through the crowd, my diploma and badges in hand, the weight of the moment pressing down on me. I should feel proud, should feel accomplished. And I do, somewhere deep inside. But there’s something else, something heavier, lingering beneath the surface. The kind of feeling I’ve spent the past few months pushing away, convincing myself I’ve moved past.

Then, I see them.

Caleb stands a few feet away, surrounded by the floods of people. I notice he’s staring ahead into the crowd, and a girl comes crashing into him with the kind of ease that twists my stomach; MC.

She leans in, close—too close. And then, as if the universe had been waiting for the perfect moment to shatter the fragile balance I had built, she presses a kiss to his cheek. It’s celebratory, happy, and by the look on Caleb's face, just enough.

The world tilts.

For a second, the sounds around me blur into static, the conversations and cheers fading into the background. The weight of months of restraint, of quiet acceptance, of pretending I was fine, collapses all at once. The carefully built walls around my emotions crack under the force of everything I had tried so desperately to move past.

I thought I had let go. I thought I had made peace with everything that had happened. But in this moment, watching him, watching them, it all comes rushing back. The late nights, the quiet moments, the unspoken words that once sat between us. The way he once looked at me, the way he’s looking at her. The realization that, despite all my efforts, my heart had never truly stopped waiting.

I force my feet to move, to carry me past them, past the reminders of what could have been, of what wasn’t mine to hold onto anymore.

The weight in my chest is suffocating, but I refuse to stop, refuse to break—not here, not now. Because this is supposed to be a celebration, the closing of a chapter, the start of something new.

Maybe in another life, it was never a competition. Maybe in another universe, I don’t have to worry about her. In that world, I am her—running into Caleb’s arms, stealing his hat, and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Yes. In another universe, I am her.

Taking a dnp quiz like:

Which emoji do you like more?

⚰️

💰

THE STAGES OF ME AND YOU

bakugou x reader

cw: cute, fluffy, established relationship, literally just dialogue, aged up, minors dni, suggestive lines

“what?”

you know you’re being a little annoying but you’re lucky he finds it’s endearing. you sit straddling your lovers lap. knees on either side of his thighs, arms hanging off his shoulders and your face a mere inch away from his.

already, it’s a surprise that katsuki let you in his office and even more so onto his lap knowing what a distraction you are. really it’s a testament to how tired he is of reading through another report and claim and statement and all the stuff that doesn’t include him on the field saving people.

he speaks again, rough like all the words are scratching his throat before they come out, “why’re you lookin’ at me like that?”

you’re smiling, ends of your mouth turning up before showing all your teeth. being this close to him, chest to chest, only one thrust forward and your centre will meet his. he loves it. more than he can voice, than he can admit. he thinks you’re beautiful, obviously and he finds it hard not to give into you. kiss your face, bite your lip and sneak his hand in your pyjama pants. he could after all, being in his home with no other plans for the day but more fucking reports.

“i’ve got a big crush on you.” you chuckle, running your eyes over his strong brow bone, his shiny ruby eyes and his pink lips pressed in an unimpressed line. he’s only in a black vest and grey joggers, muscled arms and shoulders out. you just want some attention, maybe roll in bed with him. the usual.

bakugou hates how much he loves when you’re like this. saying words he’d cringe at but ultimately adores coming out your mouth. he huffs, closing his eyes and leaning back on his head rest.

he plays along because he’s tired and you’re more interesting than his paperwork.

“no way,” he deadpans, eyes still shut. his thumbs rub along your waist, “since when?”

you kiss his jaw because how couldn’t you? that makes him look at you though, patiently waiting to hear your answer even though he roughly knows it.

you shuffle on his lap to get more comfortable, playing with the wisps of his hair.

“since i first saw you. when mina introduced me to you i thought you were so gorgeous,” you say and bakugou focuses on each word leaving your lips. he swears he knows this, you’ve told him this before but still his ego swells. you, whose beauty could make him believe in religion, thought he was attractive? bakugou calls himself lucky.

“that’s crazy,” he’s still got that monotone voice on but he entertains you by cocking his head to the side, “i thought you weren’t ugly too.”

you snort because you certainly don’t remember that. you remember being introduced to the blonde and right after, he rushed off to talk to kirishima while sending you these odd glares.

“now that’s a surprise. i thought i offended you and your bloodline with all the staring and frowning you gave me.”

hot hands sneak up your top, pressing to your sides. you notice the moon up in the sky through the window behind katsuki.

bakugou swears he’s too old to be embarrassed but his actions two years ago have a lot to answer for.

he groans, “i already told you, i was asking kiri about you. i wasn’t about to start talkin’ to you if you already had a man.”

you laugh, “why not? we could have been friends?”

he shakes his head, “nah, i’m not built for that unrequited love shit. listenin’ to you talk about him while i want you?”

“you’re lucky i was single then. also rewind, not ugly? i said gorgeous and you said not ugly?”

“stunnin’. beautiful. prettiest fuckin’ face i’ve ever seen.” he spills effortlessly because seeing you worked up over him is his favourite.

“that’s more like it.” you bite down on your lip, cheeks swelling with bliss.

it’s another moment of comfortable silence, staring at each other until you reach a new plain. he flicks his eyes down to your mouth first and then you do to his but nobody makes a move to kiss the other.

“i started to like like you once we started dating.”

“like like?” he huffs humorously and you only nod, “which date? the first one was shit. wasn’t surprised if you never saw me again after that.”

you gasp, “no it wasn’t!”

“it was a cinema date because i didn’t think i’d be able to hold a conversation for the whole time.”

you don’t mean to pout but you do, your heart warming your whole chest. “that’s so adorable.”

he rolls his eyes, “then i fell asleep during the movie.”

“so cute,” you coo, “that was my fault for offering to go out after work.”

“i wanted to see you.”

he bluntly states and you feel heat spread over your body like the first time he said those words to you on your first date.

“don’t say that like that.”

“why not?”

katsuki’s smirking and you know what that means so you switch the subject.

“i was going to say, i first like liked you when i saw you get angry for me.”

bakugou didn’t know that. with his eyes frowning, “really?”

“yeah. when i’d say things about my job then, you’d get visibly annoyed or remember when that guy cut in-front of me in the queue? you came over and told him to move all huffy and puffy like he disrespected me. when i’d just mention my day being shit, you’d get all growly over the phone and offer to help me, even though you usually couldn’t. i liked that.”

bakugou makes a sound of realisation, a small whisper, “never knew that.”

you just nod, pecking the tip of his nose. he just goes to peck your mouth after.

“i first liked you more than a crush when you wore that pink dress on the third date. made your ass look good.”

“oh my god. i struggled to put that one on.”

“i would’ve helped you take it off.”

you flick his forehead but before you get to rest your hand back on his shoulder, katsuki takes your hand and presses his lips to your three fingers. he speaks his next words against it.

“i knew it was more than a crush when you’d just talk to me about anythin’. felt like you trusted me, that you thought i was worthy of hearin’ your thoughts and it wasn’t somethin’ i had to try and prove. i spent so long tryin’ and provin’ that it was nice to just exist with you.”

your eyes widen all glossy and bakugou is quick, “don’t cry on me.”

you slap his arm, “i’m not! that is so sweet, what the hell?”

you slide your hands down to his chest so you can feel the vibrations of his laugh. the urge to kiss along the line of stubble on his jaw grows.

“it’s the truth.”

“i would talk so much and you’d just listen. i thought you were bored.”

“never bored. it was nice to hear someone else’s problems.”

“hey!”

“in a good way!”

you play with the gold chain across his collarbones, flicking your eyes up to his, “do you know when i first fell in love with you?”

bakugou doesn’t know why his heart races against his chest. like you both don’t utter the words during the day, through texts, through phone calls. but knowing the beginning seems intimate, like an answer for when anything goes wrong between you two he should go back to that time. he plays it off with humour.

“when i first showed you my fat cock? i remember how you gasped.”

you’re between a laugh and a choke, “honestly that was part of it,” bakugou mumbles a “really?” but you continue, “it was actually when we’d just sit in silence and it wasn’t awkward or uncomfortable. remember in my old apartment we’d just cuddle on my sofa and i thought about how easy it all was. how i could say anything and it would be fine. how i could have sex with you and nothing would change for the worse after.”

bakugou’s eyes glow, “d’you still feel that now?”

“i love you, katsuki. of course i do. your turn.”

“this is gonna sound so stupid,” he grumbles, looking away from you but your fingers find his jaw to drag him back.

“try me.”

“you probably won’t even remember but it was when this guy came to argue with me on the street ‘cause he didn’t like dynamight. i was a dickhead, caused damage, you know the shit. then you just stepped in front of me and told him to fuck off. your hands were in fists and you were shorter than him. it was actually kinda funny,” bakugou gives a tiny smile, shy at his admission, “the same as your like like but i loved that you thought i needed protection too.”

you’re giving a big pout, your bottom lip drooping like you’re on the verge of an emotional outburst.

“how did this turn so emotional?”

bakugou gives you a sympathetic smile, void of any mockery. he shrugs, thumbs stroking against your cheeks softly, “easy to be honest with you.”

you make the first move, pressing your lips onto your lovers. you’re like the final piece of the puzzle for him, always incomplete without you. you mix beautifully like butter and sugar, dragging him in closer to you until your heat lands on the length under his joggers. you open your mouth for his tongue to slip through and with all this new knowledge of how you both started, of emotions and new beginnings, you’re desperate. you’re itching to pull his clothes off and breathe him in completely.

bakugou’s always been the more patient one between you two and that’s not saying much.

“wanna go bed?” he pulls away to mumble, eyes half lidded, lips plump and a hand sneaking in his joggers to readjust himself.

“you’re not too tired, right? i want you,” you speak so fast, he hardly catches it. the grin that bakugou never knew he had before you, shines through.

he stands up, holding you to him koala style with his hands on your ass. you lock your legs around his waist and your arms around his neck, “no, i’m gonna make love to you.”

Strangling him with our red string of fate