Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Bakugou let his head hit his hands, groaning when yet another model stomped through the door like the world owed them a favour, declaring themselves exactly the thing that he was looking for without being even one of the things that he had put onto the casting call sheet. 

“Is there,” he groaned, “a single fucking person in this queue who knows how to walk ?”

“I can ask them?” 

“Ei…I love you but that’s not a question that you can ask a model.” 

He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to calm himself down before the next hopeful came in. It shouldn't be hard to cast a single male model to walk a runway. Shouldn't be a difficult thing to find a model who was tall and poised and graceful. Who could showcase his work for what it was and not try to turn it into some statement that it had never intended to be. Someone who fit his very simple requirements. Sleek. Classic. Fashion. 

Ten years ago he would have been swamped in models who floated on air, but the fashion had turned to stomping feet and popping hips and faces that said I’m too good to be here and he hated every single one of them. 

“Shall I send the next one in, bro?”

“Yeah send him in, let’s get this farce over with.”

Another kid walked through the door, no more than seventeen, stomping his feet and swinging his hips like he was on Drag Race. Sure they commanded attention, but not for any of the reasons that Bakugou was looking for. He needed something more than hot . He needed perfection, and he wasn’t going to settle for less. 

“Thank you, someone will be in touch with your agency,” he huffed, scratching the name off of his list. “Next.”

“What do you mean someone will be in touch?” The model stood with his arms folded, apparently not satisfied with being dismissed. “Did I get the gig or not?”

“You did not.”

“Why the fuck not?”

Bakugou looked up with a scowl, taking off his glasses before he spoke again. “Because you walk like a giraffe who pissed their damn pants four blocks away and is trying to play it off as deliberate. Your hair is a mess, your style is shitty, and your attitude is apparently fucking worse. So get the hell out of my studio before I put you out of it.”

“You’ll wish you hired me,” the model spat, turning and sauntering out the door. 

He put his glasses back on, looking back at the paperwork with a tut behind his teeth.“I seriously doubt it.”

One after another they came through the door, and one after another he sent them away. He was starting to believe that he would never find the model he needed when Kirishima swung his beaming face around the door, a new portfolio in his hands. 

“There’s a late entry,” he said. “Headshots are amazing. Already signed but looking for runway work.”

“Fits the look?”

“I think you’ll like him.”

“Send him in, but he’s the last one .”

“You got it bro.”

Bakugou was ready to check out, his notebook closed, pen discarded, certain that he wouldn't need to make a single note on the last model of the day, as he hadn’t any that had come before him. And whilst he was right that he didn’t have to make any notes at all, it was for a whole different set of reasons. 

Kirishima showed the man in with a smile, and he turned to face Bakugou with a light bow, shrugging out of a sleek black overcoat and stepping up onto the walk to await instructions. His hair was soft and tousled, his mismatched eyes accentuated with the faintest flick of black liner. He stood completely still, waiting, an air of confidence around his tall slim form that Bakugou couldn’t take his eyes off of. 

“One walk,” he said finally, “all the way to the front, stop and turn, then back.”

“What are you looking for?”

It was like his birthday and Christmas had come all at once, the first model of the day to actually ask what they needed. “Something classic. Just walk. ”

The model nodded, and with absolutely no flare or frills he made his way down the small runway. Bakugou couldn't tear his eyes away. The model was so smooth on the walk that he was almost gliding, everything about him screaming grace and poise, true perfect class that shone without needing anything else. He stopped at the front of the walk, tilting his head so that the light best caught his high cheekbones, then turned and walked back with the same light even steps. 

“Fuck me, Ei. He’s perfect .”

“He is something.”

“I need him.”

Kirishima slid the portfolio over, and Bakugou forced himself to look away from the model long enough to read the name on the front. A name that made his heart sink. 

Shouto Todoroki. 

Of course he was a Todoroki model. Which meant that he was – as he appeared – the best in the business. But also that he would be nearly impossible to bring onto the team. The Todoroki’s were well known for turning down contracts that had even a single clause that didn’t suit them. For turning down designers who wouldn’t fit to their exact specifications, and making it known to the rest of the modelling world to boot. He could list on a single hand the number of people who had actually brought on a Todoroki for a full run, and half of those were overseas. 

He was going to have to play it very carefully to get the man that he wanted. 

“Mr Todoroki-”

“Shouto.”

“Shouto, please come and take a seat,” Bakugou said, choosing his words carefully. “I would love to discuss the line with you.”

“I don’t enter into client discussions,” Shouto said with another bow, sliding a card onto the table. “But I like your designs, Mr Bakugou, so please do answer when my father calls. I’ll tell him that I’m interested. Thank you for your time today.”

With one final bow he turned and was walking out of the studio, leaving both Bakugou and Kirishima sitting stunned. He’d known that the Todoroki’s drove a hard bargain but he had never seen why. With Shouto in front of him it was suddenly very clear that they could ask for almost anything they wanted. He was going to have to make an offer that couldn’t be refused.

*** 

It took three days for the call from the Todoroki Agency to come in, and Bakugou spent all of that time deep in research. If there was anything that he could find or do that would make him more appealing to Shouto’s father then he was going to do it.

He would agree to just about anything that they asked for, if it meant that he was going to have the model he wanted. Shoot dates, times, locations. He wasn’t usually prepared to compromise but to have a Todoroki, that Todoroki, showcasing his work would mean that it was certain to be a hit – even more certain than usual, anyway – and that made it worth it. 

He picked up the phone on the first ring, shushing an excited Kirishima before he spoke. 

“Dynamight Design.”

“Good morning Mr Bakugou.” The voice on the other end of the line was hard and cold, and he could almost feel the disdainful stare that he was certain would accompany it. “I am told that my son has expressed an interest in walking for your new line.”

“And we would be very interested to have him, Mr Todoroki,” Bakugou said, doing his best to sound pleasant, despite immediately hating the man. 

“I’m certain you would. We have terms.”

“Of course.”

Mr Todoroki rattled through a number of terms that – though annoying – weren’t nearly as difficult to meet as Bakugou had expected. Shouto was to be attended at all times on a shoot, never left without a guard for the sake of his safety. He was not to be touched by anyone but a team that was sent with him, not to be spoken to by anyone who wasn’t directing the day, preferably Mr Bakugou himself. He would arrive no earlier than 10am and be picked up again before 6pm by his own driver, and would never be taken to locations outside of a pre-arranged list. He would also bring his own meals.

Within half an hour the matter was settled, and Bakugou found himself looking at an emailed contract with some measure of surprise. 

“They really are serious about his conditions,” he mused, forwarding the missive to his legal team to ensure that he wasn’t going to agree to anything insane. “But he didn’t seem like a diva.”

“He seemed a lot less of one than most people we’ve worked with,” Kirishima nodded. “Quiet, polite. I think he’ll be a real asset.”

“And the timing means that you get some early workouts,” Bakugou said, shaking his head. “Though I don’t like that we’ll lose the morning light. He’d look glorious in a soft dawn shoot.”

“Maybe that’s negotiable after this first contract. No sense worrying about it now bro.” Kirishima clapped him warmly on the shoulder. “You got the guy you wanted, now we need to get planning.”

*** 

The first day of the shoot came around much faster than Bakugou had hoped. There was a lot to rearrange with his new model’s requirements, photographers to move, guests to notify, a whole catwalk to re-book just to ensure that Shouto’s father wouldn’t have a single reason to remove him. 

But it was done, and at 10am sharp on the first day a sleek black vehicle arrived outside the studio, stopping just long enough for Shouto to step out into the light. 

He was as breathtaking as he had been the first time Bakugou had seen him, giving a light bow, and turning to watch his team step out of the car with him. A woman with bright bubblegum pink hair dressed all in neons that Bakugou wanted to ban from his studio immediately, and a second, shorter, comparatively plain woman who dragged a large trunk behind her. 

“Welcome to Dynamight Design,” he said, nodding to them all in turn, his eyes never leaving Shouto for long. “I’m sorry I wasn’t told who-”

“Ashido Mina and Uraraka Ochako,” Shouto said, turning with a small smile towards his team. “Mina will arrange any hair and makeup you need, Uraraka helps with just about everything else.”

“Pleasure to be working with you,” Bakugou said, hoping that he sounded like he meant it. “Please, follow me.”

Todoroki’s crew were just as attentive and obedient as he seemed to be, following the style brief that Bakugou gave them to a tee, and sending him out onto the floor to be shot looking as good as – if not better than – he would have if Bakugou’s own stylists had been working on him. 

And once they started shooting he was everything that Bakugou had hoped he would be and more. Poised and graceful, knowing how to pose not only his body but his face with little to no direction at all from behind the camera. He worked the clothes as though they had been made for him, and in the rare moments when he met eyes with one of his friends the smile that rose on his face was so pure and real that Bakugou was desperate to see it over and over again. 

“I think,” he said, flicking through the gallery with his heart hammering loud and heavy in his chest, “we got the shots we need.”

“There is still an hour until my driver arrives,” Shouto said, resting his hands gently in his pockets and making Bakugou want to pick the camera up for a few candids that he knew he didn’t have permission to shoot. “Is there anything else you’d like me to stand for?”

“Why don’t you just take a break,” Bakugou replied, indicating the tray of teas laid out for the crew. “Sit with me, have a drink. You’ve more than earned it.”

“I can’t do that.”

“But we can,” Uraraka chirped from behind him. “I’ll tell you what they’re like, Sho.”

The perfect poise dropped again when Shouto smiled, and Bakugou couldn’t help but click the remote shutter, capturing that beautiful face more for himself than for the line. Because for all that he wasn’t about to admit it, he was growing more and more enamoured with his flawless new model by the minute.

He didn’t just want him for the shoot. He wanted Shouto for himself.

“What about a snack?” Bakugou said, not one to give up at the first hurdle. “I can have anything you want brought here in an instant, just say the word and-”

“I’m okay, thank you.”

There was a sadness behind his smile then, and Bakugou’s chest ached to see it. He had thought that the contract stipulations were Shouto’s doing, but watching him gaze at his crew sipping tea and munching through complimentary biscuits he suddenly wasn’t so sure. Mr Todoroki was certainly formidable, but surely not so determined to be the best that he would keep such tight controls on his own son?

“Why don’t we take a few more, then,” he said, trying to distract from the horrible thought. “Kirishima! Bring the chaise through, I think this jacket will look fucking brilliant in a casual setting.”

Shouto gave him a nod, whether obedient or grateful Bakugou didn’t know, but more than ever he was determined to make it his mission to find out. 

***

Shouto smiled and posed and did his best to hold himself as perfectly as he knew was expected of him until he heard the familiar sound of his alarm, telling him that he had fifteen minutes until his driver arrived. 

“I need to change now,” he said, standing immediately from the couch that Bakugou had him posing on and returning to the dressing room with Mina and Uraraka in tow. 

“You did great out there today,” Uraraka said, holding out hangers for him to settle the pieces on as he took them off, hanging them all up in their designated spaces for Bakugou to collect once he was done. “Really I think there are going to be some great shots.”

“Thank you, ‘Chako.”

“You seem down though,” Mina mused, giving him a knowing look in the mirror. “What’s wrong, Shouto?”

“It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing.”

“I just-” he looked down at his hands, willing his heart to stop thumping. All day he had been fighting the urge to gaze at Bakugou, doing his best to stand under the fans so that the blush that rose every time he looked into those deep crimson eyes didn’t show. “I wish things were different, sometimes.”

“Things?”

“You know my contract as well as I do,” he huffed, taking his shirt from Uraraka and fastening it quickly. “It doesn’t matter which of the things I’m not allowed to do.”

“Is it… him ,” Uraraka whispered, her voice still conspiratorially loud. “He is very handsome.”

“Not as handsome as Kirishima,” Mina sighed. “You can’t tell me you didn’t notice, Ochako.”

Shouto chuckled, waving them off with a hand. “They are both very attractive. But yes… him . He almost makes me wish that I hadn’t ever signed the no dating clauses. I know they make me more desirable to the public. Somehow more within reach of the ogling masses if I’m not tied to someone else. But right now I hate them.”

“Shouto, you’re driver’s here,” Kirishima’s voice rang through the door and Shouto flushed, hoping that he hadn’t heard too much. 

“Thank you, I’ll be right there.”

With Uraraka and Mina behind him he put his best face back on and strode out of the door, bowing to Bakugou and thanking him, promising to be back for the rest of the collection the next day. And then he was being seen into a car and gone before the man even had time to respond. 

He hated it, but perhaps it really was for the best. After all, his work was his life. Without it he wasn’t sure what he would do at all. 

***

Kirishima wasn’t quite sure what to do with the information that he suddenly held about Shouto. It wasn’t manly to eavesdrop – and he certainly hadn’t been intending to – but there was something about the hushed voices that made him stop his knock, standing with his hand hovering in the air, listening for just a few seconds longer. 

What he’d heard troubled him more than he thought possible. It made it sound like Shouto was being abused almost. Treated like a slave by his own family! And it wasn’t good to leave someone in a situation that might hurt them…but it wasn’t exactly great form to meddle in someone else's life, either. Which is how he found himself pacing anxiously up and down for the entirety of the next day's shoot, not able to look Shouto or Bakugou in the eye, obsessing over what the best thing to do would be. 

Shouto was flawless, of course, so the shoot ran early as it had the day before, and just like the day before Bakugou offered to take Shouto for lunch or make him a drink, something other than just taking more shots for the sake of it. And just like the day before Shouto declined. 

Because his contract says he has to , Kirishima thought. Not because he’s not interested.

It wasn’t until Shouto and his team had left that Bakugou rounded on him, hands on his hips, a scowl on his face. 

“What the fuck was wrong with you today, Ei?”

“Huh?”

“Yeah, see this is what I’m talking about. You were a hundred fucking miles away all day. What’s gotten so up your ass that you’re this distracted.”

“It’s in Shouto’s contract that he can’t date,” Kirishima babbled, apparently unable to keep anything from his best friend when he was being given that look. “And he doesn’t like it. Or any of the other stuff.”

Bakugou’s eyes darkened.“Is that fucking so.”

“But bro you can’t-”

Bakugou was already storming towards his office, his hands on the phone dialling a number that Kirishima knew he absolutely could not finish typing. He ran across the studio, grabbing the phone and yanking it away from the desk, huffing desperately and cringing when he saw that he had pulled it right out of the wall. 

“I only heard a tiny bit but you can’t call him. What if I’m wrong and he’s embarrassed and leaves the shoot. What if-”

“What if you’re right and the poor bastard isn’t allowed to live his own damn life?”

“What if I'm right and Mr Todoroki pulls him from the shoot because you’re questioning him.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“Well we can’t do nothing Ei.”

“Maybe you could ask him about it?” Kirishima suggested, shrugging. “He seems pretty normal when you’re just talking to him.”

“Except that he’s never without his shadows.”

“I could…”Kirishima flushed deep red. “Maybe help with that. You know, only because you would need me to and not for any other reason, obviously.”

“I’m going to pretend that I don’t know what you mean,” Bakugou said, wrinkling his face up at the thought of his best friend doing anything intimate. “It’s the runway tomorrow. I guess it’s as good a chance as any. We’ll aim for right before he goes on, I can believe that he’s professional enough not to let anything fluster him. You know how you’re going to get the two away from him?”

“I-” Kirishima’s voice cracked and Bakugou rolled his eyes. “I have a few ideas.”

Bakugou looked at the mismatched eyes staring up at him from the portfolio page. Shouto was an incredible model, and from what he had seen a kind and good man to his staff, too. He didn’t deserve to be forced to live a life that he didn’t want. Nobody did. Enji Todoroki might be the richest son of a bitch in the entire country but that didn’t give him a right to treat his son like shit. 

And Bakugou was determined to do something about it. 

For the entire morning he searched for a way to get Shouto alone, sending his aids off for any tiny task that he could think of whilst the other models went up and down the runway to the kind of polite applause that anyone other than the headliner could expect. If he didn’t act quickly he would lose his chance.

“Ei, if you’re going to help me now’s the time,” he said, looking down at his watch. There were five minutes till Shouto went on. 

“You got it boss.”

He jumped up and down on the spot a few times, getting himself a little worked up and sweaty, then barrelled into Shouto’s dressing room with a look of panic that even Bakugou had to admit looked pretty real, babbling something about a model slipping and ruining their outfit and having to go back on and none of the other hair and makeup teams being free and could they please go with him to another room to ‘help him’. There were a few moments of hushed conversation and then Bakugou heard his cue. 

“But someone must remain with Shouto.”

“I’ll stay with him,” he said, pushing through the door with a huff, doing his best to come across annoyed with the entire ordeal. “I’m timing his walk anyway.”

The ladies looked at each other and then nodded, hurrying after Kirishima, at least one of them bursting into a blushing laugh. 

“Your colleague is a bad liar,” Shouto said as soon as the door was closed. “I assume he wants something else with my team?”

“Maybe but…actually, it’s me who wanted something from you,” Bakugou said, settling his back against the door and taking a long hard look at Shouto. “Is it true?

“Is what true?”

“That you don’t want to be held to the hundreds of stupid fucking clauses in your contract.

“You-”

Bakugou pushed up from the door, taking a tentative step closer, closing the gap between them in the small room. “Yes or no, Shouto.”

“It doesn’t matter what I want.” 

“Beg to fucking differ.” He didn’t know what was happening, didn’t know why his legs kept moving him forwards, but soon he had one hand pressed against the wall behind Shouto’s head, the rest of the world falling away as they looked at one another. “You always have a damn choice, Shouto.”

“No matter how much I want things to be different,” Shouto whispered. “They won’t change.”

“We could change them.”

“How?”

Bakugou’s hand trembled when he brought it up to tip Shouto’s chin, brushing gently against his cheek. He had to hold back a groan when Shouto’s eyes fluttered closed and he leaned into the forbidden touch. 

“Shouto-”

All at once hands were on his chest, pulling him close and slamming their lips together in a kiss that was as bruising as it was passionate. Bakugou wrapped one hand around his waist pulling him in, the other lacing into his hair, rumpling him in a manner that would almost certainly show on the runway but he didn’t care. Neither of them did. 

For long seconds the rest of the world was little more than a memory, until the alarm on Bakugou’s watch sounded, breaking them apart. 

“You have to walk,” he gasped, pulling back. “Find me at the after party.”

“I can’t attend the after party.”

“I’ll make arrangements. Go. ”

Even as he made his way to the side to watch Shouto’s immaculate walk he was pulling out his phone, sending a hasty email to Mr Todoroki asking for an extra hour to allow the press to celebrate the enormous success of his son’s time on the runway. Promising that he would be well looked after, and that Bakugou would supply his personal driver to bring the man home again. 

Mr Todoroki was obsessed with public image, and Bakugou was sure that he wouldn’t turn down a chance for some incredibly good press, especially considering how rarely his son stood in the public eye for photographing. 

What Shouto did once he had that additional time…well that was up to him.

Chapter Text

The post launch party that Bakugou threw was small compared to others in the world of fashion, and while he claimed that it was because he hated big parties in the back of his mind he knew that he had slimmed the guest list at the last minute for Shouto. To help him be more comfortable in a world that it was clear he had only seen the tiniest part of despite his incredibly successful career. 

“You will ensure that someone is with him at all times.”

“I will ensure that I am with him at all times, Mr Todoroki. He will be quite safe.”

“No press is to touch him. No gifts. Nothing.”

“Of course, Sir.”

“You will have two hours.”

Bakugou ground his teeth, hating that he had to deal with such an enormous asshole, even for the sake of a man he cared about. “That is very generous, Mr Todoroki.”

“He photographs best from the left,” and then the line was dead. 

With a huff Bakugou shoved his phone back into his pocket, giving Kirishima a thumbs up before moving to find Shouto, in the hopes that he would be happy with the news that was being brought to him. 

“A…party?”

“Your father wants you to smile for the fucking press. But I can take you home if-”

“No! No, a party sounds…fun? As long as he’s not coming.”

“Your father? No he’s not coming.”

“Then, yes I would love to attend.”

“If you’re sure?”

Shouto nodded, slipping his hand into Bakugou’s arm and holding tighter than Bakugou expected as he followed him out to where the car was waiting to take them back to the studio. It was somehow both thrilling and terrifying to be on the man’s arm, going to a gathering the likes of which he had never previously been allowed to attend. His father clearly had an ulterior motive, but a chance to see what happened after the photographs and the applause was too good to miss. 

Back at the small Dynamight Studio the party was well underway, and he found himself steered through the doors amid cheers, the flashes of cameras catching him off guard and making him slow his steps. 

“Are you okay, Shouto?”

“I just hadn’t expected them to start the second we arrived.”

“I can tell them to leave, if it would make you more comfortable.”

“No. If my father-”

“Your father doesn’t have any say in what happens at my damn parties. Just say the world and I’ll send them all away. Every guest who looks at you in a way that you don’t like. Nobody is more welcome than you.”

Shouto nodded, but he didn’t ask for the photographers or anyone else to be banished, instead accepting a bubbling glass of something from a passing tray, keeping his arm looped in Bakugou’s the whole time and trying not to think about the way it made his heart race to be pressed so close to the larger man. About how his biceps were firm and warm beneath the fabric of his shirt, his subtly woody scent reminding him of that desperate stolen kiss that he wanted nothing more than to repeat.

He sipped his drink and made small talk with those who approached, the steady presence of Bakugou at his side keeping him grounded even when it seemed that the bubbles from his drink were going to his head. He wasn’t much for alcohol at the best of times. and though he was enjoying the light fizz it was hitting him much harder than he expected. 

“Bakugou,” he whispered, leaning a little closer into his host. “I feel…odd.”

“Odd how?”

“I don’t know. Something-” The world spun around him, sounds suddenly too loud, his feet drastically far away. “I think-”

The next he knew Bakugou was holding him, scooping him up in those strong firm arms and carrying him through a crowd, shouting at Kirishima to collect every camera, to bar the doors and ensure that nobody left until he had in his hands every single item that might capture an image. That someone had done something to Shouto.

In the distance Kirishima shouted that he would handle it, and then they were moving. walking up a narrow set of stairs, his stomach lurching when Bakugou pushed through a door and settled him onto a cool white surface, stroking his hair and pressing a glass to his lips. 

“This is going to taste fucking horrible,” he whispered, his voice strange and warped. “But you need to drink it all, okay?”

Shouto drank, gagging almost immediately at the thick salty liquid. But Bakugou kept the glass there, making him drink until his stomach was lurching from more than whatever had been in his drink and his small lunch was rapidly making its presence known on the crisp white floor. 

“Alright, and now the water, come on Shouto this will help. If someone put something in your drink the salt will have made you throw it up but now I need you to drink this for me. I’ll be right back.”

“Wait-” his voice was thin and reedy, pale hands reaching out towards Bakugo when he moved away. 

Bakugou pressed the glass back into his fingers, brushing hair from his face with a sigh. “I promise I will only be a second, Shouto.”

After a second his hands were steady enough to take the offered glass and he sipped the cold water, leaning against whatever was behind him and closing his eyes whilst his head spun. Someone had put something in his drink. Perhaps that was why he was never permitted to go to parties. 

His father would be furious with him. 

Bakugou was back before Shouto had time to think much more about how much trouble he was going to be in when his driver arrived. Back and sliding his arms again around Shouto’s waist and under his legs, lifting him easily off of the floor and carrying him through a dimly lit apartment. 

“Where-”

“No chance I’m letting you out of my sight until I know what was given to you. Kirishima is finding out which of those bastards dared to try something at one of my parties, and we can hand them over to the authorities as soon as he does because I promise you that they won’t get away. Not with red on the case. Until then, you’re going to rest and I’m going to make sure that you’re okay. Don’t worry, I’ll handle your father, too.”

Bakugou watched closely as Shouto nodded, his eyes drooping closed, head resting into his chest with a sigh. It was almost certainly some kind of suppressant that he’d been given, so that someone could whisk him out of the party and…he shook the thought away. If he let himself dwell on it there was a good chance that he would beat the culprit to death himself, just as soon as Kirishima found them. His breathing at least was even as Bakugou pulled back the covers of his guest bed and slipped Shouto into it, tucking him onto his side in case he was sick, taking his phone from his pocket and putting it on charge for when he inevitably needed it. The model was immediately asleep – or something that looked like it – and with a heavy sigh Bakugou settled himself into a chair in the corner of the room, pulling out his laptop and researching ways to break even the strongest contracts just in case Shouto wanted to return to their dressing room conversation when he woke up. 

***

When Shouto woke he was in an unfamiliar room, with soft sheets around him and the smell of coffee in the air. He sat up slowly, looking around and trying to remember where he was, and why he wasn’t at home. He was just reaching for his phone when a familiar face appeared around the door, a scowl softening into a smile when he saw that his guest was awake. 

“Thought you were going to sleep the whole damn morning away. Breakfast is ready.”

“How-”

“Someone put something in your drink last night. They’ve been turned over to your father…and I may or may not have concealed your whereabouts from him so that you could have some fucking freedom for once.”

“So,” Shoto looked around the room again. “I’m in your home?”

“In my guestroom, yes. In the apartment above my studio. Now do you want breakfast or not?”

“Yes please.”

“I’m not bringing it to you in bed. There’s a shirt on the dresser that will probably fit and a pair of clean boxers. Come out when you’re ready.”

Shouto nodded, eyes flicking to the garments that he could tell in an instant would be much too big and slightly too small at the same time, but his chest thumped when he thought about wearing Bakugou’s clothes, at being fully encased in the smell of him again. So he left his phone where it was, slipping his feet out of the bed and padding over to the dresser to change before following his nose towards the kitchen. 

“There he is,” Bakugou huffed when Shouto finally emerged, trying and failing not to stare when he saw the man wearing his clothes. The t-shirt hung off of one shoulder showing a delicate slip of collarbone, but when he turned to sit it was immediately obvious that it was a little too short, barely covering his ass at all. “I didn’t know what you usually ate,” he coughed, turning to hide the growing blush on his face, “so I just made everything.”

The table was so laden that four people could have eaten breakfast and lunch without issue. Steamed rice and porridge, miso soup and sweet smelling broth, a stack of rolled omelettes, a bowl of lightly fried tofu and another of fish, all surrounded by sliced fruit and gently steamed vegetables. There was even a pot of jasmine tea that smelled exactly like the one that Shouto brought to the studio with him for shoots. Bakugou must have been cooking for hours and everything smelled incredible. Shouto found himself far hungrier than normal despite the lack of his very favourite foods, excited by the prospect of a meal where his father wasn’t hovering over him to watch every mouthful. 

“Thank you for the meal,” he said, giving Bakugou a small bow before picking up his bowl and diving in. 

Silence stretched between them as they ate, Shouto trying a little of everything and delighting in the fact that every single dish was delicious, Bakugou watching the man across from him with a puzzled frown. A tiny bit of his formal demeanour had slipped at the presentation of a breakfast feast. He was smiling as he ate, letting his shoulders rise and his eyes crinkle when he tasted something particularly good, a strange happy wiggle in his hips that Bakugou was certain he would be scolded for if any of his usual team saw him. It was joyful, and it suited him. 

But finally the meal drew to a close, and Bakugou eased himself up to clear plates away. 

“Let me help you,” Shouto said, hurrying to stand and collect up some of the empty dishes to bring them to the kitchen. “It’s only fair as you worked so hard to cook.”

“It’s fine really.”

Cool fingers found Bakugou’s arm, stopping his movements and setting his heart to racing all over again. 

“Please let me. It’s the least I can do…after everything.”

He nodded, letting Shouto move past him to stack dishes and transfer leftovers into the tubs that Bakugou passed him. Their fingers brushed together as they worked, eyes meeting for fleeting moments before they both hurried to their next task. When Shouto bent down to load the dishwasher Bakugou had to turn entirely away to stifle a groan. He hadn’t considered what seeing Shouto wearing his clothes would do to him, and the results were getting harder to hide. . 

When the kitchen was clear the silence stretched longer, both of them not sure what to do next until finally Shouto took a brave but tentative step forwards, his eyes fixed on Bakugou’s with no attempts to hide his blush. 

“Bakugou I…Thank you. For yesterday.”

“S’nothing.”

“It isn’t.” Another step forwards, until his hands were hovering over Bakugou’s chest. “It’s a lot more than nothing.”

“Shouto-”

“Please kiss me again, Bakugou.”

Bakugou moved slowly, taking a second to get over the shock of such a bold request as he let Shouto’s hands connect with his chest, bringing one of his own up to cup his perfect face, tilting his chin just so before bringing their lips together. It was light, teasing gentle touches barely more than grazing them together. But Shouto wanted more, needed it. He ran his hands up to snake his arms around Bakugou’s neck, pulling them close together and deepening the kiss with a tiny soft moan. He parted his lips and Bakugou’s tongue darted through, licking against his teeth, his grip on Shouto’s waist firm and confident. 

In a matter of seconds all hesitation was gone. With one arm Bakugou lifted Shouto, groaning when his legs wrapped easily around his waist so that he could more easily make the few steps forwards to set him on the counter, his hands running up beneath the soft fabric of his shirt to graze against even softer skin. Shouto was clinging to him, panting and pulling him closer, his eyes filled with desperate want. 

“Bakugou-”

“Katsuki,” Bakugou whispered, running kisses down his neck, “to you it’s Katsuki, Shouto.”

“I need more,” Shouto whined, rocking his hips against Bakugou. “Please?”

“Don’t worry, pretty thing,” Bakugou grinned, pulling Shouto back into a chaste kiss. “I’ll take the best fucking care of you.”

***

Shouto didn’t think it was possible to have his world so completely changed in the matter of a half hour – but leaning against Bakugou’s chest flushed and panting, feeling the warm trickling of cum down his leg, the thrum of his heartbeat all over his body – he knew that he could never go back. Bakugou seemed just as content, humming gently, pressing kisses to the top of his head. 

“We’re going to have to clean the kitchen,” Shouto whispered, the faintest laugh in his voice. “And I think I need a shower.”

“You and me both,” Bakugou groaned, finally letting his softening dick slip from Shouto’s hole with a sigh. “There’s an ensuite in the room you slept in, or you can use the main bathroom if you want a bath.”

“A bath sounds amazing.”

Bakugou lifted him down from the counter with a slow, gentle kiss, setting him on his feet and holding him long enough to ensure that he was steady on them. 

“It’s yours as long as you want it.”

“You mean, until my father finds me,” Shouto said, a bitter twang in the words. “I wish I could hide here forever but…”

“Sho,” Bakugou fixed him with a serious stare. “Let me look into it for you. I started last night but if you’re serious I will help you. You deserve to live your life as you want. Let me call my team, see what they can find. If you have a copy of your contract I’m sure they can do something, figure out a way to get you out of it.”

“You could do that…for me?”

“That and a whole lot fucking more, if you’d have me.”

Shouto nodded, his eyes welling with tears. “I’ll send it to you now.”

Whilst Shouto settled into a long hot bubble bath Bakugou got to work, picking up the phone and calling the one person in the world who he was sure could find a way for Shouto to escape his father’s clutches. 

“Kacchan you know I don’t work on Sundays.”

“And yet you answered the phone, nerd. I need a favour.”

“How much trouble are you in?”

“None!” He paused. “Well okay maybe some. But it’s for a good fucking reason.”

He heard his lawyer sigh, and the tapping of a keyboard. “Alright, what can I do?”

He explained as quickly as he could, leaving out some of the more intimate details of the morning, but making it clear that Shouto wanted out of his contract with his father. That he needed a loophole or an exit clause, something, anything that would allow him to make his own decisions for the first time in his life.

“You want me to take on a Todoroki?” Izuku squeaked. “Are you sure? This could ruin you, Bakugou.”

“I’m real fucking sure. Can you do it?”

“Every contract has its flaws. Leave it with me, I’ll find them.”

“Thanks, Zu.”

“You owe me, Kacchan.”

“Yeah yeah, I know. Thanks, nerd.”

Shouto had let himself sink deep into the bath, eyes fluttering closed by the time that Bakugou got off the phone, smiling up at him when he leaned against the doorframe and cleared his throat to announce himself. Bakugo made a decision immediately, one that was surprisingly easy to make as he looked at how comfortable Shouto seemed to be in his space. At how surprisingly well he was dealing with having someone else in a home that he usually wouldn’t allow anyone to spend more than an hour in at any one time. 

“You could stay here,” he said, his voice less sure than usual. “If you wanted. Your father doesn’t know where you are, and whilst we look for a way to break that damn horrible contract with him I could give you a key. The guest room is yours as long as you want it, no strings or whatever. Or…” he swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. “You could join me in my room. Whatever you wanted.”

“Oh.”

“That’s not why I want to help you,” Bakugou hurried. “Nobody should be owned like a fucking dog. But, if you wanted…”

“Thank you, Katsuki.”

“Tch, whatever. S’nothing.”

“It is not nothing,” Shouto said again, shaking his head with a content sigh, beaming back up at him apparently having made his decision. “Are you going to get in here with me or not?”

***

It took several weeks for Izuku to come back to Bakugou with some answers on the contract that was, apparently, very nearly ironclad. The missing model was all over the news in that time, with the Todoroki estate offering huge rewards to anyone who could provide information on his whereabouts, but Bakugou had made sure that nobody who could talk would do so. Shouto’s team had visited just once, with Kirishima trailing behind them, and made it clear to him that they would support whatever Shouto wanted and would do their best to throw his father off in the meantime. They seemed to delight in the chance to give a middle finger to Enji Todoroki, and though he didn’t think he would ever consider the two exuberant women friends, Bakugou did like them a little more for their dedication to Shouto. 

But finally – as they lay together one morning in the afterglow of what was quickly becoming Shouto’s favourite pre-breakfast pastime – Izuku called with a solution. 

“Whoa fucking slow down Zu nobody understands you when you’re going that damn fast,” Bakugou grunted, sitting up and pulling Shouto with him. “Start again.”

“I know how we can break the terms.”

“Okay.”

“It’s actually so much simpler than I expected and I can’t believe I didn’t think about it before. We were looking in entirely the wrong place and once I worked that out I was able to look at the other clauses in the contract which led me to-”

“Izuku!”

“Right, right, sorry. In simple terms, we can force Mr Todoroki to fire Shouto.”

“We can, what?”

“The contract itself might be very solid, but there are about a hundred clauses stating what Shouto should and should not do as an employee of the Endeavour Agency, and he’s broken several of them. Enough that I think we could move for his immediate dismissal for gross misconduct.”

“You want to try to persuade Mr Todoroki to fire his own son?”

Shouto looked up at him wide eyed, confused by the one sided conversation. There was surely no way that his father would ever let him go, no matter what he’d done. Refuse to let him leave the house, sure, but free him?

“If he brings shame to the Endeavour name the directors of the board will have absolutely no choice, no matter what Mr Todoroki has to say about it.”

“So if…say…he was found fraternising with a competitor.”

“That might be a start, yes.”

“Izuku, I owe you more than one.”

“You’re coming to dinner with me and Tenya, and you’re going to pretend to enjoy it,” Izuku said, laughing down the line. “But not until after you’ve caused a scandal. The bigger the better, I’ll deal with anything reputational this end.”

“You got it. Thanks, Zu.”

He clicked off the phone and tossed it to the side, pulling Shouto into a long embrace. 

“This could make it more difficult for you in the future,” he whispered. “I don’t want to put you into a worse position than you started in.”

“Will I still be able to work with Dynamight, despite the scandal? If I can still model for you then-”

“Of course you fucking will. But I won’t stop you from doing other things that make you happy, either”

“Then I don’t think I have anything to worry about. What do we need to do?”

Bakugou had a plan formed in his mind reasonably quickly, calling some of his less savoury publicity contacts and tipping them off that there was sighting of the missing model, and they would not believe where he was. Then they hurried to get dressed, Shouto in the most revealing clothes that Mina had brought him, Bakugou in a crisp suit that would make them look all the stranger together. They ruffled Shouto’s hair and smudged his makeup, making him look as though he’d just come off of a very exciting night, and with laughs in their chests they ran hand in hand down the stairs heading for the worst end of town to make their scandalous appearance. 

It didn’t take long for the media to pick up the story. Famed model that the world feared had been kidnapped or worse seen partying, draping himself all over one Bakugou Katsuki in a manner that was in no way fitting of the Endeavour name. He even managed to swear openly at a journalist, sending Bakugou into a fit of laughter that he had to hide in his coat to keep things looking believable. 

Within three hours they were summoned to the Endeavour agency, standing face to face with the man himself. 

“Explain yourself, Bakugou.”

“I don’t have to explain a damn thing to you,” Bakugou shrugged, thrusting his hands into his pockets. “I found Shouto here looking for a good time. So I gave him one.”

“HOW DARE YOU!”

“Looks like your perfect boy isn’t quite as perfect as you thought.”

“Shouto, go to your room immediately. I will handle this-”

“Actually, Mr Todoroki. We will handle this.”

Bakugou looked past the wide shoulders and into the eyes of four equally huge, equally angry looking men, all dressed in neat crimson suits. 

“But-”

“I’m afraid it is quite clear that Shouto is no longer suitable to be a member of our agency. It will take years to rebuild his reputation – if such a thing is even possible – and considering his age, those are years that we simply do not have. Shouto, you are dismissed. Please collect any personal effects from your dressing room.”

“You can’t just-”

“We already did. Good day, Mr Todoroki. Bakugou.”

Bakugou didn’t even bother to hide his shit eating grin when Shouto walked calmly past his father towards his dressing room. 

“You will pay for this,” Todoroki growled, leaning forwards and pushing one fat finger into Bakugou’s face. “I know that you were behind all of this and I will make you-”

“Oh yeah, what are you going to do,” Bakugou asked, one eyebrow raised, not even bothering to hide his cocky smile. “It’s not my business that’s at risk. I think rescuing a model in distress might actually help my reputation. And I think I’m about to sign a very skilled new model, too.”

“You little-”

“If you want to see your son ever again,” Bakugou interrupted, his voice suddenly as cold and hard as Mr Todoroki’s. “Then you will think very carefully about what you say next. He’s coming with me, and there’s not a damn fucking thing that you can do about it.”

When Shouto returned, neatly dressed with a clean face and bright smile Bakugou offered him an arm, leading him out of the agency and back towards home without a glance back. 

He might have angered one of the most influential men in the business – might have caused a lot of problems for himself in the future – but with the muse and the love of his life on his arm, he just couldn't find it in him to care.