Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In the world of adult cinema, there were two names you couldn’t avoid.

Bakugo Katsuki—raw, explosive, a god of intensity who left viewers breathless.

And Todoroki Shoto—cold fire incarnate, a contradiction of icy restraint and slow-burning heat.

Different studios. Different styles. But always, always compared.

They'd never worked together. Not once.

Fans cried about it weekly. Reddit threads were dedicated to it. Twitter wars broke out over it.

"Who’d make who beg first?" "Who’s more versatile?" "Would the earth shatter or just the bedframe?"

For years, they ignored each other’s names like rival monarchs ruling separate kingdoms.

Bakugo called Todoroki a "walking temperature problem" once in an interview. Todoroki didn’t respond. Which pissed Bakugo off more.

It was inevitable, really, that the industry would start sniffing opportunity.

And it was only a matter of time before someone made the offer no sane man could refuse.

But that part hadn’t happened yet.

Not today.

Today, Todoroki was half-naked, tangled up with Midoriya on a plush, velvet-covered set bed beneath soft studio lighting.

One of his hands was buried in Midoriya's hair, the other splayed along his co-star’s bare back.

Their mouths moved together with the sort of intensity that made fans hit pause, rewind, and whisper, goddamn.

A breathless noise slipped from Midoriya just before a voice echoed across the studio:

"Cut. Hold that pose. We’re adjusting the side cam."

Todoroki pulled back just an inch, blinking slowly.

Midoriya flopped onto his back with a huff, wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist.

"You okay?" Todoroki asked, voice low.

Midoriya grinned, cheeks pink. "Fine. Just wasn’t expecting you to go that hard on a Wednesday."

"Director wanted heat. I delivered."

"Mm. Heated, yes. My jaw agrees."

They both laughed. Midoriya reached for a nearby bottle of water and tossed it to Todoroki, who caught it easily and twisted the cap.

"But anyway. You were telling me something earlier," Midoriya said, more softly now, gaze drifting up toward the lights above them, "are you still covering everything for your mom?"

Todoroki took a long drink before answering. "Yeah. The clinic just raised their rates again. Specialized care like that isn’t cheap."

Midoriya winced. "Shit. Can’t your family do anything? Your dad’s studio still makes a fortune, right?"

Todoroki looked at him like he’d just burped during a live shoot. "I’d rather film in a warehouse with no air conditioning than take a single yen from him."

"Right. Sorry. Stupid question."

Todoroki shrugged one shoulder. "It’s fine. I make enough money on my own, and I’m not ashamed of the work."

"You’re one of the best in the business," Midoriya said easily. "People would pay to watch you fold laundry."

"Wouldn’t pay as much."

Midoriya snorted. "You ever think about quitting?"

A pause.

Todoroki stared up at the studio lights, blinking against the brightness. "Sometimes," he admitted. "But not yet. Not until she’s okay."

Midoriya was quiet a moment. Then he bumped his shoulder against Todoroki’s. "Well, for what it’s worth, I hope someday you can. And not because you have to, but because you want to."

Todoroki glanced over, lips twitching. "Thanks."

"Also," Midoriya added, grinning again, "that last kiss? Gonna haunt me. I almost believed that you really liked me."

"You were moaning like we were actually alone."

Midoriya laughed again, tossing a pillow at him. "Shut up. You started it."

From somewhere off-camera, Aizawa sighed. "I can still hear you two."

Todoroki and Midoriya smirked in tandem, eyes meeting, the ease between them palpable.

Professionals. Friends. Teammates in an industry that asked for skin but never offered softness back.

And neither of them knew that halfway across town, Bakugo Katsuki was just finishing up his own scene.

*

"Cut! That’s a wrap on scene three. Good work, everyone."

Bakugo exhaled like he’d just bench-pressed a small car. He flopped backwards onto the bed, chest still heaving, muscles slick with sweat.

Beside him, Kaminari wheezed out a laugh. "Bro. You looked like you were trying to melt the camera."

"That’s the job, right?" Bakugo said, breathless but grinning.

"You scared the boom guy. He nearly dropped his mic."

Bakugo barked a short laugh, letting it melt into a groan as he stretched his arms overhead.

Kaminari rolled off the bed and shuffled toward a nearby table stacked with wet wipes and bottled water. "No lie, that was great. You crushed it."

"You too," Bakugo muttered, sitting up to grab a wipe of his own.

Kaminari tossed him a fresh robe. "So what’s on your schedule now? Hot date? Wild party? The usual post-shoot champagne orgy?"

"Nah. Just heading home. Gonna make dinner."

"Kugo. My dude. You always say that. Come out tonight. Just once. It’s a little thing with some friends, nothing insane. I was only joking about the orgy."

Bakugo gave him a look. "I don’t do little things. Or insane ones."

Kaminari slung on his robe and pointed dramatically. "One day, I’m gonna get you to join us. You can’t just keep living off takeout and protein powder. You deserve some joy, you know."

"I got joy," Bakugo said, toweling off his hair. "I’ve got me. That’s all I need."

Kaminari gave him the world’s most theatrical sigh. "Tragic."

Bakugo flipped him off fondly, already walking toward the dressing room.

The hallway outside was buzzing with post-shoot activity, crew members shuffling equipment, someone yelling about lost lighting gels.

Just as he turned the corner, a deep voice stopped him in his tracks.

"Bakugo. Got a minute?"

Bakugo turned, shoulders tightening.

Todoroki Enji —legendary director, industry powerhouse, and the reason Bakugo was famous in the first place—was waiting outside his office. His arms were crossed, eyes sharp even behind the fine lines of age and stress.

“Got something for you,” Enji said, stepping back to gesture inside.

Bakugo followed with a muttered, “Yeah, alright.”

Enji’s office was stark and cold, like a very expensive interrogation room. Awards lined the shelves.

A single framed photo of three kids sat on the desk, facing away.

Bakugo didn’t bother to sit.

Enji handed him a folder. “New project. Special request. High-profile.”

Bakugo flipped it open.

His jaw went tight.

Staring back at him—on page two, under “co-star details”—was a high-res press photo of Todoroki Shoto.

Too good-looking, too well-mannered, and exactly the kind of guy Bakugo hated on principle.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he muttered.

Enji didn’t blink. “It’s a crossover collab. Big money. Full creative team. Three episodes minimum. Contract’s generous.”

Bakugo stared at the image for a beat longer.

Todoroki’s face looked carved from marble and touched by Photoshop.

Perfect. Blank. Like nothing ever fazed him.

Like the whole industry was a chore he barely tolerated.

God, he hated that.

“He even agree to this?” Bakugo asked.

“He will,” Enji said flatly. “We’re working on it.”

Bakugo shut the folder with a snap. “I’m not doing it.”

“You are,” Enji replied. “Or you’re walking away from the biggest paycheck of your career. And a chance to prove you’re still number one.”

Bakugo paused at the door.

He didn’t turn around when he said, “I don’t need to prove that to anyone.”

But he didn’t hand the folder back, either.

***

Chapter Text

The next day, Todoroki found himself in another scene.

Todoroki didn’t blink as Sero shoved him against the side of the vanity, hands in his hair, breath hot against his mouth.

They moved in sync—practiced, paced, rhythmic.

Todoroki’s shirt hit the ground. Sero’s followed.

They kissed like they meant it, lips clashing, shoulders rolling.

The lighting was perfect, the camera panning in, the heat building like a slow burn—

THUMP.

Sero’s foot snagged on something on the floor and the whole illusion shattered.

He yelped as his balance disappeared and he went down fast, smacking the floor with an awkward thud that echoed off the set walls.

“Cut!” Aizawa shouted from somewhere behind the camera, sounding like he aged five years in one word. “Reset positions. Sero, watch your step.”

Todoroki winced and dropped to one knee beside Sero. “Are you okay?”

Sero blinked up at him from the floor, face caught between pain and laughter. “I think I crushed my dignity.”

Todoroki looked down. “You tripped on my shoe. I shouldn't have tossed it there.”

Sero glanced over, saw the offending sneaker in the middle of the set rug, and burst out laughing. “Of course I did. My eyes were a little distracted, you know.”

Todoroki stood up and offered him a hand. “Sorry. That was me. I’ll fix it before the next shot.”

“Apology accepted, sweetheart,” Sero said dramatically, letting himself be pulled upright. He leaned against the vanity, still chuckling. “Damn, and we were just getting to the good part.”

“Still a few hours left in the day,” Todoroki replied with a shrug, handing Sero a bottle of water from the off-set table.

Sero cracked it open, took a long swig, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Hey—before I forget. You get that contract offer from the other agency?”

Todoroki tensed, the motion subtle. “Doesn’t matter. I’m not doing it.”

Sero raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“It’s my father’s agency,” Todoroki said simply, adjusting the waistband of his briefs. “I’m not interested.”

Sero pulled a face. “Okay, yeah, fair. But… it’s Bakugo.”

“And?”

“And it’s Bakugo,” Sero repeated. “The guy’s basically a legend. Top of the rankings, highest engagement rate in the industry, most requested partner across all demographics—hell, the fans are still frothing over that last scene he did with Kaminari.”

Todoroki didn’t look impressed. “I’ve never seen any of his work.”

“You’re the only one,” Sero muttered under his breath. “Listen, I get it, you’ve got your pride, and your weird family politics. But you should think about it.”

Todoroki glanced over at him.

Sero shrugged. “I’m just saying… Getting asked to do a scene with him is a huge compliment. You don’t throw that away unless you’ve got a damn good reason.”

Todoroki went quiet.

A crew member passed behind them adjusting the lighting. The set was buzzing again, people moving around like bees in a hive.

Finally, Todoroki said, “The money would be nice.”

Sero nodded. “Yeah.”

“My mom’s hospital just raised her monthly fees again.”

“Damn.”

“And my air conditioner broke last week.”

“Now that’s a tragedy.”

Todoroki cracked the barest smile. “You just want me to say yes so you can brag about knowing me before I was stupidly famous.”

“Exactly,” Sero said brightly. “I want to ride your coattails all the way to award season. Let me have this.”

Todoroki sighed, just as Aizawa called out, “Back to one, people. Reset the top of the scene.”

Sero smirked. “Think about it, man.”

Todoroki moved into position again, facing him with that signature unreadable expression.

“I will,” he said softly, just loud enough for Sero to hear.

The camera started rolling again.

And Todoroki leaned in—blank-faced, calculated, mechanical.

But for just a split second… there was something else in his eyes.

Not attraction. Not even curiosity.

Just the look of a man already preparing for a fight.

*

The inside of Bakugo’s beat-up black SUV smelled like clean leather, sweat, and regretfully ordered fast food.

Kirishima sat in the passenger seat with the window cracked, sipping something violently neon through a straw.

Kaminari lounged in the backseat, one foot on the center console, scrolling through his phone with the wicked grin of someone about to make very poor decisions.

The drive-thru line hadn’t moved in three minutes. Tension was building.

Bakugo tapped the steering wheel with the side of his thumb like it owed him money.

“This place always takes forever,” Kirishima muttered. “Hope it’s not the dude who forgets our orders.”

“Hope they remember my extra sauce,” Kaminari said. “Last time I asked for spicy mayo and they gave me some sad little packet of lies.”

“Tell your therapist,” Bakugo grunted.

Kaminari ignored him. “Hey, speaking of spicy…”

Bakugo didn’t like the tone of that sentence one bit. “No.”

“C’mon, you gotta look at this,” Kaminari said, flipping his phone around between the front seats like it was Excalibur.

Bakugo glanced—then squinted. “Is that him? Todoroki?”

“Shoto,” Kaminari corrected, grinning. “From that old shoot with Sero. This one broke the internet for, like, a week.”

On screen, Todoroki was sprawled across a velvet couch, shirt halfway off, neck flushed and lips parted.

Sero hovered above him, hand curled around Todoroki’s hip, and Todoroki’s eyes were smoldering. Not fake-hot. Not acting. Smoldering.

Bakugo’s jaw ticked. “You’re watching porn. In my car.”

Kirishima laughed into his drink. “He’s doing research.”

“For what? Mutual destruction?”

“Just trying to help you make an informed decision,” Kaminari said innocently. “Ooh—hang on, let me pull up the one with Midoriya. That one’s got serious romantic tension. Like, ‘oh no we shouldn’t but we must’ vibes.”

Bakugo didn’t look away in time.

Midoriya was above Todoroki this time, one hand braced against the bed, the other sliding under Todoroki’s thigh. Their mouths met like it hurt.

Todoroki moaned, low and desperate.

The sound hit Bakugo straight in the sternum. “Off,” he barked.

“Okay, okay,” Kaminari said, but he was smirking like he’d already won something. “Didn’t even show you the one with Shima yet.”

Bakugo shot Kirishima a look. “Seriously?”

“It was years ago, before I got into Enji's studio.” Kirishima shrugged, cheeks pink. “Hey, it was a good scene. Real respectful. We even got nominated for a fan-voted category—‘Best Use of Wall-Mounted Harness.’”

“I’m kicking both of you out of this car,” Bakugo muttered, but he didn’t actually unlock the doors.

Kaminari leaned forward again, nudging Bakugo’s shoulder. “You’re telling me you don’t wanna tap that? Not even a little?”

Bakugo’s mouth twisted. He stared ahead at the unmoving line of cars. “He’s hot. I’ll give you that.”

“Hot?” Kirishima scoffed. “Dude’s a chameleon. He can do sweet, rough, submissive, dominant—whatever the director needs. And he still looks like a damn model doing it.”

“Yeah,” Kaminari added. “Plus, the internet ships you two already. Have you seen the fan art?”

“I don’t look at fan art.”

“You’re in so much fan art,” Kirishima laughed. “It’s weirdly wholesome.”

Bakugo exhaled hard through his nose and tapped the steering wheel again, eyes fixed on nothing.

Todoroki’s face lingered in his mind.

Flushed. Focused. Hair falling across his forehead.

Hands loose but precise. Lips parted like he was in prayer and sin at the same time.

Bakugo shook the image off like water. “I’m not signing that contract.”

Kaminari tilted his head. “Even for the challenge?”

“I don’t need a challenge. I’m already the best.”

Kirishima sighed. “You’re the best, man. But maybe you’d like it. Y’know, someone different. Someone that actually pushes your limits.”

Bakugo didn’t answer.

The line moved up one car.

The sound of Todoroki’s voice echoed in his skull like a whisper through smoke.

“Harder,” it had said. “Just like that.”

Bakugo’s hand clenched tighter on the wheel.

Kaminari leaned back with a satisfied hum. “We’re just saying… Might be fun to play with fire.”

“Yeah... Maybe you're right.”

*

A few hours later, Todoroki stood in the center of Enji’s office, arms crossed and jaw clenched like he was resisting the urge to punch drywall.

He wasn’t sure what pissed him off more—being summoned here like some unpaid intern, or the fact that he’d actually shown up.

Aizawa had asked him to grab a few camera rigs Enji had agreed to sell the studio. Fine. He’d play delivery boy.

But then—of course—he’d ended up trapped in a verbal chokehold instead.

“I don't want to comment on my son's sex life, but... From a business standpoint? You’re wasting your potential,” Enji said, seated behind his desk like a king giving judgment. “It’s a high-profile crossover. Do you have any idea what this project is worth?”

Todoroki didn’t blink. “You’re asking me to film with someone I don’t know, under a contract I didn’t ask for, in a building I don’t want to be in. I think I’ve got the math covered.”

Enji’s eye twitched. “Money,” he said, like it was a spell. “A lot of it. Name your number. We’ll meet it.”

Todoroki’s arms tightened. “I’m not for sale.”

Before Enji could retort, the door opened behind Todoroki.

“Yo.” A low voice, rough and half-bored. “You said you wanted to—”

Bakugo Katsuki stepped into the room, half-dressed in sweats and a hoodie, hair damp like he’d just finished a shoot or a shower—or both.

He paused instantly, eyes locking on Todoroki like he’d walked in on a tiger.

Todoroki stared back.

There was silence.

Then Enji, smug as a cat with a bird in its teeth, slid a crisp folder across the desk toward Bakugo. “Your agent renegotiated.”

Bakugo didn’t look away from Todoroki as he reached for it.

Then he did.

And whistled low. “You’ve gotta be shitting me.”

The dollar amount staring back at him looked like a bank account glitch. Like someone typed an extra zero and no one corrected it.

Bakugo glanced at Enji. “You’re serious?”

Enji nodded. “That’s just the base. Residuals and streaming rights not included.”

Bakugo ran a hand through his hair. “Damn.” Then he turned to Todoroki. “Can we talk?”

Enji looked between them and, mercifully, did not hover. “Fine. I’ll be back in five.”

As soon as the door closed behind him, Todoroki exhaled hard and said, “He lured me here.”

Bakugo smirked. “Yeah. Me too. Old bastard’s getting sneakier.”

Todoroki raised a brow. “So, what—he baited both of us and now he’s hoping we’ll sign just to avoid having to come back?”

“Wouldn’t be the worst strategy,” Bakugo muttered.

Todoroki turned toward the equipment crates near the wall. “I’m not doing it.”

Bakugo stepped closer. “You should.”

“No.”

“You really should.”

Todoroki faced him, voice calm. “I don’t want to work for my father’s agency. And I don’t want to work with you.”

“Cool,” Bakugo said, folding his arms. “I don’t give a shit.”

Todoroki blinked, unimpressed.

Bakugo continued. “This video would blow up. Fans already lose their minds when we’re even in the same building. We do a series together? That’s awards, headlines, streaming bonuses...”

“I don’t care about awards.”

“Then care about money. Or your studio. Or your damn fans, if you have any.”

Todoroki stepped toward him. “You don’t know anything about me.”

Bakugo’s mouth tilted up. “Not yet. But I'd like to.”

A slow, dangerous pause.

Todoroki’s eyes narrowed. “Are you flirting with me?”

Bakugo took one step closer—close enough that Todoroki could feel the heat radiating off him like a furnace turned just shy of dangerous. “I’m giving you an opportunity.”

“Is that what you call it when you breathe down someone’s neck like a wolf in heat?”

“Don’t pretend you’re not curious.”

Todoroki’s lips barely twitched. “I’ve seen enough.”

Bakugo smirked, cocky and smug. “Liar. You’d let me ruin you if I asked nicely.”

Todoroki tilted his head. “So this is your plan? Seduce me into signing?”

“If I wanted to seduce you, you’d already be on the desk.”

“In my father's office though? Don't you have any respect?”

Bakugo looked around, like he’d only just remembered where they were. “Yeah. Okay. Gross.” He stepped back a little, then tilted his head, considering. “Still… Seems like it’s working.”

Todoroki opened his mouth to fire back something dry and final—but Bakugo moved.

Not rushed. Not aggressive. Just… deliberate.

Bakugo closed the space between them in two quiet steps, his voice dropping low and lazy.

“You know how good this would be,” he murmured, fingertips brushing the fabric at Todoroki’s shoulder, just enough to register heat. “Two of the biggest names in the business. Top billing. All eyes on us.”

Todoroki stood very, very still.

Bakugo’s hand slid down slowly, landing light on his arm like an afterthought. “People already fantasize about it. We’d just be giving them what they want.”

His fingers lingered.

His breath was close.

Todoroki turned his head slightly—and their faces ended up inches apart.

Their eyes met. 

And for one precarious second, everything narrowed down to this: the shared breath, the tension humming between their mouths, the parting of Todoroki’s lips like he was about to say something—or do something—

Bakugo leaned in.

Closer.

Closer.

And then—

Todoroki pulled back.

Not fast. Not harsh.

Just enough to kill the spark.

Todoroki exhaled, eyes unreadable. “I’ll think about it.”

Bakugo’s expression didn’t change. But the twitch in his jaw said plenty.

Todoroki turned toward the equipment crates again like nothing had happened, like his skin wasn’t still buzzing where Bakugo touched him.

“Tell Enji he can stop trying to corner me. If I say yes, it’ll be on my terms.” Todoroki muttered.

Bakugo watched him for a moment longer. Something sharp flickered in his eyes—want, irritation, maybe both.

Then he gave a crooked smile.

Impressed.

Irritated.

“Can’t wait to see what your terms look like, pretty boy.”

***