#Im trying to go the asking for internship route to maybe finally get into a career path I wanted to try since uni

[raksh-writes]

Oof, the job hunting anxiety is real. I've barely resigned from my current job (first time for me, already stressful enough with the doubts and all) and now gotta start job hunting again for just the second time in my life and Im Stressed out of my mind, can barely focus and it's so damn counter productive 😩 Anyone has any tips? I know it'd probably be best to just-- suck it up and send those emails and applications and whatnot, but maybe there's something beside that? 🙈 Sending those out is about as stressing as the possible response and dealing with it all and my anxiety is having such a field trip with it, OOF

[for-ests]

Hey, not sure if you do smut but I think this request can work without a lot if you’d prefer😁 reader’s an art student and needs to sculpt a full body nude sculpture and Tom offers but gets a bit cheeky

thanks for the request dear! this was fun to write :-) i literally know nothing about art so if I get something wrong just ignore! i hope you enjoy!! i went a diff +route but I still think it fits! [ mlist ] 

Word count: 3, 273

Warnings: slight nsfw,, nudity 

Pairing: Tom Holland x art student reader!

“The issue is… I have no idea who to ask.” You sighed deeply, embarrassment washing over you as you talked to your best friends about your upcoming project. 

Everyone knew you were a talented sculptor. That wasn’t the issue. The issue was that your professional sculpting internship at (your school) was currently learning about Ancient Greece. One of the requirements to pass the semester was to recreate a modern sculpture of someone you knew, and to make it as realistic as possible. Nakedness and all, which was a huge distinction of Greek statues.

There was a big problem though. You were incredibly shy, and you didn’t know who to ask to model for you.

Nudging you with a laugh, your friend flashed you a mischievous smile. “You know a lot of cute guys, why don’t you ask one of them?”

“Cute guys?” You scrunched your nose. “I know like three guys and I would cry if I had to see them naked.”

She sighed. “Fair. Does it have to be a guy?”

*-You nodded regretfully. “It has to be the opposite sex. It’s annoying but I u

erstand why. It’s important to be familiar with both sexes.”

Your best friend air quoted ‘familiar’ with a ridiculous smirk.

“Shut up.” You huffed, trying not to laugh at how dramatic she had become.

“I think I know a guy, he’s an aspiring actor and model.” Your best friend added casually.

Groaning, you shot her a glare. “Why didn’t you say that right away?”

She shrugged. “I like listening to you talk about your art.”

Her compliment almost worked, but you already knew that was partly the reason she was teasing you so hard. The other reason was because she had been trying to set you up with multiple friends for months. According to her, you had been single for far too long.

Her offer made you ponder deeper about your situation. You were slightly awkward when it came to getting to know someone, but you couldn’t imagine asking someone to strip right away so you could sculpt every curve your eyes grazed over. Whoever it ended up being had to be incredibly confident. Shallow yes, but that’s why you were hoping to find someone insanely attractive. Attractive people were usually confident, and responsibly so. “Maybe a stranger would be worse than someone I know.”

Snorting through her nose, your best friend stared at you like you were crazy. “Definitely not. If it’s awkward you never have to see him again. And if it’s not, well you can get cozy with a cutie.”

Taking a deep breath, you rolled your eyes. “I hate you sometimes.” You mumbled under your breath. You knew she was right, but you would never inflate her already enormous ego like that.

“You love me.” She sang sweetly.

“I do, now give him my number and tell him it’s of the utmost importance.”

❀∙∘✿∘∙❀

Days later, that conversation was on your mind as you nervously organized your sculpting tools. Trying to relieve some tension, you slapped a pound of clay against the table, and it echoed throughout the workshop.

Reality was the fact that this so called model boy was on his way to your studio. His name was Tom, and from the pictures you saw–he was incredibly handsome.

You couldn’t believe you had agreed to this, but alas, you needed this experience to pass your class. You just hoped and prayed that Tom was a lot more outgoing than you, and could keep the conversation flowing as you stared intently as his erect… penis.

Your cheeks flared up at the thought. How the hell were you going to do this?

Y/N: help (Y/B/F/N) I cant do this!!! im freaking out

Y/B/F: is he even there yet? lmfao

Y/N: noooooo :((

Y/B/F: if it makes you feel any better, he’s excited and thinks ur pretty

Y/N: why didn’t you tell me that before??!

Y/B/F: do u feel better now tho?

Y/N: no

Y/B/F: ik ur smiling ;) u aint slick

Giggling like a schoolgirl to relieve some of your anxiety, you set your cell phone on the table. Truthfully, your best friend had made you feel better. If anything bad happened, it would surely be a wonderful story to tell everyone in the future.

Your eyes naturally glanced across the room to the clock on the wall. 7:00pm. Tom would be here any minute as scheduled.

You took a deep breath and studied your surroundings. All your tools were in place, and the entire studio was tidied up as if you hadn’t worked the space in weeks. Next, you walked to the wall and glanced at your reflection in the mirror.

With your hair in a bun and your shabby working clothes, you looked suitable at best. You did have a little bit of makeup on to help yourself feel more confident. If you felt good, you could make your client feel good in return.

At least it looked like you didn’t try too hard. You didn’t want this man to get the wrong idea.

Then, snapping you out of your trance, there was a knock on the door.

You straightened out your shirt one last time, and tucked your baby hairs back behind your ears. Scoffing immediately after, you shook your head. Why were you trying to look cute? Who cares!

You rushed to grab the front door, afraid that you were making him wait too long. You flung it open, eyes locking with his right away.

You froze.

He was even more dashing in person.

“Judging by your cute outfit, I think I’m at the right place. Y/N right?”

And a British accent?

“Y-yes!” You flashed a smile to mask your obvious hesitation. You could easily play it off by opening the door and keeping your gaze averted. You were the master of smoothness.

“Thank you for coming, it’s about time I got this project done…” You tittered, locking the door behind him for privacy purposes. “You can set your things on the couch over there.” You pointed, eyes meeting his again when he glanced to the couch and then back to you.

“Awesome.” He nodded, holding your gaze for a moment longer than necessary.

“Do you want anything to eat or drink?” You offered, nodding your head back to the small kitchen in the back of the studio. You wished the studio apartment was yours alone, but you shared it with multiple other college students in your program.

“Water… or beer if you have any?”

You threw your head back in laughter, causing Tom to smile at your genuine reaction.

“Yeah, I can get you one.”

“In the meantime, should I just strip?” He smirked, not trying to be sly with his flirtations. Though your cheeks were dusting with pink, you were able to match his energy. Your best friend definitely set you up with someone she knew you’d like.

“Do whatever you want, love.” You mimicked his British accent. “You’re the guest after all.”

Walking past him, you gave him one last look when he was fully-clothed. Tom was certainly the player type, practically the perfect embodiment of the muse you had in mind. This wouldn’t be awkward for you, and it would be even better for him. Men like him thrived off of cheeky discomfort in their female counterparts.

Yet, truthfully, you were enjoying it as well. It felt nice to be complimented so soon into an introduction.

As you cracked open a can of beer for Tom and yourself, you could hear him shuffling around with his items. The sound of his buckle falling against the floor made you suddenly nervous to turn around.

Inhaling sharply, and gulping down a few more sips of beer, you finally gained the courage to walk back to the studio setup, where Tom had already wandered over to, completely naked.

“You seem to be in your element.” You noted, trying to keep your eyes leveled with his. Now that you were thinking about it, remaining calm and professional was excruciating in front of such an attractive man. And it certainly wasn’t helping that he was enjoying your embarrassment.

And least this was exciting.

Thanking you, Tom took the beer and pressed his lips against the cold aluminum. “I would definitely feel a lot more comfortable if you were naked too, darling.”

“Hey now,” You nose scrunched in a form of mock distaste. The man caught on immediately, holding your gaze with a sort of amusement that was masking desire. “I might think about it if you sit nice and pretty for me for more than five minutes so I can sketch you.”

“Your wish is my command.”

Shaking your head in disbelief, you walked over to your crafting desk. You decided you were going to start with the hardest part, the part which your grade depended heavily on- from the waist down.

But first, you quickly sketched Tom posing in multiple poses until you were satisfied with one. You had him mimic a sculpture you couldn’t recall, where one hand was pointed forward and the other was rested casually on his hip.

“Can I see what one you want to do?” He asked curiously from the stand you had him propped up on for a better view.

“Sure.” You flashed him your finished sketch. The lines darted all over the page, making it hard for him to picture what was going on in your head. The picture you had drawn would not make sense to anyone else but the artist. But apparently you were talented, so he would trust the process.

You were also trusting the process. The situation you were in could only be awkward if you allowed it to be. And so far it was moving along smoothly. You had your favorite music playing softly in the background to fill the silence, and Tom seemed to be relaxed and unbothered by how quietly you worked.

“That’s cool.” Tom whispered, his eyes narrowing in confusion.

Giggling from his sudden proximity, you tried to tease him. “It’s fine to not understand it.”

“I definitely don’t know what’s going on but it’s still interesting.” He admitted.

You set the paper back down on the table, and decided to attempt and sculpt the base. Moving past a still naked Tom, you tried to immerse yourself in your work, or at least make it seem like you were focused. “This takes hours you know, weeks and months- it won’t make sense for a long time.”

“Perfect.” He grinned. “I’ll get plenty of time to know you better.”

Laughing through your nose, you kept your attention on the clay you had dropped on the floor. “You can put your clothes back on.”

“Oh!” He chuckled. “Yeah.”

As you carefully trimmed the base clay with a heavy frame, you lifted your head to find Tom slipping a robe back on. He definitely came prepared. Had he done this before?

“Come here.” You gestured. “I need you to set your feet down on the clay.”

“I didn’t think this would get dirty so fast.”

“Shut up.” You huffed, grabbing his foot and pressing it down hard until the clay took shape to the size.

“Cold.” Tom commented in discomfort.

“I know.” You released your grip on his calf, looking up at him with a sheepish smile. “All part of the process, but good news for you- you’re done for the night.”

“Really?” Tom raised his eyebrows. “That’s it?”

You nodded, standing back up to normal height. “I’m experienced enough to sculpt the feet and legs tonight.”

“When should I come back?” He sounded a tad too eager, but it caused your smile to reappear.

“Tomorrow night if you’re available.”

“And maybe next time you can bring your own alcohol?” You gestured to the multiple beer cans poking out of the recycling bin.

The man flashed you a smile. “Sounds like a date.”

“It’s definitely not.”

Despite your rejection to his amusing advances, Tom’s expressions and mannerisms remained hopeful. Was it possible he was truly enjoying himself?

“I’ll leave my robe here. I’ll see you tomorrow at the same time?”

“Same time.” You confirmed, nodding him off. It was about time you started to really focus. Attractive man or not, you always got the most and best work done alone.

Because after the first night, the dynamics between you and Tom changed. He became incredibly invested in your process, asking you questions left and right, asking if there was any way he could help, and practically just lounging next to you hours after he would have been free to go.

“What do your sculptures usually look like?”

“Since this isn’t my own studio, I don’t have any of my pieces here. But I can show you a picture when I get my hands wiped off.”

“What do you build your sculptures with? It’s hard to imagine that a replica of me can come out of that much clay.”

“My sculptures are built with water-based clay and are fired in a gas kiln to cone 4, about 2150 degrees Fahrenheit… “ You nodded towards the back wall that had an installed kiln for you and everyone to share. “Trust me, there will be a lot more clay. Hundreds of pounds worth.”

“Can I help?”

“No.”

There was no lying that you enjoyed his presence. Whether he was talking your ear off or napping to the peaceful beat of your jazz music, there was never a dull moment when Tom was in your studio.

Weeks passed, and so did the process. Your sculpture of Tom had progressed to week three, and that’s when you started to grow nervous. When you finished, which you were almost done, would you ever see him again?

You had barreled through the awkwardness of replicating his genitals and chiseling his six pack perfectly into the hardening clay- but you still felt like something was missing. You knew even when you finished chiseling away his jaw line and chocolate brown eyes, there would still be something missing. Him. His presence.

Maybe it would have been better if you partnered up with a man that had zero personality.

Since it was just you and Tom for hours on end, your conversations gradually grew deeper, they stretched into new lengths, so much so that you eventually felt like you had known him for years.

When Tom claimed he wasn’t looking for a relationship, you felt your heart fall. That’s when you realized you were developing stronger feelings for your model. You hardly had time to think about trivial things like that, but you couldn’t deny your disappointment.

And you were sure he saw the brief tears glossing over your eyes when you turned away. Yet, he didn’t make light of it.

That’s when you knew it was useless.

It seemed useless until the sixth week, when you finally finished the head. You were too afraid to attach it. Tom had spent the last couple hours with you in the studio. His legs kicked back and occasional whistles streaming from his lips. He had practically memorized your playlist to the extent you had.

“Tom.” You called. “Your face is done.”

He cheered excitedly, pushing himself off the sofa and racing towards you. Tom had learned to give you your space while you worked, but in moments where you summoned him, he barely stood inches from you. The man would constantly touch you in ways you couldn’t deny sent shivers down your spine.

Like he did as he rounded the tabletop, planting himself by your side and placing his hand on the low of your back. As if it was natural.

“Wow,” He breathed. “Y/N,” Your name upon his lips sounded as blissful as the music. “It’s.. it’s wonderful. It looks just like me... wow that’s scary.”

“I’m happy you like it.” You bit your lip, wishing you felt more satisfied with your project. You wanted to impress him, but you didn’t want him to go.

“All I have to do is attach the head, and fire it up in the furnace one more time. Then it should be good to go.”

You moved to do so, wanting to remove yourself from his grip. It hurt your heart to know the bond you had formed with him would come to an end. Why did you even let yourself get to this point? Was it because he was good at flirting?

“Wait-” His sentence faltered when you whipped around to face him- looking somewhat hopeful.

“What?”

Tom paused, his throat tightening with the words he never thought he would admit. But he couldn’t leave tonight with at least trying. He needed to know how you felt. Because he could either leave with you in his arms, or he could leave never having to see you again.

He had been thinking of confessing to you for days now, but now that the time came, his mind was blank. “You really are beautiful, you know that right?”

“Why do you feel the need to flatter me?” You blurted, still unable to decipher the truth behind his words. You didn’t know how to accept such a compliment. Tom had claimed you were beautiful before, but this time it felt different.

His eyes spoke volumes. The beauty his eyes held was something you would never be able to replicate in a statue. It was a sight you found yourself never growing sick of.

Averting your eyes, you tried to move again. Yet this time, Tom gripped onto both of your arms.

“Look at me.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“I won’t let you play me.”

“I was never playing you, darling.” The tenderheartedness intertwined with his words caused you to slowly turn your head back. Your lip quivered, and suddenly you felt like a schoolgirl all over again. You felt childish and unprepared for the intensity of your emotions.

“I don’t want to leave tonight without knowing if you feel the same.”

You blinked, hand reaching out to grip onto his. “And that is?” 

“I don’t know if it’s love, but it could be.” 

“That’s all I needed to hear.” You said, incredibly softly. 

Tom released your arms. And before either of you could process what to do next, your lips interlocked. 

You gripped onto him tightly, balling his white t shirt into a fist to keep him from leaving your side again. 

“Tom-” You breathed. 

The kiss you shared was laced with a fervent need, one that you had never experienced before, and one that you craved again and again. 

After the passion you felt, the skin prickling desire, there would be no turning back. 

“Fuck, you’re everything”’ He mumbled against your lips. 

You pulled back slightly to gaze at his expression. He had looked so afraid before, but now he was smiling from ear to ear. Much like he did the day he arrived with a teasing attitude, ready to get under your skin and provide entertainment. 

“How long have you felt like this?” 

“Since the first day.” He kissed you again, his hands cupping your cheeks. 

You whimpered against his muscular frame, trying to ignore the fluttering in your core, fluttering that begged and craved for more. 

“How did you wait so long?” 

“I wanted you to finish.” 

You chuckled, cheesing at his straightforward, simple reply. 

You were positive from that moment moving on, that Tom was not what you had thought at first glance. This entire time he had put you and your project first, letting his own desires sit and warm on the back-burner. That was something you would hold close to your heart, something you would cherish. 

He cared for you in the same way you cared for him. 

“Stay with me tonight, Tom.” 

“I would love nothing more.” 

[wigglywormy]

fair victory [bakugou/deku, 1.7k]

ahhhh i know i haven’t psoted anything in 10 thousand years, for which im sorry lol, but anyways! this is my squealing santa fic for @heartsywritesthethings !!!

their bnha prompt was ‘bakugou getting wrecked by another classmate’, and since i haven’t written any bakudeku for this blog yet, i went with deku as the ler 8)

merry christmas! i hope to open up prompts again soon so i can start posting more consistently on this blog again xoxo

--

Bakugou admits that UA has a really damn nice gym, and he intends to get a good use out of it before he graduates in the next few months. As a third year, he doesn’t have as much time to train and exercise like he used to, because his current internship and all of his finals before graduation really keep him occupied.

He finds that working out at night tends to be the only time he gets to utilize the gym, so it becomes a sort of routine for him. Wake up, go to class for half a day, take a bus over to the city to patrol and help Best Jeanist with paperwork (and occasionally - more often than not, now that he’s a third year - go on investigations and actually partake in beating the shit out of some local villains), then he comes back to the dorms, has dinner, maybe hangs out begrudgingly with his friends for a bit, then treks down to the gym below the first floor of the dorms for an intense work out.

It’s an exhausting schedule, but he doesn’t mind it too much.

What he isn’t expecting is for Deku to weasel his way into his routine, almost like he belongs there.

Their patrol routes cross streets, and after the first couple times of nodding amicably, that start actually chatting (because Bakugou’s fucking eighteen now, he has no reason to be a petty bitch to Deku anymore. Some might even say they’re friends now, though Bakugou still cringes at that word.)

Then, Deku starts hanging out with him when Uraraka or Iida were busy. And eventually, he starts following Bakugou to the gym for his nightly workout.

“I’ll spot you!” Deku says as he bounds after Bakugou, gym bag slung over his shoulder. “And then you can spot me? It’s unsafe to lift weights alone, y’know.”

“I haven’t hurt myself yet,” Bakugou grumbles, but holds open the door so Deku and his over sized gym bag can clamber in.

“Yeah, yet,” Deku rolls his eyes, and damn, the kid’s gotten fucking sassy after their second year. Bakugou’s reasonably impressed, to be frank. He blames it on all the time he hangs out with fucking Todoroki.

“Watch your mouth, you shit,” Bakugou snorts, arching his back and doing a few warm up stretches.

“Or what?” Deku shoots back, tossing his bag onto the floor and pulling an arm across his chest as he follows suit in stretching.

“I’ll kick your ass, that’s what,” Bakugou narrows his eyes, and when his gaze locks with Deku’s, he doesn’t spot any fear, not like there used to be. Now he merely sees an inviting glint of… excitement? Of a fucking challenge?

“Bet I could kick your ass now, Kacchan,” Deku says breezily, and he not-so-subtly flexes a bicep. Bakugou’s eyes zap to the defined muscle, and he desperately tries to ignore the way his stomach tightens up at the site. The fuckin’ nerd is right - he has gotten buff as hell the past three years. It’s impressive, and sickeningly attractive, and all sorts of other things that Bakugou does not want to address now, or any time in the future thank you very fucking much.

“Wanna eat those words, you fuck?” Bakugou hisses as a distraction to himself, mostly.

“Alright,” Deku rolls his eyes, walking to the center of the gym area where a large padded mat is laid on the ground. He gets into a fighting stance, and he smiles at Bakugou. “Wanna spar?”

“Do you actually have a deathwish?”

“No quirks,” Deku says, tapping his foot impatiently.

“Fuck,” Bakugou sighs, because he knows this new-and-improved Deku will just provoke him further if he says no. And yeah, sure, the excuse to kick someone’s ass always gets his blood boiling, but being in such close proximity as Deku - after realizing some things last year - isn’t exactly what he wants to do right now.

He sucks it up though, because refusal will cause even more questions than answers, so he sheds his shirt, leaving his tank on, and cracks his neck as he charges without a countdown. What? Deku’s the fucking one who started this, he doesn’t deserve a warning.

Unfortunately, Deku seems to have predicted this, and he quickly grabs one of Bakugou’s forearms and wrenches him forward, attempting to unbalance him with raw force.

Bakugou growls, because these are all moves that he knows for a fact Deku has learned from watching him fight. He manages to get a good shove in, his palm flat against Deku’s broad chest, but the next thing he knows, Deku’s on the ground, sliding behind him and elbowing the back of his knees until he buckles and falls.

“That was a dirty fuckin’ move,” Bakugou manages, impressed, as he rolls away, but Deku grabs his ankle and tugs him back, getting him face down on the mat with his wrists pinned against his lower back behind him.

“Shit,” Bakugou hisses, thrashing and trying to dislodge Deku, who’s now straddling him as he uses his weight to pin Bakugou down. “Get - off.”

“Do you surrender?” Deku says, and Bakugou can hear the smug grin in his voice.

“Fuck no.”

“Kacchan, c’mon,” Deku laughs, tightening his hold on Bakugou’s wrists. He leans down a bit, and Bakugou turns his head so his cheek is squished against the mat, his legs kicking behind him as he tries to escape. “Just give up.”

His palms crackle, and Deku tsk’s. “No quirks, remember? Just admit defeat, and then I’ll let you go!”

Bakugou feels his cheeks burn, trying to ignore the heavy weight of Deku on top of him, holding him down, his strong, scarred hands squeezing bruises into his wrists. He doesn’t respond, opting instead to growl and buck like a wild animal because the rest of his body is heating up now too and this is not good.

He hears Deku sigh, a quiet murmur of, “you asked for this,” before Bakugou feels determined fingers pressing into his ribs, right over his tank top.

Bakugou jerks as if he’s been electrocuted, a strangled noise escaping his lips, and his eyes widen when Deku starts tickling him.

Simultaneously, having Deku’s hands on him is something he’s fantasized about for months now, but not like this, holy shit. Bakugou’s biting his lip so hard it nearly bleeds, and he’s already pinned down, already practically defeated, he’s not going to give Deku the satisfaction of -

Deku slips his hand underneath Bakugou’s tank, fluttering his nails up until he can scratch right below Bakugou’s ribs, and Bakugou shrieks.

“F-Fuckin’ Deku, you sh-shihihit, get the fuck off!”

“You’re still super ticklish, huh?” Deku giggles - giggles at him, like this is funny, that fucker - before drilling his thumb into Bakugou’s ribs, causing the blonde to choke on a laugh, kicking his legs and panting.

“I’m not!”

“You aren’t?” Deku says, the teasy little fuck. “Are you sure?”

He releases Bakugou’s arms, but before Bakugou has half a mind to flip himself over and roll away, Deku grabs his wrists and pins them above his head, stretching Bakugou out taut. He slips his free hand underneath Bakugou’s tank again, this time tickling up his spine until he can scratch his nails along his shoulder blades, and Bakugou hates himself for how hard he giggles, shoving his face into his arm to try and muffle himself.

“Aww, Kacchan,” Deku coos, leaning down so his breath fans across Bakugou’s nape. “Do you give up?”

“F-Fuck you - ah - aha shit!” Bakugou gasps when Deku tickles under his arm, fingers deft and sure as Bakugou writhes underneath him. “Get off!”

Finally, Deku fully releases Bakugou’s wrists in order to bring both hands down to attack Bakugou’s waist, fingers slipping underneath him for a brief moment to pinch his hips and prod into his stomach. Unfortunately for Bakugou, he’s already pretty worn out, and steadily getting even more exhausted because every time he tries not to laugh, Deku just tickles him harder until he’s forced to wheeze out these pathetic giggles that Deku keeps cooing at god fucking damnit.

“Kacchan, you’re so cute,” Deku laughs, and when Bakugou manages to roll onto his side, Deku claws at his belly until Bakugou snorts.

Cute, Bakugou thinks deliriously, his body tingling and warm as Deku tortures him. What the fuck -

“Stop!” Bakugou laughs, rolling onto his back and pushing weakly at Deku’s chest. “Fuck - st-stop, Deku you piece of shihihit!”

“That doesn’t sound like a surrender,” Deku whispers, reaching a hand up to scratch under Bakugou’s neck. His hands seem to be darting everywhere, and Bakugou’s brain feels fuzzy, desperate for some sort of mercy but too prideful to speak it. Besides, though the tickling is fucking awful, Deku’s so warm on top of him, and his hands are like honey against his sweaty skin.

Once Deku wedges both of his hands underneath Bakugou’s arms though, Bakugou arches his back so hard it pops, his head thrown back against the mat, and god, he can’t - he can’t take it anymore, fuck.

“Deku - Deku, I’m - ” Bakugou squeezes his eyes shut, giggling wildly. “I’m gonna f-fucking d-die - ”

“You’re so dramatic,” Dekiu laughs, “you’re not gonna die, I promise.”

“Yes I fuckin’ am,” Bakugou wheezes, finally peeking open his eyes, damp with tears as he sees the fond, endeared look on Deku’s face as the sadistic fuck keeps fucking tickling him. “Fine - shit, f-fine, okay, stop, you win, you fu-fuhuhcking win, get off - !”

“Wow,” Deku says, slowing his touches but not stopping completely. He trails his hands down, tracing over Bakugou’s protruding ribs gently until Bakugou squeaks breathlessly. “It only took you nearly passing out to finally admit you lost. So stubborn, Kacchan.”

He sounds… incredibly happy about this fact, and Bakugou finds himself flushing deeper, panting as he catches his breath. Deku’s still on top of him, and Bakugou trembles when those scarred hands trail over his waist. It’s electric and terrifying, how much Bakugou doesn’t really want him to stop.

Fucking…. Shit. Stupid fucking feelings.

“So,” Deku says after letting Bakugou calm down, though his hands are still touching him, almost absentmindedly. “Wanna go again?”

“I’m gonna murder you,” Bakugou wheezes pathetically, but there’s a grin on his face, and when Deku smiles back, Bakugou knows that he’s officially completely fucking whipped. Any other person, and he would’ve blown their hands off for pulling a stunt like this, but Deku just looks at him so earnestly, and Bakugou begrudgingly admits to himself that maybe… maybe it wasn’t all that torturous.

Though, next time, Bakugou’s not above a little bit (or a lot) of revenge. He guarantees that Deku is just as ticklish as he was when they were kids, and Bakugou intends to find out very soon just how true that fact is.