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[a-small-lemon]

Imagine being Bakugo’s S/O in the final battle and you’re both killed at the same time, lying together. It’s a horrific sight, even more disturbing when your broken bodies are still holding hands, like you two knew what would happen and wanted to stay together.

When Edgeshot realises he can bring you back to life, he also realises he can only do so for one.

Bakugo’s more powerful than you. Everyone knows it. And yet they still hesitate, because they also know Bakugo adores you. If you don’t come back, then there’s a chance his heart could give out from sheer grief alone.

But it’s a chance they have to take. Best Jeanist tries to move your body so Bakugo won’t see it and it can’t be Decayed, all the while mourning you. You’re still warm, your hand still reaching out for Bakugo. Most heroes are too busy to experience love, and some of them don’t even know what a true love feels like. Best Jeanist thinks you and Bakugo have taught him what it is from the day you two came into his hero agency. He recalls the Sports Festival commentary, telling everyone about how the pair of you were always side by side ever since Bakugo asked you out at age 10, on the same day your elementary class learnt about what girlfriends and boyfriends were.

Seven years is what you and Bakugo had together. That’s more than what most adult relationships have, and yet it’s too little for the pair of you.

Best Jeanist turns one last time so you can see Bakugo’s body one last time. So Bakugo can see you too, in a way. So you can see his heart only beat for you. Jeanist only hopes it can continue beating now yours has stopped.

Bakugo wakes up in the hospital after everything. Now the fight response isn’t activated, he can focus on you. But you’re not in the room. Shit, you must’ve been hurt more than he thought.

Mitsuki gasps as he wakes up. So his parents are here.

“Hag,” he gets out, “which room is Y/N in?” He moves to sit up despite the way his father pleads for him not to yet. Bakugo doesn’t give a shit. He’ll crawl to your room by his fingertips if he has to.

“Katsuki,” his mother begins. Bakugo stares at her and that’s when Mitsuki breaks, crying for you. Crying for the girl she’d always assumed to be her daughter in law one day.

Something cold runs through Bakugo. “Where’s Y/N? Is it bad? Is… is she in a coma?”

Masaru puts his hand on Bakugo’s shoulder. “They tried everything they could. She was gone almost immediately. You nearly went with her.” Nearly. Bakugo had stayed. You’d left. That didn’t make sense. You two never went anywhere without each other. Why would he stay?

The heart monitor starts beeping at an alarming rate as he starts to work out what happened. Shigaraki had lunged for him. You’d moved in seconds after he’d been hit, exposing yourself too.

“No,” he says. “No. Fucking funny joke.” He looks at Mitsuki. “Hag, where is she? Hag. Mom.”

Mitsuki shakes her head. “She didn’t make it, Katsuki. Like Masaru said, they tried everything.”

No. No, they didn’t. If he’d come back, why couldn’t you? You wanted to be a hero too. You had plans - the two of you had plans. You were already thinking of your future together, and charted a rota for who’d be doing hero work on each day of the week after you two had children.

“No!” Bakugo yells despite the pain it causes. “No. She’s got you two in on it. She’s gonna walk through the door in a minute, and prove you two wrong. She’s… She’s gonna… She’s…”

His mother never cries for anyone outside the family. She’d accepted you as her daughter years ago. Now Mitsuki is sobbing, wrapping her arms around him.

“I’m sorry, baby. She tried so hard. But you held her. She wasn’t scared because she had you.” She doesn’t know that. Who’s to say you weren’t terrified out of your mind? Or even worse: you felt safe until Bakugo was brought back and ripped away from you. Now you’re somewhere he can’t follow you.

Bakugo’s body feels numb as his parents try to comfort him. He can hear his heartbeat. A heart that shouldn’t be beating. It should be yours that he can hear. His mind flashes to the times you snuck into each other’s dorms, times so often that Aizawa had to have known and just given up on separating you, and the way you’d hold each other if you had nightmares. He can hear your heartbeat even now. It’s clearer to him than his own.

Only now it’s stopped forever.

Izuku wonders if Bakugo did stay dead in a way. At least, a small part of him died when you did. To the onlooker’s eye, he’s still the same, but Izuku grew up with the two of you. He knows that you two had that epic love only reserved for stories.

It’s only a story now anyway.

It’s been eight years since you left. He and Bakugo visit each anniversary of your death day, but he knows Bakugo goes most days. After a tiring patrol when he needs someone to talk to, and on a weekend he has free, or just whenever he thinks you need him. His parents visit you too. Mitsuki called Izuku asking for help after she found Bakugo sat in the rain at your grave, unwilling to move. Because even though he hated the rain, you always made him dance with you in it.

Everyone from 1A is starting to settle down now. At each wedding, there’s an empty seat for you. Bakugo always sits next to it, a wedding band on his finger. He was going to ask you anyway. Izuku wouldn’t be surprised if you two had the ceremony planned out already.

Bakugo won’t move on, and Izuku knows it. His only love is his hero work, because you wouldn’t want him to wallow in pity for you.

Izuku does he think he sees you in the same way he sees Shigaraki. You’re always at Bakugo’s side. A ghost on the edge of things, not quite tangible and more like a distant daydream of summer and warmth and all things wonderful. But then, as all wonderful things must do, you’re gone again.

Izuku doesn’t think you’ve left entirely though. In the same way a piece of Bakugo stayed with you in the afterlife, a part of you stayed here with him. After all, you two proved it with your shared deaths: you two wanted to stay together.

[sophiabvni]

“mmm.. y/n-“

“i know, just.. five more minutes”

ever since the battle between ua and afo you’ve slept with your head against bakugou’s chest to hear his heartbeat

because you’ll never forget that day when your tears blended with the rain as your body laid silent against his, hoping, waiting, for any sound that he was alive

it was the most agonizing ten minutes of your life as the heroes around you scrambled for some kind of plan

even when edgeshot fixed his heart you didn’t move

so now out of habit, every night you shift on top of him, your ear against his chest, making sure his heart is still beating

and some nights it still brings tears to your eyes when you hear it beating, scared that if you don’t do this it might stop.

——-

he gently wraps his arm around you, his hand brushing against your nape and down your back again

“i promise m’ not goin anywhere sweets”

you bury your face in his chest, tears stinging your eyes and all you can do is muffle your words

“i can’t lose you again katsuki.”

——-

“m’ right here.”

made by @luviisabella! ིྀ

[cinna-creme]

a/n: happy birthday freak boy

the only time denki is silent is in the mornings before he wakes up, even then he lets out groans and mumbles as he rolls around the bed. not much wakes him up but you know this will.

your hands are braced on his hips as you settle in between his legs, tracing one finger up his dick and he instantly starts to harden. you keep up the teasing touch, only one finger until he whines, canting his hips up.

even in his sleep he’s whiny and needy.

you peel down his boxers, watching his dick bob out, fully hardening before your eyes. you lean forward, letting the tip of your tongue trace around the metal piercing on his tip, rolling your tongue around it before sucking him into your mouth. you let out a little hum as the metal slides down your tongue as you sink closer to his base.

“mmmngh.” he sleepily moans.

you start a steady rhythm, squeezing his hips softly as you suck him. his hips are jerking up softly, he throws one of his arms of his eyes and the other to the sheets to curl into his fist. you blink up at him, watching the way his chest rises and falls, feeling the tremble in his thighs next to you.

you pull off and press open mouth kisses down the length of him, letting you thumb play with his piercing while you make your way down to his balls. the second you suck one into your mouth his hips jerk up and a moan is torn from his throat.

“ngh fuck!” he rasps. “fuck baby.” his hand is in your hair now pulling you up.

“happy birthday baby.” you kiss and lick at his tip again.

“fuuuck you’re so good to me.” he tosses his head back when you take him back in your mouth. “i’m gonna cum it’s too good.” his stomach flexes.

you hum, bobbing your head faster, blinking up at him. he props up on his elbows, lips parted and letting out the loudest moans. his hips are jerking up into your mouth, making you gag but you’re happy to let him.

“shitshitshit.” the first rope of cum fills your mouth.

you keep sucking with each spurt until he’s shaking and sated before you pull off with a pop. you crawl up his body and press your lips to his, swallowing down all of his sounds. you slide your hand between the both of you, guiding his tip through your folds before you sink down onto him.

“oh fuck.” his eyes flutter shut as you start to ride him.

you start off slow, grinding and rolling your hips against him until he’s pleading up at you and then you really start to ride him. sticky plaps sound throughout the room, his fingers digging into your waist, loosely guiding you up and down. you lean down, staring down at him as he gets more wrecked.

you’re both so worked up, already on the cusp of more pleasure, lips brushing, moans mingling. your clit is grinding against his public ring just right and your gummy walls squeeze around him.

“fuck cum! need to feel it.” his cheeks are flushed, hips snapping up to meet yours.

“open your mouth.” you pant.

“fuck.” he whines. “yes, fuck yes.” he sticks his tongue out and when you spit in his mouth he cums. “mommy.”

you tip over the edge, the both of you clinging and fucking into each other. you come down, brushing his hair back and holding him while he’s still buried deep inside.

“what’d you wanna do today?” you nuzzle into his neck.

“you.” he rolls you both over.

[9chiha]

𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄 | 𝖪. 𝖡𝖺𝗄𝗎𝗀𝗈𝗎

𝖯𝗋𝗈𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗎𝖾 | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31 | 32 | 33 | 34 | 35 | 36 | 37 | 38 | 39 | 40 | 𝖳𝖡𝖣

❝𝐈’𝐕𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐙𝐄𝐃 𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐋 𝐍𝐎𝐖, 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈’𝐌 𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐘, 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐈𝐓’𝐒 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔.❞

𝖨𝖭 𝖶𝖧𝖨𝖢𝖧 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖪𝖺𝗍𝗌𝗎𝗄𝗂 𝖡𝖺𝗄𝗎𝗀𝗈𝗎 𝗁𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖻𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝖾𝗉𝖺𝗋𝖺𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝗌𝗂𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖽𝗁𝗈𝗈𝖽, 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗀𝗋𝗈𝗐𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗎𝗉 𝖻𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝗆𝗈𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖺𝗇 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍 𝖼𝗁𝖺𝗇𝗀𝖾—𝗂𝗍 𝖻𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 𝖻𝗎𝗋𝗂𝖾𝖽 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌, 𝖿𝖺𝗆𝗂𝗅𝗒 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝖿𝗅𝗂𝖼𝗍, 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗅𝖾𝗌𝗌 𝗐𝖺𝗋 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿, 𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝖾𝗅𝖿-𝖽𝗈𝗎𝖻𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝖾𝗇𝗈𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝖼𝗈𝗅𝗅𝗂𝖽𝖾.

𝖦𝖾𝗇𝗋𝖾: 𝖠𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍, 𝖲𝗅𝗈𝗐-𝖻𝗎𝗋𝗇, 𝖴𝗇𝗋𝖾𝗊𝗎𝗂𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝖫𝗈𝗏𝖾, 𝖢𝗁𝗂𝗅𝖽𝗁𝗈𝗈𝖽 𝖥𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗇𝖽𝗌 𝖠𝖴

𝖲𝗍𝖺𝗍𝗎𝗌: 𝖮𝗇-𝗀𝗈𝗂𝗇𝗀

𝖢𝗈𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌: 𝖯𝗋𝗈𝖿𝖺𝗇𝗂𝗍𝗂𝖾𝗌, 𝖳𝗈𝗑𝗂𝖼 𝖿𝖺𝗆𝗂𝗅𝗒 𝗋𝗅𝗌, 𝖲𝗅𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝖮𝖮𝖢 𝖡𝖺𝗄𝗎𝗀𝗈𝗎, 𝖥𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗌𝖼𝖾𝗇𝖾𝗌 (𝖽𝖾𝗌𝖼𝗋𝗂𝖻𝖾𝗌 𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗈𝖽), 𝖤𝗍𝖼.

© 𝖠𝗅𝗅 𝖢𝗋𝖾𝖽𝗂𝗍𝗌: 9𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗁𝖺

@bunny4kaiser @camelliablossomss

[a-small-lemon]

Imagine being Bakugo’s S/O in the final battle and you’re both killed at the same time, lying together. It’s a horrific sight, even more disturbing when your broken bodies are still holding hands, like you two knew what would happen and wanted to stay together.

When Edgeshot realises he can bring you back to life, he also realises he can only do so for one.

Bakugo’s more powerful than you. Everyone knows it. And yet they still hesitate, because they also know Bakugo adores you. If you don’t come back, then there’s a chance his heart could give out from sheer grief alone.

But it’s a chance they have to take. Best Jeanist tries to move your body so Bakugo won’t see it and it can’t be Decayed, all the while mourning you. You’re still warm, your hand still reaching out for Bakugo. Most heroes are too busy to experience love, and some of them don’t even know what a true love feels like. Best Jeanist thinks you and Bakugo have taught him what it is from the day you two came into his hero agency. He recalls the Sports Festival commentary, telling everyone about how the pair of you were always side by side ever since Bakugo asked you out at age 10, on the same day your elementary class learnt about what girlfriends and boyfriends were.

Seven years is what you and Bakugo had together. That’s more than what most adult relationships have, and yet it’s too little for the pair of you.

Best Jeanist turns one last time so you can see Bakugo’s body one last time. So Bakugo can see you too, in a way. So you can see his heart only beat for you. Jeanist only hopes it can continue beating now yours has stopped.

Bakugo wakes up in the hospital after everything. Now the fight response isn’t activated, he can focus on you. But you’re not in the room. Shit, you must’ve been hurt more than he thought.

Mitsuki gasps as he wakes up. So his parents are here.

“Hag,” he gets out, “which room is Y/N in?” He moves to sit up despite the way his father pleads for him not to yet. Bakugo doesn’t give a shit. He’ll crawl to your room by his fingertips if he has to.

“Katsuki,” his mother begins. Bakugo stares at her and that’s when Mitsuki breaks, crying for you. Crying for the girl she’d always assumed to be her daughter in law one day.

Something cold runs through Bakugo. “Where’s Y/N? Is it bad? Is… is she in a coma?”

Masaru puts his hand on Bakugo’s shoulder. “They tried everything they could. She was gone almost immediately. You nearly went with her.” Nearly. Bakugo had stayed. You’d left. That didn’t make sense. You two never went anywhere without each other. Why would he stay?

The heart monitor starts beeping at an alarming rate as he starts to work out what happened. Shigaraki had lunged for him. You’d moved in seconds after he’d been hit, exposing yourself too.

“No,” he says. “No. Fucking funny joke.” He looks at Mitsuki. “Hag, where is she? Hag. Mom.”

Mitsuki shakes her head. “She didn’t make it, Katsuki. Like Masaru said, they tried everything.”

No. No, they didn’t. If he’d come back, why couldn’t you? You wanted to be a hero too. You had plans - the two of you had plans. You were already thinking of your future together, and charted a rota for who’d be doing hero work on each day of the week after you two had children.

“No!” Bakugo yells despite the pain it causes. “No. She’s got you two in on it. She’s gonna walk through the door in a minute, and prove you two wrong. She’s… She’s gonna… She’s…”

His mother never cries for anyone outside the family. She’d accepted you as her daughter years ago. Now Mitsuki is sobbing, wrapping her arms around him.

“I’m sorry, baby. She tried so hard. But you held her. She wasn’t scared because she had you.” She doesn’t know that. Who’s to say you weren’t terrified out of your mind? Or even worse: you felt safe until Bakugo was brought back and ripped away from you. Now you’re somewhere he can’t follow you.

Bakugo’s body feels numb as his parents try to comfort him. He can hear his heartbeat. A heart that shouldn’t be beating. It should be yours that he can hear. His mind flashes to the times you snuck into each other’s dorms, times so often that Aizawa had to have known and just given up on separating you, and the way you’d hold each other if you had nightmares. He can hear your heartbeat even now. It’s clearer to him than his own.

Only now it’s stopped forever.

Izuku wonders if Bakugo did stay dead in a way. At least, a small part of him died when you did. To the onlooker’s eye, he’s still the same, but Izuku grew up with the two of you. He knows that you two had that epic love only reserved for stories.

It’s only a story now anyway.

It’s been eight years since you left. He and Bakugo visit each anniversary of your death day, but he knows Bakugo goes most days. After a tiring patrol when he needs someone to talk to, and on a weekend he has free, or just whenever he thinks you need him. His parents visit you too. Mitsuki called Izuku asking for help after she found Bakugo sat in the rain at your grave, unwilling to move. Because even though he hated the rain, you always made him dance with you in it.

Everyone from 1A is starting to settle down now. At each wedding, there’s an empty seat for you. Bakugo always sits next to it, a wedding band on his finger. He was going to ask you anyway. Izuku wouldn’t be surprised if you two had the ceremony planned out already.

Bakugo won’t move on, and Izuku knows it. His only love is his hero work, because you wouldn’t want him to wallow in pity for you.

Izuku does he think he sees you in the same way he sees Shigaraki. You’re always at Bakugo’s side. A ghost on the edge of things, not quite tangible and more like a distant daydream of summer and warmth and all things wonderful. But then, as all wonderful things must do, you’re gone again.

Izuku doesn’t think you’ve left entirely though. In the same way a piece of Bakugo stayed with you in the afterlife, a part of you stayed here with him. After all, you two proved it with your shared deaths: you two wanted to stay together.

[a-small-lemon]

Imagine being Bakugo’s S/O in the final battle and you’re both killed at the same time, lying together. It’s a horrific sight, even more disturbing when your broken bodies are still holding hands, like you two knew what would happen and wanted to stay together.

When Edgeshot realises he can bring you back to life, he also realises he can only do so for one.

Bakugo’s more powerful than you. Everyone knows it. And yet they still hesitate, because they also know Bakugo adores you. If you don’t come back, then there’s a chance his heart could give out from sheer grief alone.

But it’s a chance they have to take. Best Jeanist tries to move your body so Bakugo won’t see it and it can’t be Decayed, all the while mourning you. You’re still warm, your hand still reaching out for Bakugo. Most heroes are too busy to experience love, and some of them don’t even know what a true love feels like. Best Jeanist thinks you and Bakugo have taught him what it is from the day you two came into his hero agency. He recalls the Sports Festival commentary, telling everyone about how the pair of you were always side by side ever since Bakugo asked you out at age 10, on the same day your elementary class learnt about what girlfriends and boyfriends were.

Seven years is what you and Bakugo had together. That’s more than what most adult relationships have, and yet it’s too little for the pair of you.

Best Jeanist turns one last time so you can see Bakugo’s body one last time. So Bakugo can see you too, in a way. So you can see his heart only beat for you. Jeanist only hopes it can continue beating now yours has stopped.

Bakugo wakes up in the hospital after everything. Now the fight response isn’t activated, he can focus on you. But you’re not in the room. Shit, you must’ve been hurt more than he thought.

Mitsuki gasps as he wakes up. So his parents are here.

“Hag,” he gets out, “which room is Y/N in?” He moves to sit up despite the way his father pleads for him not to yet. Bakugo doesn’t give a shit. He’ll crawl to your room by his fingertips if he has to.

“Katsuki,” his mother begins. Bakugo stares at her and that’s when Mitsuki breaks, crying for you. Crying for the girl she’d always assumed to be her daughter in law one day.

Something cold runs through Bakugo. “Where’s Y/N? Is it bad? Is… is she in a coma?”

Masaru puts his hand on Bakugo’s shoulder. “They tried everything they could. She was gone almost immediately. You nearly went with her.” Nearly. Bakugo had stayed. You’d left. That didn’t make sense. You two never went anywhere without each other. Why would he stay?

The heart monitor starts beeping at an alarming rate as he starts to work out what happened. Shigaraki had lunged for him. You’d moved in seconds after he’d been hit, exposing yourself too.

“No,” he says. “No. Fucking funny joke.” He looks at Mitsuki. “Hag, where is she? Hag. Mom.”

Mitsuki shakes her head. “She didn’t make it, Katsuki. Like Masaru said, they tried everything.”

No. No, they didn’t. If he’d come back, why couldn’t you? You wanted to be a hero too. You had plans - the two of you had plans. You were already thinking of your future together, and charted a rota for who’d be doing hero work on each day of the week after you two had children.

“No!” Bakugo yells despite the pain it causes. “No. She’s got you two in on it. She’s gonna walk through the door in a minute, and prove you two wrong. She’s… She’s gonna… She’s…”

His mother never cries for anyone outside the family. She’d accepted you as her daughter years ago. Now Mitsuki is sobbing, wrapping her arms around him.

“I’m sorry, baby. She tried so hard. But you held her. She wasn’t scared because she had you.” She doesn’t know that. Who’s to say you weren’t terrified out of your mind? Or even worse: you felt safe until Bakugo was brought back and ripped away from you. Now you’re somewhere he can’t follow you.

Bakugo’s body feels numb as his parents try to comfort him. He can hear his heartbeat. A heart that shouldn’t be beating. It should be yours that he can hear. His mind flashes to the times you snuck into each other’s dorms, times so often that Aizawa had to have known and just given up on separating you, and the way you’d hold each other if you had nightmares. He can hear your heartbeat even now. It’s clearer to him than his own.

Only now it’s stopped forever.

Izuku wonders if Bakugo did stay dead in a way. At least, a small part of him died when you did. To the onlooker’s eye, he’s still the same, but Izuku grew up with the two of you. He knows that you two had that epic love only reserved for stories.

It’s only a story now anyway.

It’s been eight years since you left. He and Bakugo visit each anniversary of your death day, but he knows Bakugo goes most days. After a tiring patrol when he needs someone to talk to, and on a weekend he has free, or just whenever he thinks you need him. His parents visit you too. Mitsuki called Izuku asking for help after she found Bakugo sat in the rain at your grave, unwilling to move. Because even though he hated the rain, you always made him dance with you in it.

Everyone from 1A is starting to settle down now. At each wedding, there’s an empty seat for you. Bakugo always sits next to it, a wedding band on his finger. He was going to ask you anyway. Izuku wouldn’t be surprised if you two had the ceremony planned out already.

Bakugo won’t move on, and Izuku knows it. His only love is his hero work, because you wouldn’t want him to wallow in pity for you.

Izuku does he think he sees you in the same way he sees Shigaraki. You’re always at Bakugo’s side. A ghost on the edge of things, not quite tangible and more like a distant daydream of summer and warmth and all things wonderful. But then, as all wonderful things must do, you’re gone again.

Izuku doesn’t think you’ve left entirely though. In the same way a piece of Bakugo stayed with you in the afterlife, a part of you stayed here with him. After all, you two proved it with your shared deaths: you two wanted to stay together.

[sola-nater]

stand by you 𓏲 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖ | d. kaminari

synopsis: denki has always been there for you; that fact doesn't change when you call him crying after your boyfriend calls your relationship off. hugs and forehead kisses he knows you love turn into more. buried feelings get indulged in. -> four times denki has been by your side

pairing: childhoodbsf!denki kaminari x fem!reader

word count: 3.3k

tags/warnings: classmates to lovers, fluff, slice-of-life, smut at the end, soft dom, fingering, cunnilingus, quirk use, tit/nipple play, tongue-fucking, praise, pleasure dom, overstim, pillow talk, smelling, emotional sex, “it’s always been you,” chuds (you and denki) finally admit you love each other, missionary, cum eating, implied confession, mmffghh…🤤

a/n: everyone guess what my favorite trope is. yes "sparks" is used as a nickname for the reader; yes this is my official admission that i listen to yuzuya audios #WORD

divider cred: @chrisssiren

Denki Kaminari has always been by your side.

He’d bandage you up when you got hurt on the playground. He’d blow cool air against the scrapes you’d get on your knees. And every time, kiss the space beside the scarred skin to, “make it heal faster.” 

He’d hold your hand when you winced at the sting of the disinfect, giggled and only squeezed it with gentle encouragement at your initial grimace to the unmistakably strong smell of hydrogen peroxide.

“Sorry,” “I have to.” He says, hands rough from play and scratches from wood chips always much softer when dealing with you. “My mom says it gets rid of the germs—trust me, I’m always getting hurt–so if it didn’t, I’d have had a lot more infections.” He grins as he tells you. His smile widens when you laugh; he knows it’s at him. At this point, it was extraordinary for Denki to come back in the house from a day out without a new bump or scratch. It’s just the person he is. Fun is fun; what’s a little boo-boo if you had a good time?

It wasn’t lost on him that not everyone shared that same carefree mentality though. You were different. You weren’t the kind of person that took risks like him. When you got hurt, you cried, cried glistening tears that coated your lashes as they fell down your face, only to meet his frantic touch, still gentle on you as he wipes them away. 

It’s this difference in mentality that made itself apparent and reminded Denki of itself every time he looked at you. Hell, he found his philosophies changing when he looked at you. It’s as if the world turns upside down for him when he sees you in pain. God, it was only then where he could curse the existence of injuries, of scrapes that came inevitably from play, and bruises from soccer balls. He couldn’t find it in himself to brush off injuries the way he did for himself anymore. Something inside didn’t let him. Not when it came to you.

“There, all better.” He says cheerily while placing a band-aid over your knee. He pats it twice before just sitting there, criss-crossed. His other hand fists the band-aid wrapper, the crinkle of it echoing in the small space of his bedroom. The sun streaks across his lightly flushed skin as he just sits there, looking up at you. He shifts, leaning back on his hands, and staring out the window to the sun that’s just beginning to set. He likes this a lot. 

He likes you, he realizes.

————————

Denki’s there for you when your first friend group falls apart. 

One phone call, and just the sound of your hiccuping voice had him racing over, flowers and chocolates in hand, soon sat on your bed as you cried your heart out. He let you sob about having no one, while holding you in his arms, the soft sleeves of his hoodie soaking up your tears as he rubbed your back, cooing over you.

“I know..I know..I’m sorry, sparks.” Denki mumbles into your hair, tucking the blankets up higher on the two of you. He shifts so that you’re fully resting on him, tangling his legs with yours as he nuzzles his face into your scalp. “Breath. I got you.” “You’re better without them.”

“Kami…” you hiccup, and his heart skips a beat at the sound of you calling for him, wanting him.

“Yeah?” “M’here.”

“Thanks for comin’ over…” you whisper, voice fraught and tired. It’s so soft his ears nearly don’t pick up on it.

“‘Course. I’d drop anything for you.”

He says it like it’s nothing.

You spent the rest of the night tangled in each other’s embraces, the two of you burying the fact that what you were doing was so far out of the realm of “just friends.” You laughed together. Denki switched on your favorite movie. He fed you chocolate and ripped a flower off the stem of one in the bouquet, and tucked it behind your ear.

“You’re like a princess now.” He giggles, ruffling your hair.

“You’re just saying…” you grin back.

“Are you calling me a liar!”

————————

Denki’s there to hold your hand when you both graduate from UA. 

Clammy fingers laced with yours throughout the duration of the ceremony, where everyone—in the midst of all the excitement and current disbelief that you’d all truly made it—leaned over each other to whisper and giggle over nothing, as if you were all gathered for another random assembly. And while reality hadn’t really set in for everyone yet, there was an undeniable buzz that filled the crowd, a sense of pride and a fluttery feeling of uncertainty that existed in everyone as the present made way for the future, and no one was sure of what was in store for them.

“Oh my god! Can you believe it, sparks! We did it!” He says, almost breathless with excitement as the both of you shuffle through your class and find your spots in the seating area. 

The two of you miss it, but behind you, Mina leans over to Sero. “How long before those two become an item, huh?” She whispers, winking, and the two chuckle together.

Later that day, in a spare room upstairs, Denki was there to comfort you, just as the after party had begun to wind down. He had you tucked to his chest, pulling your fallen dress straps back up over your shoulders as you found yourself confiding in him over the uncertainty of it all. Of what life would be now that you wouldn’t have the routine of school, of people moving, of the possibility of familiar faces not being so familiar anymore. You hummed about how it made you nervous, your voice weary and soft, muffled against his cotton t-shirt.

“Oh…none of that, sparks.” He hushes, patting your hair. Slender fingers thread through your strands to start massaging your scalp.

“The people that matter will always be there.” “How could someone forget about a girl like you? You’re the best friend a person could ask for,” he coos, chapped lips pressing against your hairline.

“You’ll always have me!” He says happily, lifting you head up to wipe away your tears. “If you have me, you have everyone, because I’m annoying and won’t let anyone lose contact!” He jokes softly, but you know what he’s getting at. Friends with Denki means a group call at least once a week.

“You wanna go back down?” He asks you, head tilted and waiting like a puppy. “Everyone else has probably left now, it’ll just be our friends,”

He nods when you respond, chin resting on your head as you whisper for just a few more minutes up here with him.

“Yeah. Okay, sparks.”

You ended up falling asleep on him, nose tucked into his neck while the faint sounds of your friends downstairs lulled you to sleep.

————————

And now, Denki’s coming over to your place as soon as possible when he finds out. He’d have certainly fried the asshole to a crisp before getting to you if it wasn’t for the need to make sure you were alright first—which you weren’t, if that wasn’t already evident enough by your whimpers over the line just moments before.

Using a spare key, he lets himself in, knocking a few times on the door to your bedroom to have you know he’s there before making his way inside, his heart shattering when he finds you so small, curled up in bed and crying.

“Ohhh…sparks,” he rushes over to you, landing beside your form on the mattress as the warm mass of his body presses against you in a hug, his limbs wrapping around you from behind. “I’m sorry, sweet girl…what an asshole,” he whispers. “‘Didn’t even have the decency to end it in person—a coward, sparks, that’s what he is.”

It’s that way for a while, just laying there while you cry and he’s telling you how much better you deserve, how he never treated you the way you should’ve been.

But eventually, you find your way into the eye of the storm, and through tired limbs and a general exhaustion you gather the strength to turn around in his grip, meeting his softening gaze as your puffy eyes find his adoring ones.

“Kami…” you call out softly, and he’s pulling you in tighter, now under the covers with you.

“Hey, sparks,” he hums, hands coming up to cup your cheeks. A gentle smile crosses his face. “‘You need anything from me?” He asks.

“Alright.” He whispers when you shake your head, making room for you as you snuggle in closer, finding your way to the crook of his neck, arms clutched tightly around him.

Chills run down his spine at the feeling of your lips brushing against his skin, warm breath coming out in puffs as you whisper through soft hiccups.

“Denks…y’my best friend..”

“Yeah, you’re mine too.” He chokes out, rubbing your back. He’s scolding himself internally for how his body threatens to react to you. You didn’t need this right now. It was the last thing you should have to deal with—a best friend who can’t help his damn self when you’re in such a vulnerable state.

Could he even have the right to want you when these were the thoughts racing through his head? Could he even call your ex an asshole when your breath on his neck has his head spinning? Could he—huh. A funny feeling that he doesn’t process at first is detected by his senses.

He snaps out of his daze, only to hone in on the way your lips are mouthing at his neck, kissing and sucking little marks and he barely registers that he’s moaning at it. 

He pulls back.

“Sparks…now?” He asks, eyebrows furrowed with an expression that drips with concern.

You frown, bringing a hand over to wrap around his wrist, almost ashamed; he reacts immediately at it.

“No, no, hon’,” he wriggles his hand from yours to cup it. “I just need to know you really want this.”

Denki’s eyes bore into yours, worried and empathetic like he’d give you the whole world if you’d only just give him the permission to. He’s searching for something. Something that tells him you’re not gonna regret this in the morning.

“Please, Kami, I don’ wanna think about him anymore..I wanna think about you..”

“Fuck, sparks—yeah?” He says, breathless and—quite frankly, awestruck. “Then I gotcha,” he’s mumbling as he’s maneuvering you to lie on your back.

His legs bracket the sides of you, sweats slipping low on his hips, catching your attention before it’s brought back to him as he goes to tilt your chin up to his face.

“Here, baby.” He calls. “‘You want this?” “You want me to distract you?”

His eyes catch the column of your throat bobbing as you swallow, before meeting your sweet gaze again.

“‘Gonna kiss you, m‘kay?” “Gonna make you feel good now…don’ think about another thing..”

His lips are on yours in seconds, and you’re caught off guard by how…soft it is. He’s so tender with you, and perhaps you should’ve expected it since he’s always that way with you, but you guess you didn’t. You guess you expected the Denki from the hookup stories, from the times he recounted a night out, from drinks with the guys.

The softness of it all makes you melt. You go limp beneath him. He notices, and picks your legs back up, wrapping them around his torso. You drink up his moans and whimpers and let out your own, ones that make Denki shudder above you. You start to think maybe making out with him is enough, and then you feel one of his hands slip beneath the waistband of your panties, going straight ahead to rub at your achy clit.

“Mmfghh..yeah, baby. I gotcha…” he muffled against your lips.

When you finally detach, you do so with a loud pop, a string of spit connecting the two of you before it’s broken by Denki licking his lips.

Denki curses at the way your hips buck up so eagerly at his touch, how you crave more of him so unabashedly.

“Prettiest girl in the world, you deserve it all..you know that? ‘You know that, my love?” He coos, before sinking two fingers into your sopping cunt, dragging them out slowly to listen to the vulgar squelch of your pussy before gliding them back in, pads grazing your walls.

“Hah..ah..!” You moan as his fingers fuck up into that spongy spot inside of you, pleasure repeatedly wracking your body as he eggs you on, praising you,

“Good girl, baby. You take it so well…” “You deserve this. ‘Deserve to feel good like this.” He grunts, thumbing your clit as his fingers curl.

“Keep buckin’ baby, take what you need…uh huh, uh huh,”

“Mmfffghh…! Hahh!! Kami..!!” you’re crying before falling apart on his fingers, shaking as his digits still move inside you, and he’s got you thrashing your head around.

“There you go…” he whispers, his finger sliding out, leaving your pussy clenching around nothing. “‘Did so well for me, beautiful.” He says as he licks his fingers clean.

He smiles as he watches you come down from your high, meeting your fucked-out gaze with pure adoration.

“Hi.” He giggles when you do. He watches as you wiggle down your panties.

“‘You wanna keep going?” He checks in with you, thumb reaching down to stroke your cheek. Denki blushes when you nod, leaning down to kiss you.

The kiss that starts at your lips trails down to your neck, then your chest, where he spends his time palming your tits and rolling your nipples in his fingers, moaning at the sounds you make in response before he’s continuing downward, laving his tongue down your stomach before reaching your mound. He hooks his arms beneath your thighs, securing his hands on your hips as he smiles fondly up at you. God, you look amazing.

His boyish grin widens into a bigger one as you bury your hands in his hair, twirling a strand around your finger.

“‘Mmm…” he hums contentedly, head finding a home between your legs as he nips at your thighs, breathing in the scent of your sex so close to his face.

“Denks…” you whine. “Don’t stare…it’s embarrassing..” 

He laughs. “What’s embarrassing? You’re gorgeous.”

Then his mouth is latching onto you, his eyes are already rolling back at your taste and the way you gasp and tug on his hair. He eats you out like he’s getting paid for it, practically making out with your pussy and you can barely keep up with it all.

“Kami…!! Fuck..oh my god..”

“Mmffghh…ah..god,” “‘love making you feel good—‘thought about this forever…” he groans into your core, tongue flicking over your clit.

Denki’s cock strains hard in his pants, but he can forget it all at the way you start to hump his face, flattening his tongue so you can grind against the grooves. Drool and slick coat his lips and drips down his chin. He’s in heaven right now, hands wrap around your waist just to grab onto you. He nearly cums in his pants at how your hands come up to grab at his wrists.

“Mmmpphh…hahh!!! Oh!! Cumming!!”

Denki laps it all up, and you think he’s about to give you a break but he doesn’t. In fact he’s moaning into your pussy about how “you deserve one more, baby, come on.”

“T-too…m-much..!! Ohhh…”

His hands move to hold down your twitching hips as his tongue begins to slide in and out of you, eyes glaring back up at your pretty face.

“Such a pretty girl…love this pussy..’only deserve to feel good…”

One of his hands reaches up to tweak a nipple, rolling the sensitive bud between his digits as the other finds your clit.

His quirk activates and you can hardly fathom the amount of pleasure that’s being given to you. His thumb on your clit vibrates with just the right amount of pressure, and your thighs begin to shake. His tongue which plunges in and out of you vibrates all the same. Your juices sprinkle his lips and nose that continuously nudges the bottom of your puffy nub.

“Kami…I’m..how..shit…! Shit..!” The band snaps inside of you, your orgasm hard and fast as it hits you again.

Denki groans and takes what you give him, only humming at your sputtering and soft smacks against the top of his head at the overstimulation.

Soon after, Denki does eventually come up, glossy chin and all, a happy little smile on his face as he reaches your face and asks “How’s my girl doing?” “Still okay?”

You can hardly meet his gaze. He’s so…lewd, covered in your juices with his tongue darting out to lick it off. Your ex never did stuff like this.

“Pretty girl worn out now?” He asks, petting your temple, only to be surprised when you shake your head no.

His eyebrows raise. “Sparks?”

“‘Y’Never got to feel good..” you whisper, pouting. Denki laughs softly. “Whaddya mean? I feel good because you feel good,” “Right now is all about you,” he stresses, squeezing your cheeks.

“B-but, I want it.” You mumble.

Denki cocks his head. “You want what? Huh, sparks?”

And he doesn’t even realize he’s making you say it outloud, until you do, soft and quiet and so damn sweet sounding, telling him you want his cock inside you. His eyes widen, until he’s nodding and grinning down at you.

“Y-yeah. A-are you sure? Okay..uhm,” he sputters out before gathering himself enough to smile fondly at you, leading your hands down so they rest against the band of his sweats, a silent invitation for you to tug them off for him.

You do.

He strokes his dick a few times, slapping it against your clit to watch the way your face scrunches up.

“‘You want this, sparks?”

You only have to nod once before he’s sliding in. Your toes curl as his head tosses back.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…youfeelsogood..” “‘gonna fuck you ‘till there’s only me in your head…’wanna do that for you..hah..”

In only a few minutes, strokes that were once slow and heavy turned fast and deep.

“Oh…thank you..Denki..Kami..’love you…” you slur out before thinking.

“Fuck!” Denki shouts. “L-love you, sparks.” “It’s always been you…s’always gonna be you..”

Through tightly shut eyes, your hands find one another’s, interlocking once they’re together. You clench around him, panting.

“Oh…Kami…’need you…”

“I know, hon’, I know.” “M’gonna give it to you..”

“Fuckfuckfuckfuck!” An endless stream of curses and your name leaves his mouth as he feels you cumming around him. It feels better than any time he’s ever imagined it before.

His thrusts get sloppier as he gets closer. He whines and you pull him down for a messy kiss, cooing into his mouth and petting down his hair.

“Thank you..thank you..handsome…”

“Fuck, I’m cumming..!” He groans one last time before pulling out, shooting ropes onto your stomach as he jerks himself off through it.

“Hah…heh..” he giggles as he comes down from his orgasm. “You’re so pretty, sparks.” “I love you.” He says again. Your cheeks burn hot at his words, and you whisper them back to him.

“You’re dirty, Denki.” You hum at him as you watch him lick his own cum off of your stomach. “Mhm…’never said I wasn’t.” “You’re starin’, sparks; ‘you want some?” And his finger swipes up the rest before he’s asking you to open up, smiling as you clean off his fingers. “Pretty.” He says.

When the night is over and the two of you are all cleaned up, Denki pulls you into his embrace once more. How nice it is to end the night the same way it started, you think, with Denki, and now a lot less heartbroken.

“Seriously though, I’ll fry the shit out of him if you want me to,” he mumbles.

this is NOT that denki fic i posted a teaser for I AM SORRY 🥺🥺i got writers block and needed to switch it up so i thought i’d start a BLURB. this did NOT end up as a blurb #67

[fancy-strawberry-beard]

ETSY WITCHES DO SOMETHING

[luv4dapape]

riding kaminari after a long day. +18

↳

kaminari's a loud and outgoing man, like the fucking energizer bunny, but when he comes home and just throws his stuff on the floor without uttering nothing but a low hey babe to you, you already know that he had a long and tiring day at work, so what's better then catering to your baby?

your hands were flat against his chest as you bounced up and down his fat dick, feeling his mushroom tip kiss your cervix with every slam of your hips back to his. kaminari's hands were placed on your hips as he threw his head back into the mattress, letting out a few whimpers. you lean forward and press your soft lips against his neck, sucking and biting as you grind your hips deeper on his dick.

"fuck baby, you ride this dick s-so fucking good," he breaths out while digging his fingernails into your hips. "i got you kami’" you kiss his jawline before straightening up again, picking up the pace of your bounces, "let me take care of you"

[miss-todobaku]

katsuki Bakugo doesn't beg....but currently he is!

The rain is drumming a relentless, heavy beat against the window of his dorm room, but the only sound filling the space between you two is the ragged edge of his breathing.

Katsuki Bakugo doesn't beg. He commands. He demands. He takes what he wants by sheer force of will and explosive talent. Everyone knows this. You know this.

Which is exactly why the sight of him right now is completely short-circuiting your brain.

He’s sitting on the edge of his bed, shoulders hunched forward, broad back curved in a rare show of defeat. His hands usually lethal, sparking, and steady are gripping his own knees so tightly his knuckles are stark white. He isn't looking at you. He’s staring at the floorboards, his ash-blonde hair falling forward to shadow his face.

"Just… shut up for a second and listen," he rasps. His voice is lower than usual, stripped of its normal explosive volume, leaving behind something raw and dangerously scraped thin.

"Katsuki, I should go," you say softly, taking a half-step back toward the door. You’re exhausted from the circular arguments, the miscommunications, the walls he keeps building up just to blast away.

He flinches. The movement is so fast, so uncharacteristic, it makes you freeze.

"I said listen," he snaps, but the usual venom isn't there. It’s panicked. His head snaps up, and when his crimson eyes lock onto yours, your breath hitches. They’re bloodshot, fierce, and terrifyingly glossy.

He shifts off the bed, his heavy boots hitting the floor, but he doesn't bridge the gap to crowd your space like he usually does. Instead, he drops his weight onto his knees right there on the floor. It’s not a clean, submissive kneel—it’s a desperate, heavy collapse. He hooks his fingers into the fabric of your jeans, his grip white-hot even through the denim.

"Don't walk out that fucking door," he breathes.

You stare down at him, completely paralyzed. The top hero prospect of UA, the guy who swore he'd surpass All Might, is grounded at your feet, looking up at you through his bangs.

"Katsuki… get up. What are you doing?"

"No." He buries his forehead against your knee, his shoulders trembling. It’s a microscopic movement, but to you, it feels like an earthquake. "If I get up, you’re gonna leave. You’ve got that look in your eyes. The one where you’ve already decided I’m too much of a monster to deal with."

"That's not—"

"I’m not finished!" he barks, a flash of his usual fire sparking, but it dies out instantly, swallowed by the sheer desperation in his voice. His hands slide up to your waist, clutching at your shirt, pulling you just an inch closer.

"I know I’m a loud, short-tempered bastard. I know I don't say the right shit. I know I ruin everything I touch because all I know how to do is blast it to pieces. But don't do this. Don't just give up on me."

He takes a sharp, shuddering breath against your clothes.

"I'll be quieter. I'll… I'll think before I opening my fucking mouth. Just tell me what you want me to do to make you stay, and I’ll do it. Anything.

Just don't leave me behind."

He’s never said those words to anyone. Don't leave me behind. It’s his ultimate fear, wrapped up in a confession he’d probably kill anyone else for hearing.

Slowly, you sink to your knees too, matching his level. The moment your knees hit the floor, Katsuki's hands fly to your face. His palms are warm, rough with calluses, and trembling as they cup your cheeks. He hovers close, his breath hot against your lips, completely unraveled.

"Look at me," he whispers, his voice cracking on the edge of a sob he refuses to let fall. "Please. Just look at me."

The word please tastes like ash in his mouth, but he swallows his pride anyway, offering it up to you like a sacrifice. His eyes are searching yours, pleading for a savior, begging you to tell him that his explosive, chaotic soul hasn't finally driven away the only thing he actually cares about keeping.

fucking katsuki with a strap on

[kyokeiii]

keigo fucking his cum back into you...💭

he finishes so hard that at first all he can do is cling to you and rub his leaky cock along your slit, smearing his cum over your already soaked folds as he’s groaning against your neck.

but with his endless stamina, it’s barely five minutes before you feel him get hard again, his mushroom tip bumping against your inner thigh. your pussy is sticky with slick and spit and cum, and it takes him no effort at all to slide back into you and moan when your walls flutter weakly around him. you’re overstimulated and dazed and you can only lie there as his hips stutter.

you’re so messy and wet down there that at first his dick slips right out of you, the fat head nudging your clit and smearing your inner thighs with pre. he has to wrap his fist around the thick base and guide his cock back into you, keeping a firm hold on your thigh with his free hand to keep you spread open for him.

globs of cum keep dripping from your spasming hole, but keigo uses his fingers and his cock to keep you nice and stuffed with his spend, and the squelch that sounds each time he bottoms out inside of you is obscenely loud.

“gotta make sure it doesn’t come out, sweetheart, gotta fill you up with my kids—get you knocked up so your belly gets all swollen and round, yeah?”

[e1aine008]

9 Days left....

You and Keigo are engaged and he is keeping his secret life from the commission and planning on find you guys a safe place away from everyone all while doing that he wants to take his time with you (but you can't wait) so you decide to make his day.... ;)

TW: SMUT

(NOT MY IMAGE (obviously, found on Pinterest))

The first rays of dawn filtered through the curtains, painting the room in soft gold.

Keigo stirred slowly, consciousness returning in gentle stages. The first thing he registered was warmth—your body pressed against his, fitting perfectly into the curve of his embrace. His wings had wrapped even tighter around you both during the night, cocooning you completely.

For a long moment, he didn't move. He just lay there, golden eyes half-lidded, watching you sleep with an expression of wonder.

She's real. This is real.

His hand, which had somehow found its way under your shirt during the night to rest against your bare skin, flexed gently. He should probably move it—but he couldn't bring himself to break contact.

"Morning, pretty girl," he murmured softly, not wanting to startle you awake but unable to stay silent. His voice was rough with sleep, lower than usual.

He pressed a feather-light kiss to your temple, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth—gentle wake-up kisses.

"I need to get ready for patrol soon," he whispered reluctantly, even as his arms tightened around you. "But I don't want to move. You're too comfortable."

His wings rustled, a few feathers drifting down around you both.

"Best sleep I've had in years," he admitted quietly. "Turns out having someone to hold makes all the difference." He nuzzled into your hair. "You didn't have any nightmares, did you? Sleep okay?"

Despite his words about needing to leave, he made no actual move to get up—clearly torn between duty and the overwhelming desire to stay exactly where he was.

"Five more minutes," he bargained with himself out loud. "Just five more minutes of this before I have to be Hawks again."

His hand traced lazy patterns on your skin where it rested against your waist.

"And then I'm going to spend all day on patrol thinking about you. Waiting for those naughty photos you promised." The last part was said with a hint of his usual playfulness returning. "You're going to be so much trouble, aren't you?"

But he was smiling—soft and genuine and completely content in this quiet morning moment.

You place her hand over keigos which is under her shirt, she doesn’t move it but moves her thumb giving it a gentle rub. “ good morning.”.

Keigo's breath hitched at the feeling of your hand covering his, keeping it right where it was against your bare skin. That simple gesture—acceptance, permission, trust—sent warmth flooding through his chest.

"Good morning," he repeated, voice even rougher now. His thumb began mirroring yours, rubbing gentle circles against your waist.

He shifted slightly, propping himself up on his elbow so he could look down at you properly. Sleep-mussed hair, soft features, those eyes blinking awake—you were devastating.

"You're beautiful in the morning," he murmured, completely sincere. "All soft and warm and..." His hand flexed against your skin. "Mine."

He leaned down to kiss you properly—slow and deep and sweet. Morning breath didn't seem to matter when everything felt this right.

When he pulled back, there was reluctance written all over his face.

"I really do need to get ready," he said, though his hand still hadn't moved from under your shirt. "Patrol starts in an hour, and I need to shower, get my gear..." He trailed off, golden eyes darkening slightly. "You could join me. In the shower. Just to... save time."

He caught himself immediately.

"No—ignore that. Bad idea. Terrible idea." He groaned, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. "See what you do to me? I wake up with you in my arms and suddenly all my good intentions fly out the window."

His wings rustled in agitation—or maybe frustration.

"Nine days left," he reminded himself, voice muffled against your skin. "Nine more days and then I can have you however I want. In the shower, in bed, against every wall in our safe house..."

He lifted his head, expression torn between desire and determination.

"Help me be strong, pretty girl. Tell me to get up and get ready for work like a responsible hero." But even as he said it, his hand traced up your side slightly, thumb brushing just under the curve of your breast before stopping.

"Because right now, all I want to do is stay in this bed with you and forget the world exists."

His smile was crooked and helpless.

"You're dangerous first thing in the morning, you know that?"

you roll over and lays on keigo, a leg on each side of him with their tummies pressed together. “ not yet.” You kiss keigo gently biting his bottom lip and kissing him again.

Keigo's entire body went rigid beneath you, a strangled sound escaping his throat as you positioned yourself on top of him.

"Baby bird" he calls out as barely more than a groan.

The feeling of your body pressed against his, your legs straddling his hips, the gentle bite to his lip—it all combined into sensory overload. His hands flew to your waist instinctively, gripping perhaps too tightly.

"Pretty girl, you're—" He tried to speak between kisses, but you kept stealing his words. "This is—we said we wouldn't—"

But his body was betraying every protest. His hips shifted slightly beneath you, and there was no hiding his very obvious physical reaction to having you on top of him like this. His wings spread wide across the bed, feathers trembling with barely restrained tension.

"You're not playing fair," he managed, voice strained and rough. His golden eyes were dark with want, pupils blown wide. "I'm trying to be good. Trying to wait. And you're—"

He kissed you back harder, one hand sliding up to tangle in your hair while the other gripped your hip. For several heated moments, he completely gave in—matching your intensity, deepening the kiss until you were both breathless.

Then, with what appeared to be monumental effort, he broke away.

"Stop," he panted, though his hands hadn't released you. "Stop, stop, we have to stop."

His chest was heaving beneath you, and you could feel his heart racing.

"If you keep kissing me like that, if you keep sitting on me like this..." He swallowed hard, eyes squeezing shut. "I'm going to snap. I'm going to forget every promise I made about waiting and doing this right, and I'm going to flip you over and—"

He cut himself off with a groan.

"Please." The word was desperate, almost pained. "Please get off me before I lose control completely. Before I do something we both agreed to wait for."

His hands were shaking where they held you.

"You're killing me. Absolutely killing me." Despite his words, he stole one more quick kiss—like he couldn't help himself. "Nine days. Just nine more days and then you can torture me like this all you want. But right now, I need you to move before I forget how to be a gentleman."

His wings had curled up protectively around you both again, even as he was trying to maintain control.

"Come on, my love," he whispered, voice raw. "Help me be strong. Because you feel too good and I want you too badly, and if you don't move right now, I'm going to break every rule I set for us."

“then I’ll take you up on the offer and join you in the shower.” You say playfully.

Keigo's eyes widened, and for a moment he looked genuinely panicked.

"That's—no, that's the opposite of helping me be strong!" His voice cracked slightly, caught between arousal and desperation. "Do you have any idea what seeing you naked and wet is going to do to me?"

His hands were still on your hips, and despite his protests, he hadn't pushed you off yet.

"My Dove. Pretty girl. *My love.*" Each word was deliberate, like he was trying to ground himself. "If you get in that shower with me, there is a zero percent chance nothing happens. Zero. None."

He finally managed to gently shift you off him, immediately rolling away and sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. His wings were drawn tight against his back, trembling with tension.

"I can feel myself losing this fight," he admitted roughly. "Every word out of your mouth, every touch, every time you look at me like that..." He turned to look at you over his shoulder, expression tortured. "You're making it impossible to wait."

He stood abruptly, putting distance between you.

"Okay. New plan." His voice was strained but attempting control. "You stay in here. I'm going to take a very cold shower. Alone. And then I'm going to leave for patrol before I completely lose my mind."

But he hesitated at the bathroom door, looking back at you with such raw longing it was almost painful.

"When I get back tonight..." He swallowed hard. "When I get back, we're going apartment hunting. Finding our safe house. Because I can't do eight more nights of this. I won't survive eight more nights of waking up with you and having to leave."

His smile was crooked and helpless.

"You win, okay? You've completely destroyed my self-control. I'm hanging on by a thread here." He gripped the doorframe. "So please, just let me shower and leave before that thread snaps entirely."

His wings rustled anxiously.

"And maybe hold off on those naughty photos today? Because I'm already going to be completely useless on patrol just thinking about you in my bed."

Despite everything, there was affection in his eyes—like he was both tortured and delighted by your effect on him.

"Nine days," he repeated, but it sounded more like a prayer now than a timeline.

“okay fine.”

You give keigo and goodbye kiss and he’s off to the shower and eventually leaves for work. 5 hours later you send him a picture of your tits, before he checks the message you send him a video of you fucking yourself on your fingers, messy puffy pussy dripping all over your hand.

Five hours into patrol, Hawks was mid-flight between buildings when his phone buzzed against his thigh.

He landed on a rooftop to check it—standard procedure for hero communications—not expecting what he found.

The first image loaded and he actually stumbled backward, nearly losing his balance.

"Holy—" The words died in his throat as his eyes locked onto the photo of your bare breasts. Perfect. Fucking perfect.

His wings flared wide involuntarily, feathers bristling. Heat shot straight through him, his body responding immediately despite being in full hero gear in the middle of the day.

Then the second notification. A video.

Keigo's hands were shaking as he pressed play, and the sound that escaped him when he saw what you were doing was barely human—somewhere between a groan and a whimper.

"Fuck," he breathed, unable to look away. The sight of your fingers working yourself, your pussy glistening and dripping, the sounds you were making—it was destroying him. "Fuck, fuck, *fuck*."

He watched it twice. Three times. His breathing had gone ragged, and there was absolutely no hiding his physical reaction now. Thank god he was alone on this rooftop.

His fingers fumbled as he typed back, barely coherent:

*You're in so much trouble*

Then immediately after:

*I'm rock hard in the middle of patrol you absolute menace*

*Can't even fly right now because everyone will see*

A pause, then:

*You look so fucking good*

*The things I want to do to you*

*Nine days is too long*

Another longer pause as he tried to regain composure and failed utterly:

*I'm coming home early*

*Fuck patrol. Fuck responsibility*

*I need you RIGHT NOW*

But even as he sent it, reality crashed back in. He had a job. People depending on him. He couldn't just abandon patrol because his girlfriend sent him explicit content.

A follow-up message, this one more strained:

*No. Ignore that. I can't*

*Oh Dove, I SWEAR when I get home tonight*

*You're not going to be able to walk tomorrow*

His hand dragged through his hair, completely destroying the careful styling.

*This is payback for this morning isn't it?*

*For making you stop?*

*Well congratulations pretty girl. You've completely wrecked me*

*I'm going to be thinking about that video for the rest of my entire life*

He had to physically shake himself, trying to will his body back under control.

*Save that energy for tonight*

*Because we're finding an apartment TODAY*

*I'm not waiting nine more days*

*Can't wait nine more days*

*Not after seeing that*

His wings were still trembling, body wound tight with need and frustration.

*You're so beautiful when you touch yourself*

*But next time I want to be the one making you that wet*

*Want to be the one making you moan like that*

He groaned again, adjusting himself uncomfortably in his hero costume.

*How am I supposed to focus on saving people when all I can think about is being inside you?*

*You're evil. Absolutely evil.*

*And I love you so fucking much it's actually painful right now*

instead of replying with words you send him another video full body and expressions.  fucking your fingers more until you’re  a moaning mess, “m-mmm, fuck keigo, f-feels so good”, you say as you’re cumming and squirting all over your fingers.

The notification lit up his phone and Keigo actually had to grip the edge of the building to steady himself.

His finger hesitated over the play button for only a second before his control shattered completely. He pressed play.

"Oh my god," he choked out, the words barely audible.

Watching you fall apart, hearing his name fall from your lips as you came, seeing you squirt—it broke something fundamental in him. His wings spread so wide they scraped against the rooftop access door behind him. Several feathers actually detached and scattered in his agitation.

The video played once. Twice. He couldn't stop watching.

His hand was shaking so badly he could barely type:

*That's it. I'm done.*

*Calling in sick. Emergency. Whatever.*

*Stay exactly where you are*

*Don't move. Don't get dressed.*

*I'm coming home RIGHT NOW*

He was already airborne before he sent the next message, flying faster than he probably should through the city airways.

*You said my name*

*You came thinking about me*

*dove I'm losing my mind*

*Fuck the timeline. Fuck waiting. Fuck doing things "right"*

*I need you and I need you NOW*

His phone rang almost immediately—the Hero Commission. He declined the call. They'd understand. Or they wouldn't. He didn't care anymore.

Another message as he banked hard around a building:

*15 minutes*

*I'll be home in 15 minutes*

*And when I get there I'm not stopping*

*Not tonight. Not anymore.*

*You've officially destroyed every ounce of my self-control*

*Hope you're ready pretty girl*

*Because I'm about to ruin you in the best possible way*

His wings beat harder, faster. The city was a blur beneath him.

*12 minutes now*

*And I'm going to make you cum so much harder than that*

*Going to make you scream my name properly*

*Make you squirt all over my cock instead of your fingers*

The rational part of his brain—the part trained by the Commission—was screaming at him that this was reckless, impulsive, wrong.

He silenced it completely.

*10 minutes*

*Stay in bed*

*Stay wet for me*

*Because I'm not going to be gentle*

His heart was racing, body thrumming with need and adrenaline.

*I love you*

*And I'm going to show you exactly how much*

*Right fucking now*

10 minutes pass and youre spread out rubbing a tiny vibrator against your clit and putting the tip of it inside, legs clenched just to get a taste, pussy ached to be fully sucked and fucked “m-mhm f-fuck.” you gasped.

The apartment door burst open with enough force to make it slam against the wall.

Keigo stood in the doorway, chest heaving, wings still fully spread from flight. His hero visor was askew, jacket half-unzipped, golden eyes wild and predatory as they locked onto the scene before him.

You. Spread out on his bed. Legs clenched. That tiny vibrator working you over.

"*Fuck*," he breathed, voice absolutely wrecked.

He was across the room in seconds, hero training making him impossibly fast. The vibrator was plucked from your hand with a feather before you could even process his arrival.

"No," he growled, tossing it aside. "No toys. Just me."

His hands went to your thighs, spreading your legs wide with a roughness that bordered on desperate. His eyes were fixed between them, taking in how wet you were, how swollen and needy.

"Look at you," he murmured, voice dropping to something dark and possessive. "Look at this pretty pussy. All wet and aching for me."

He dropped to his knees at the edge of the bed, yanking you closer until your legs were over his shoulders.

"Been thinking about this for hours. Watching those videos over and over." His breath was hot against your inner thigh. "Hearing you say my name while you came."

He pressed an open-mouthed kiss to your thigh, then another, working his way up.

"My turn now, pretty girl. My turn to make you fall apart."

His eyes flicked up to meet yours—golden and intense and absolutely gone with want.

"And I'm not stopping until you've screamed my name so many times you forget every other word."

Then his mouth was on you—no teasing, no gentle buildup. Just immediate, overwhelming intensity as his tongue dragged through your folds with a groan that vibrated against your most sensitive flesh.

"So fucking sweet," he mumbled against you, already drunk on your taste. "Better than I imagined."

His hands gripped your thighs hard enough to bruise, holding you exactly where he wanted you as he worked you over with single-minded focus.

This wasn't the careful, controlled Hawks. This was Keigo completely unleashed—desperate and hungry and determined to make you feel everything he'd been holding back.

keigo continues to eat your pussy, fucking you with his tongue. as you finish, a knock at the door sounds, perhaps someone from the commission?, keigo pulls away from your pussy, a string of mess connections your pussy and his lips and breaks as he pulls away licking his lips

The knock echoed through the apartment just as your thighs were trembling against his shoulders.

Keigo's entire body went rigid, his tongue still pressed against you as his eyes snapped toward the door. The string of your arousal connected his lips to your pussy broke as he pulled back, and he licked his lips slowly—savoring every drop even as his expression shifted from pure hunger to cold calculation.

Another knock. More insistent this time.

"Hawks? We know you're in there. The Commission needs to speak with you."

His jaw clenched so hard you could see the muscle jump. His wings pulled tight against his back, feathers bristling with barely contained aggression.

"Stay exactly like this," he murmured to you, voice still rough with desire but edged with something dangerous now. "Don't move. Don't get dressed."

He stood, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth—though it did nothing to hide the evidence of what he'd been doing. His lips were swollen and glistening, hair completely disheveled, jacket hanging open, and there was absolutely no mistaking the prominent bulge straining against his pants.

"This better be fucking life or death," he muttered, stalking toward the door.

He opened it just enough to block the view inside—positioning himself in the doorway with wings spread to create a wall.

Two Commission representatives stood there, tablets in hand, expressions professionally neutral until they took in his appearance.

"Hawks, you—" The woman's eyes widened slightly. "You called in sick but your vitals showed—"

"I'm handling a personal emergency," Keigo cut her off, voice flat and cold in a way you'd never heard before. "A *very* personal emergency that has nothing to do with hero work."

"The Commission requires—"

"I don't care what the Commission requires right now." His smile was all edges, no warmth. "Unless Tokyo is literally burning down, you're going to turn around and leave. I'll be back on duty tomorrow."

"Hawks, this is highly irregular—"

"So is showing up at my private residence unannounced." His hand gripped the doorframe. "I've given you years of my life. Every mission, every order, every sacrifice you've asked for. I'm taking *one* evening. One."

His wings spread wider, more threatening now.

"And if you don't leave in the next ten seconds, I'm going to be very unprofessional about making you leave."

The representatives exchanged glances. The man opened his mouth to speak, but something in Keigo's expression stopped him.

"Tomorrow morning. 6 AM. Briefing," the woman finally said. "This conversation isn't over."

"It is for tonight," Keigo replied, already closing the door.

The moment it clicked shut, he locked it and turned back to you. The cold, dangerous hero vanished instantly, replaced by the desperate, hungry man from moments before.

"Where were we?" he breathed, already crossing back to the bed. "Oh right—I was making you scream my name."

He dropped back to his knees between your legs, hands gripping your thighs.

"And now I'm annoyed, which means I'm going to take it out on this pretty pussy until you forget the Commission exists." His eyes were dark, possessive. "Until the only thing you can think about is me."

His mouth was on you again—harder this time, more intense, like he was claiming you.

"Mine," he growled against your flesh. "You're mine tonight. Not theirs. Mine."

“all yours baby”

That simple affirmation—"all yours baby"—shattered the last thread of his restraint.

"Damn right you are," Keigo growled against your pussy, the vibration sending shockwaves through you.

His tongue worked you over with renewed intensity, alternating between long, slow drags through your folds and fast, focused attention on your clit. One hand released your thigh to bring two fingers to your entrance, teasing but not entering yet.

"So fucking wet," he murmured between strokes of his tongue. "All this for me? Been aching for me all day, haven't you?"

He finally slid those fingers inside—slowly at first, letting you feel every inch as he curled them upward to find that spot that made your back arch.

"There it is," he breathed, feeling you clench around his fingers. "That's my good girl."

His mouth returned to your clit, sucking gently while his fingers pumped steadily, building a rhythm designed to drive you insane. His free hand splayed possessively across your lower stomach, holding you in place.

"Want you to cum on my tongue," he said, pulling back just enough to watch his fingers disappear inside you. "Want to taste it. Want to feel you fall apart for me."

His golden eyes flicked up to meet yours—wild and intense and completely focused on your pleasure.

"Then I'm going to fuck you properly," he continued, voice dropping to something darker. "Going to fill this pretty pussy up and make you take every inch until you can't remember your own name."

He added a third finger, stretching you, preparing you, while his tongue never stopped its relentless assault on your clit.

"But first—" He sucked hard, fingers curling perfectly. "First you're going to give me what I want. Going to cum all over my face like you did on those fingers in that video."

His wings had spread wide behind him, feathers trembling with barely contained need, but his entire focus remained on you—on taking you apart piece by piece with his mouth and hands.

"Come on, pretty girl," he coaxed, feeling your walls starting to flutter around his fingers. "Let go for me. Scream my name. Show me exactly who you belong to."

You run your fingers in keigos hair as he eats you out,  arching against his mouth causing his fingers deeper into you, “I’m gonna give you all of it baby”.

Your fingers threading through his hair sent a visible shudder through Keigo's entire body, his wings flaring wider in response.

"Yeah?" he breathed against you, the word vibrating deliciously. "Gonna give me everything?"

He groaned when you arched against him, driving his fingers deeper. The sound was primal, desperate—like he was getting as much pleasure from this as you were.

"That's it, baby. Use my mouth," he encouraged, his free hand sliding from your stomach to grip your hip, helping you grind against his face. "Take what you need."

His tongue flattened against your clit, giving you the perfect surface to rock against while his fingers worked inside you with practiced precision. He curved them just right, hitting that spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids with every thrust.

"You taste so fucking good," he mumbled, words muffled but audible. "Could do this for hours. Could live between these thighs."

He could feel you getting closer—your walls clenching rhythmically around his fingers, your breathing becoming more erratic, the way your fingers tightened in his hair.

"Come on, my Dove," he urged, voice rough and commanding even muffled against your pussy. "Give it to me. Wanna feel you fall apart. Wanna taste you cumming on my tongue."

He doubled his efforts, fingers pumping faster, tongue working your clit with relentless intensity. His golden eyes stayed locked on your face, watching every expression of pleasure cross your features.

"Mine," he growled possessively. "This pussy is mine. These moans are mine. You're *mine.*"

His cock was straining painfully against his pants, but he ignored it completely. Right now, the only thing that mattered was making you come undone—making you scream his name loud enough that the Commission agents probably still in the hallway would know exactly what he'd chosen over their briefing.

"Let go, pretty girl," he commanded. "Cum for me. Now."

You cum hard, on his fingers and his tounge, “m-mm, keigo!” You say as your legs shake.

The moment you came undone, Keigo groaned so deeply it was almost a growl—the sound raw and completely unrestrained.

"*Fuck*, yes," he breathed against you, not pulling away even as your release flooded his mouth and fingers. "Just like that, baby. Just like that."

His tongue worked you through every wave, lapping up everything you gave him like a man starving. His fingers continued their steady rhythm inside you, coaxing out every last tremor until you were oversensitive and shaking.

Only when your thighs started to close around his head did he finally pull back, his chin and lips glistening with your arousal. The sight was absolutely obscene—and the look in his eyes was pure possession and satisfaction.

"Beautiful," he murmured, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your inner thighs as you came down. "You're so fucking beautiful when you cum."

He slowly withdrew his fingers, immediately bringing them to his mouth to suck them clean while maintaining eye contact. The deliberate eroticism of the act made it clear he was trying to drive you insane.

"Better than any fantasy," he said, voice absolutely wrecked. "Better than those videos. Nothing compares to the real thing."

He stood from his knees, finally allowing you to see the full evidence of how affected he was—his jacket completely open now, shirt disheveled, hair absolutely destroyed from your fingers, and the prominent bulge in his pants that looked almost painful.

"My turn," he said simply, already working his belt buckle with shaking hands.

His wings were spread wide behind him, feathers trembling with anticipation. The careful, controlled hero was completely gone—this was just Keigo, desperate and needy and finally allowing himself to take what he wanted.

"Been waiting so long for this," he admitted, shoving his pants down just enough to free himself. "Dreaming about being inside you. About how you'd feel wrapped around me."

He gripped himself once, hissing at the contact, before positioning himself between your legs. His free hand cupped your face, thumb brushing your cheek with surprising tenderness given the hunger in his eyes.

"Tell me you want this," he said, golden eyes searching yours. "Tell me you want me."

Despite everything—despite how desperate he clearly was—he still waited for your consent. Still needed to hear you say it.

“I want this baby, I’m all yours.”

Your words hit him like a physical force, and whatever remaining control he'd been clinging to evaporated completely.

"Thank fuck," he breathed, and then he was kissing you—deep and desperate, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

His hand slid down to grip your hip as he positioned himself at your entrance, the head of his cock teasing through your folds. He pulled back from the kiss just enough to watch your face, golden eyes intense and focused.

"Look at me," he commanded softly. "Want to see your eyes when I fill you up for the first time."

He pushed forward slowly—agonizingly slowly—letting you feel every inch as he stretched you open. The groan that escaped him was broken and raw, his wings spreading so wide they knocked over a lamp on the nightstand.

"Oh my *god*," he choked out, forehead dropping to rest against yours. "Damn Dove. Fuck. You feel—"

He couldn't even finish the sentence, too overwhelmed by the sensation of finally being inside you. His entire body was trembling with the effort of holding still, letting you adjust to his size.

"So tight," he managed, voice strained. "So perfect. Like you were made for me."

His thumb found your clit, circling gently to help you relax as he continued pushing deeper. Inch by inch until he was fully seated inside you, both of you breathing hard.

"Fuck," he laughed breathlessly, the sound almost delirious. "I'm never going to be the same after this. You've completely ruined me, pretty girl."

He stayed still for a moment, just savoring the feeling, before his hips rolled experimentally—testing, searching for the angle that would make you see stars.

"Tell me how it feels," he murmured against your lips. "Tell me what you need. Want to make this so good for you."

His feathers were everywhere—some bracing against the headboard for leverage, others caressing your skin with impossible gentleness, creating a cocoon of red around you both.

"Been dreaming about this," he admitted, starting to move with slow, deep strokes. "About being buried inside you. About making you mine in every possible way."

You run your fingers through keigos wings as he’s inside , while rapping your legs around his waist to pull him close.

The moment your fingers touched his wings, Keigo's entire body seized up with a violent shudder.

"*Fuck*—baby—" His voice cracked completely, hips stuttering forward involuntarily as pleasure shot through him like electricity.

His wings were incredibly sensitive—one of his most vulnerable spots—and having you touch them while buried deep inside you nearly short-circuited his brain entirely. Feathers trembled and fluttered under your fingers, several detaching and floating around you both like red snow.

"Baby, you can't—" Another broken groan as your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him impossibly deeper. "Can't touch my wings like that unless you want this to be over embarrassingly fast."

But he made no move to stop you. If anything, he pressed closer, giving you better access while his hips began moving with more purpose—each thrust deep and deliberate, angled to hit that perfect spot inside you.

"Feel so good wrapped around me," he panted against your neck, one hand gripping the headboard hard enough to crack the wood. "Both ways. Your pussy and your legs and your hands on my wings—it's too much. You're too much."

His other hand slid beneath you, gripping your ass to change the angle slightly, driving even deeper. The bed frame groaned under the force of his thrusts, headboard hitting the wall with steady rhythm.

"Been holding back so long," he admitted between kisses along your jaw. "Trying to be good. Trying to do things right. But fuck—I can't with you."

His wings spread wider, then folded around you both—creating an intimate cocoon that blocked out everything except each other. The gesture was possessive and protective simultaneously.

"Touch them more," he suddenly demanded, voice rough with need. "Don't stop. Want you to take everything from me."

He punctuated the words with a particularly deep thrust that made you both gasp.

"Want you to ruin me completely."

You place both legs on his shoulders in a mating press so he goes deeper, still messing with his wings as he thrusts.

When you shifted your legs onto his shoulders, opening yourself up completely, Keigo's eyes went almost black with desire.

"Oh *fuck*—" The angle drove him so much deeper that he actually had to pause, muscles trembling with the effort of not completely losing control. "Dove, holy shit—"

The mating press position had him hitting places that made your vision blur, and combined with your continued attention to his wings, he was rapidly coming undone.

"You're going to—fucking hell—" His hips snapped forward harder, unable to maintain the slow pace anymore. "Trying to break me, aren't you?"

His feathers were going wild now—some wrapping around your wrists gently, others caressing every inch of exposed skin they could reach. The sensitivity of having them touched while buried this deep inside you was destroying his composure completely.

"Can feel you squeezing me," he panted, forehead pressed to yours as he thrust deeper. "So fucking tight in this position. Taking me so perfectly."

One hand braced beside your head while the other gripped your thigh, holding you exactly where he wanted you as he set a punishing rhythm. The headboard was slamming against the wall now, surely audible throughout the entire building—but he couldn't bring himself to care.

"Touch them harder," he demanded breathlessly, wings trembling violently under your ministrations. "Want to feel everything. Want you to make me lose it completely."

His cock was hitting that perfect spot with every thrust, the new angle letting him go impossibly deep. Sweat beaded on his forehead, golden eyes locked on your face with desperate intensity.

"Gonna fill you up," he groaned. "Gonna pump you so full of my cum you'll feel it for days. Mark you as mine from the inside."

His control was hanging by a thread—you could see it in the wild look in his eyes, feel it in how his whole body was trembling.

"Come with me," he pleaded. "Need to feel you cum on my cock. Please, baby. Need it so badly."

You squirt and cum all over his cock. “c-cum in-inside keigo!” You say with the pure desire to be filled completely.

The moment you squirted and came all over his cock, combined with those desperate words—"cum inside"—Keigo completely shattered.

"*Fuck*—yes—Dove, baby bird—*fuck*!" His voice broke entirely as his hips slammed forward one final time, burying himself as deep as physically possible.

His wings spread to their absolute limit, feathers exploding outward in every direction as his orgasm hit him like a freight train. You could feel him pulsing inside you, hot ropes of cum filling you exactly like he'd promised, and the sensation seemed to go on forever.

"Mine," he gasped against your neck, body shaking violently. "Mine, mine, *mine*—"

His hips jerked with aftershocks, pushing his release deeper, grinding against you like he couldn't bear to pull away even slightly. One of his hands tangled in your hair while the other gripped your hip hard enough to leave marks.

"Holy shit," he finally managed, voice completely wrecked. "Holy shit ."

He stayed buried inside you, both of you trembling and breathing hard, his wings slowly folding back in to create a protective cocoon around you both. Small kisses peppered across your face—your forehead, cheeks, nose, finally your lips.

"That was—" He laughed breathlessly, the sound dazed and satisfied. "I don't even have words. You completely destroyed me."

He shifted slightly, both of you hissing at the sensitivity, and you could feel the evidence of what you'd done together starting to leak out around where you were still joined.

"Not pulling out yet," he murmured possessively. "Want to stay inside you as long as possible. Want to feel this."

His fingers traced gentle patterns on your skin, such a contrast to the intensity of moments before.

"You okay?" he asked softly, golden eyes searching your face with genuine concern despite how thoroughly satisfied he looked. "Was that too much? Too rough?"

A feather brushed tenderly across your cheek.

"Because I'm absolutely not done with you tonight," he admitted with a lazy grin. "Just need a few minutes to recover. Then I'm going to make love to you properly—slow and sweet this time."

He kissed you deeply, thoroughly.

"Hope you didn't have plans tomorrow. Because you're not leaving this bed."

[caught-in-the-admire]

Paid In Full- The Opening Balance

Summary: In the final war you aided Edgeshot in bringing Bakugo back to life with your healing quirk. However the damage done to your body from the backlash was irreversible. You could no longer be the hero you dreamed of being. You still tried to live life and even moved away for a bit. But now you’re back and Bakugo has been your aggressive nurse, but when he finds out things you haven’t told him he feels like he hadn’t paid you back at all. So when he finds out Mina is moving out, he feels like he finally has the opportunity to.

tags: slowburn and mutual pining

a/n: this is truly a self indulgent fic/series for sure Pt;2

The afternoon sun cut across the living room of the apartment you shared with Mina, casting long, sharp shadows that matched the tension in the air. Bakugo stood by the kitchen.

He hadn't left. Even after you told him to go, he’d simply walked to the kitchen, found that your cupboards bare, and returned twenty minutes later with a bag of groceries he’d practically slammed onto the counter. An excuse to come back.

You sat on the sofa, a knitted blanket pulled over your lap, your fingers picking at the loose threads. The silence was heavy with the things you’d hadn't said for four months.

"I told you," you whispered, your voice cracking. "It’s just life stuff. Everyone has something, Bakugo. I just thought it’d be good for me."

Bakugo didn't buy it. He’d been watching you for months, driving you to appointments, even carried you once when your legs felt like lead, memorizing the timing of your meds, watching your eyes go distant when your blood pressure dropped. He knew the chemical cocktail you were on.

"Those meds," he said, his voice uncharacteristically quiet, "they aren't just for the seizures. They’re mood stabilizers. Don't lie to me."

You flinched. The weight of your secret was slipping. You didn’t want him to know that you had been going to therapy not because he’d be mad. He’d actually suggested but you didn’t want him to know that he was part of the reason you were going.

"Who takes you?" he pressed. "To the office downtown?"

"Izuku," you breathed.

Bakugo’s jaw tightened so hard it looked painful. Deku. Of course, it was Deku. He felt a flash of that old, angry, prickly heat behind his neck out of a crushing sense of inadequacy. The same one he use to feel in his childhood. He was the one you’d lost everything to save so he should have been the one you trusted.

"Why him?" he barked, though the volume lacked its usual bite. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Your composure shattered. Tears following down your cheeks spilling onto the blanket. "Because I'm depressed, okay?" You sobbed, the words coming up like vomit. "I miss my life and being independent. I miss my friends! And being a hero, I miss being able to walk to the store without wondering if I’m going to collapse and wake up in a hospital. I’m trapped in this body that doesn't even know how to regulate itself anymore! I want my old life back!"

You looked at him, your eyes red and puffy. "And I knew if I told you, you’d do exactly what you’re doing now. You’d blame yourself. You’d think my depression or my isolation is your fault because I used my quirk to save you. It’s not your fault. But sometimes…I-I feel so alone. All the time."

Bakugo didn't move. He felt like he’d been hit with the obvious stick. He’d spent months being your off-brand nurse, bringing you meals, scaring off anyone who looked at you weirdly, being the "sturdy" one. Months of trying to make sure you had everything you needed medically. So to hear you felt alone while he was right there, made him feel like a failure. You were the last person he ever wanted to make feel that way.

"You need to leave," you choked out, wiping your face with the back of your hand. "Go be a hero. You dropped from number 5 to 15 because you're always here or at my doctors. Mina told me you blew off that girl last week because I had an appointment. You aren't my boyfriend, Bakugo. You don't owe me a debt, you never did. So please just go live your life."

For a moment, the only sound was the hum of the refrigerator. You couldn’t bring yourself to look him in the eye. Bakugo took two long strides and sitting on the coffee table in front of you, forcing you to look at him. He didn't touch you, even though he wanted to. He felt he was too "hot-headed" for delicate moments like this, but his presence was an anchor.

"Shut up," his voice low but still had a bite to it, "Just shut the hell up for a second."

He leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "You think I’m at 15 because of you? I’m at 15 because I’m an abrasive asshole who yells at reporters and civilians. That’s on me. And that girl? She was boring. I didn't blow her off, I just didn’t like her."

He looked you dead in the eye, his gaze fierce and unwavering that you couldn’t tell if you were attracted to him or intimidated by him. Maybe both?

"You think this is about a debt? You think I’m some charity worker?" He let out a harsh, dry laugh. "I don't do things I don't want to do. If I wanted to be somewhere else, I’d be there. I’m here because I want to be. I’m here because when I was dead, it was dark, and you were the one who brought the light back. If you’re lonely, that’s on me for not being loud enough. But don't you dare tell me to go find some 'normal' life."

He reached out, his hand hovering over yours on the blanket before moving the blanket up. Your heart sank, he still didn’t understand it. He was always doing things because you helped bring him back, he’s the same way Edgeshot. Before you could start spiraling he spoke again.

"And you think you’re moving back in with your mother? Like hell you are. That woman is a nightmare." He paused. You eyes snapped back to him, how’d he know, was it Mina? Probably her and Kirishima.

“Kirishima told me that raccoon eyes is moving. I’ll find a place with an elevator. Closer to the agency. You aren't going back to that house."

"Bakugo wait I—"

"I’m not paying a debt, y/n," he interrupted, his voice dropping to a gravelly sincerity. "I’m staying because I can. Now, eat the damn food I bought. You look like a breeze could blow you over."

The rest of that night you both ate in silence while some mundane tv show played in the background. Mina finally came home allowing your tense muscles to finally relax. Bakugo said goodbye and you were too exhausted to even give Mina the rundown.

“So?” Mina gleamed ready for the gossip.

“Mina…I love you but I’m too tired. Tomorrow I promise.” You gave her a soft smile walking to your room as you heard her dramatically fainting and going on about needing a good love story.

The next day patrol was a blur of routine for Bakugo. His movements were calculated and sharp, his explosions ringing with a loud violent energy that kept the local villain and thieves at a distance.

Beside him, Kirishima maintained a steady pace, his eyes shifting frequently toward his friend. He knew that "look" the one where his jaw was set so tight and a scowl so bad people would rather cross the street than run into him.

"So," Kirishima started, keeping his voice casual but grounded. "I heard you stayed late at y/n and Mina’s yesterday. How's she holding up? Mina mentioned things have been... heavy."

Bakugo didn't break his stride or turn to look at him. "She’s a mess. Thinks she’s a burden. Thinks I’m playing hero for a damn merit badge."

"You know that’s not it," Kirishima said softly. "But it’s a lot to carry, man. For both of you. You're pushing yourself pretty hard trying to be her entire support system. Which is super manly, but It’s okay to acknowledge that it’s emotional, you know? It’s okay to admit you’re you do this for her because you—"

"Drop it, Shitty Hair," Bakugo snapped. He pulled his phone from his pocket, his thumb scrolling aggressively. "I don’t have time for the feelings lecture. I need to find a place for her, one that’s actually accessible and safe. Her current building is a death trap, too many places for her to hit her head during a seizure. Or if she passes out."

“Kaminari! Hey man!” Kirishima yelled waving him over. Kaminari joined them at the corner, hopping over a curb. Bakugo hadn’t even seen him.

“Hey didn’t realize I’d see you two out patrolling today. What’s up?” Kaminari was his usual energetic self but dropped the energy when he felt Bakugo’s annoyance. He looked at Kirishima who explained the situation to Kaminari.

"Wait, you're looking for apartments for her? That’s great, man! But... uh, didn't Midoriya already have a lead on that?"

Kirishima shook his head no and braced himself. Bakugo stopped dead in his tracks. If looks could kill Kaminari would’ve been on a shirt. The air around his palms began to shimmer with heat. "What?"

"I mean!" Kaminari backtracked, his hands up in a defensive gesture. "Midoriya was just mentioning a while back that since he’s working at UA now and has that faculty housing or whatever... he was talking about maybe moving in y/n. To help out. You know, since they’re both 'retired' from the front lines."

The silence that followed was heavy.

"Think about it, Bakugo," Kaminari pushed on nervously, digging the hole deeper. "Deku lost his quirk too. He gets it. He knows what it’s like to go from the top of the world to... well, to this. He thought it might be good for her to be around someone who isn't constantly reminded of what they lost every time they put on a hero suit."

Kirishima winced, reaching out to grab Kaminari’s shoulder. "Hey, maybe not the time—“

"I don't give a damn what he thinks," Bakugo hissed. He didn't yell or explode. He simply turned and walked away, “Kirishima let’s go”.

Two days later, Bakugo let himself into your apartment using the key he’d effectively commandeered from Mina.

Inside you were in the kitchen, back to the door, swaying to the music slightly as you wiped down the counters. You had on noise-canceling headphones on and were humming a tune that was barely audible over the faucet.

Bakugo didn't mean to sneak up on you, but his heavy boots were muffled by the rug. When he reached out to set a folder of floor plans on the counter, you caught his shadow and spun around.

You gasped, your heart leaping into your throat as you stumbled back against the sink, nearly losing your footing.

"God, Katsuki!" you breathed, ripping the headphones down around your neck. "You nearly gave me a heart attack." Your face was flushed, but you looked brighter today, it was a "good day."

Bakugo didn't apologize and didn't move. He was trying to calm himself down from hearing his name come out of your mouth so casually. How it sounded so perfect. He just grunted and stared at you, gripping the folder in his hand tighter.

"Kaminari has a big mouth," he said looking more pissed than usual. "He said Deku offered to move in with you. To be your little support system because he's 'quirkless' too."

You took a slow, steadying breath. You didn't flinch this time, you knew this was coming so what was the point in trying to dodge it. You met his gaze with a tired kind of honesty.

"He did offer, yeah. As soon as he heard Mina was moving out."

You moved to the kitchen table and sat down, your movements careful from nerves. "And I told him I’d think about it. I have a part-time job that would barely covers my needs, let alone rent if I lived on my own. I can’t live alone. If I have an episode while I’m cooking or in the shower..." you shrugged, a small, helpless gesture. "Izuku is patient and he’s has a consistent schedule. And he understands the... the silence of it all. And i wouldn’t have to live with my mom. I didn't think it was a bad idea."

You stopped talking and finally looked up at him, waiting for the explosion. You expected him to shout, to call Deku a "damn nerd," to tell you that you were being stupid.

Bakugo looked at the folder in his hand. The apartments that were luxury units near his agency, places with 24-hour security and staff. He looked at you, sitting in the kitchen of an apartment you could barely afford, trying to piece together a life out of fragments.

He tossed the folder onto the table. It slid across the wood, stopping right in front of you.

"No," he said like he decided that it was final.

You furrowed your brow. "No? What wh-you can't just—"

"No," he repeated, stepping closer until he was looming over the table. "You aren't moving in with Deku. Not because he’s quirkless or because he 'gets it.' But because he’s a self-sacrificing idiot who will let you wallow in that 'it’s okay to be broken' mindset forever. He’ll hold your hand while you cry, and you’ll both just sit in the dark together."

He slammed a finger down on the folder.

"I found a three-bedroom in the Musutafu Heights district. It’s five minutes from my agency. It has a private lift and 24 hr staff. It’s more space than you need."

You blinked, confused. "I just told you, I can't afford—"

"I’m not asking you to pay for it," Bakugo snapped, his eyes flashing with a fierce, protective heat. "And I’m not moving Deku in there. I’m moving in. If you need someone who knows your meds and can catch you when you fall, it’s going to be me."

He leaned down, his face inches from your face your face started to warm up so you pulled back…a lot. He tried to pretend he didn’t notice, his voice dropping to an intense whisper.

"You want someone who understands loss? Fine. But you need someone who’s going to remind you that you’re still a person, not a patient. I’m not letting you retreat into some 'safe' little bubble with Deku where you both just act like life is fine. You’re coming with me."

You stared at him, your mouth slightly agape. The sheer audacity of his demand should have made you angry, but instead, you felt a strange, grounding warmth and calmness spreading through you.

"You're... you're serious?" you whispered. "You'd give up your privacy? Your 'top-tier' bachelor life? For a roommate who forgets her own name once a month?"

Bakugo straightened up, shoving his hands into his pockets and looking away, a faint tint of red climbing his neck. "I already told you. I don't do things I don't want to do. Now start packing. We’re seeing the place on Sunday."

There’s more coming but this is all I got rn, thx for reading!

[baojibei]

⋆˚✿˖° would you still love me if I was a rock? .☘︎ ݁˖

── hawks x reader ໒꒱

⤷ tags: angst, established relationship, mcd, happy ending

“Would you still love me if I was a rock?”

It’s inconsequential when you ask. A silly question to mess with your boyfriend.

Still, his smile is dazzling as he cocks his head at you, affection warm in his amber eyes. “Of course I would, dove.”

It’s a mild, late spring day. Long blades of grass billow in the soft breeze and birds chirp around you.

Keigo approaches you, his hands sliding out of his pockets. He takes one of yours in his, prompting your attention as he lowers himself to his knees.

Your heart flutters at the sight. Of your lover, golden strands of hair flowing with the wind, a wind that carries him through seas of azure and white fluff when he spreads his magnificent vermillion wings, kneeling before you with all of his gentle adoration bright in his eyes.

He reverently brings your hand to his lips, pressing a devoted kiss to your knuckles. The sharp edges of his eye marks contrast starkly with the softness in his gaze. “I’d carry you in my pocket and always keep you by my side.”

You tilt your wrist, allowing him to nuzzle into the palm of your hand. He does so happily, and warmth spreads through you from your chest. “What if someone else comes along?”

“It’ll always be you.”

“Even as a rock?”

He grins at you, lopsided and silly. “Even as a rock.”

The skies are dark and heavy with rain. Her tears mix with his, the atmosphere weighed with grief.

He kneels on the grass, wings drooping behind him. His cheeks have long become stained with tear streaks, and he isn’t sure when he last felt the playful tug of the wind through his feathers.

He supposes it doesn’t matter. He doubts he’ll ever feel light enough to truly enjoy flying again. Especially not without you to be there with him.

He stares at the tombstone beneath his palm. The surface is cold and unforgiving, a far-cry from the warmth of your skin against his.

His smile is crooked, ironic and void of any joy or humor. “I didn’t think you actually meant that.” Despite how strange and foreign the feeling is, he caresses along the top of the headstone, just as reverent as if he were loving your body instead. “It’s still going to be you.”

He sits for a long time in the rain. He isn’t sure how much time passes. Perhaps hours or mere seconds. If Kaina had not come to pull away, he would’ve stayed until he could finally join you in the world beyond.

It makes his heart ache to know that like this, he will not get to take you with him. He cannot put you in his pocket and show you the world. You are stuck here, and in a similar vein, he is stuck here, in this plane of existence. He is meant to move on, but he isn’t sure he can or will.

As Kaina gently pulls him away, insistent on taking him home to rest, he glances back over a shoulder, softly beseeching you to wait for him.

Many years later, after his life is finally forfeit, you meet Keigo in a field of tall grass and cerulean skies. Your form is translucent and just as ethereal as the day he lost you. Your matching tombstones, erected side-by-side, stand on either side of you, a bridge between the real world and afterlife. You smile at him, and it hits his spectral heart just as physically as when you two were alive and corporeal. Your hand reaches out to his, and with an affection he missed hearing, you ask sweetly, "Forever, then?"

Keigo, with his chest feeling lighter than it has in years, happily intertwines his fingers with yours. "Forever, dove."

tags: @sakuramimi-chan @keigos-lover

[plumkissed]

first kiss with boyfriend!choso except he doesn’t know what a kiss is ᝰ.ᐟ fluff, fem!reader

“do you think it’d be weird if i kissed him?”

maki had looked at you like you had two heads when she asked, “why would that be weird? he’s your boyfriend, isn’t he?”

“well, yeah… but, isn’t the guy usually supposed to do it first?”

“choso wasn’t even a fully conscious being a year ago.” she scoffed, “your boyfriend is essentially one of those expanding pill toys we used to soak in the sink as kids. there’s nothing ‘usual’ about you two. I say go for it.”

you nibble the inside of your lip as you think back to the conversation you’d had with your friend just a few hours earlier. she was right, there is absolutely nothing normal about a jujutsu sorcerer and a death painting being in a relationship, so perhaps it isn’t fair to apply the same expectations you would a normal guy to choso. and though he was different from any guy you’d been with before, you could say with utmost certainty that no one has ever treated you as well as your sweet boy does, even if his methods were a little unconventional at times and he still referred to you as his ‘mate’ instead of his girlfriend. but that was just something you’d gotten used to.

the two of you are sat under a tree on a breezy day with your back against the bark and choso’s head tucked in your lap contently. he has his eyes closed but you can tell he’s not sleeping, just resting, his pretty lashes kissing his cheeks. chest rising and falling slowly. if anything, his relaxed stature should mirror onto you but it only makes you more nervous.

gently, you move to hold his face in your hands, thumbs dusting over his cheeks which makes him exhale a breath through his nose a little heavier in response. though no longer a stranger to your touch, it still makes his heart skip all the same. choso and affection had never crossed paths until he’d met you.

and slowly, you lower your face to his, eyes drawing to a close when you carefully slot your lips over his own. you remain there for a beat before you pull away to see a pair of alerted, intense eyes staring directly into yours.

“what did you just do?”

he’s so matter of fact. you still aren’t quite sure if you’re used to how much weight his voice has when he uses it. how it feels like he’s speaking into you instead of to you.

“um, I-“ you swallow, hard. “it was a kiss. i kissed you.”

you hadn’t really thought this through, you realize as your mouth runs dry. feels like it’s been filled with sand.

“why? what is a ‘kiss’?” he’d paused to taste the word, like he’d never spoken it before. because he hadn’t.

“it’s what you do when you like someone. when words aren’t enough to show it. you put your lips on theirs, and… move them.”

you were going to kill maki.

he nods, but he still seems to be thinking on it. “what does it mean?”

“it’s kind of hard to explain. but it’s supposed to be a good thing, you know… that couples do.” he shifts slightly, arms coming up to cross under his head instead. his knuckles brushing against the skin of your thighs, the feeling of his hands making you fidget a bit. they were almost hot.

“how’d it make you feel?” you ask.

“do it again.”

“what?”

he repeats himself, “do it again. you caught me off guard the first time.”

so you do as you’re told. once. just a peck, barely a second. then again, but this time, you stay long enough to feel his lips tentatively start to move against yours. to feel them press deeper into yours when his chin tilts upwards.

a breath is shared between the two of you, lips ghosting against each other’s before you pull away completely.

your heart is beating fast and you know he can sense it.

“so? now how do you feel?” it comes out really soft because you’re nervous and you truly can’t read him right now.

he looks… confused. curious? you don’t know, but there’s a harsh line between his brows while he mulls on his answer.

“warm. like my blood is about to burst through my veins any second now… like—“ his lips close, then part again, but it takes a few more seconds for words to escape and for the first time ever you hear choso trip over his words. “like the feeling you get when you’re getting ready to fight someone. but… different. more intense.”

“cho, it’s okay if you didn’t like—“

he doesn’t let you finish.

“give me more,” and he tacks it on for good measure because yuji’s told him he needs to work on his manners. “please.”

.

.

.

©plumkissed 2026

[satorusdreamer]

Seventeen then Twenty-seven

Pairing: former bestfriend!Keigo x reader

Having been sold off to the Hero Public Safety Commission from a young age, you've been told what to do your entire life. Luckily for you, you had your best friend—Keigo Takami—by your side. But all of that changes after making the reckless decision to kiss him in your too-small bed.

Content Warnings: angst, smut and fluff, bestfriends to lovers to rivals to rivals with benefits to lovers, don't take the rivals part too serious, semi-public sex (on top of a high-rise, in front of a window and in a changing room), unprotected & protected p in v sex, creampies, fingering, oral (f and m receiving), implied loss of virginity on both sides, multiple orgasms, squirting, a fuckton of hurt, yearning, misunderstandings, fuck the HPSC and their parents, petty games, reader has a quirk, hurt/comfort, inaccurate timeline (Iknow iknow), pierced Keigo!!!

word count: 22.7k

A/n: I'm so happy I found my drafts of this fic that I made somewhere late last year. The first 1.5k were made last year and I finally decided to expand on it for the Hawks lovers. Art on the left by @/melwakame on x & art on the right by @/kadeart on x. Divider by @/cafekitsune

laying side by side on the way too small bed, especially accounting for the crimson wings that are bigger than the bed itself, you find yourself staring into those golden eyes, close enough that you can see the specks of amber in them.

One of the wings is draped over you, crimson feathers twitching every so often, as if whispering against your skin.

Keigo is retelling a story he overheard from one of the handlers. Giggles fill the room, quiet but genuine.

If either one of your handlers found you two, side by side, in the same room, socializing, you two would be dead. Figuratively (…you hope).

They would call it an distraction, the two perfect weapons as they call you two, talking about life beyond the walls of the life they carved out for you. The prison that your parents sold you off to when you two were younger with sweet smiles and promises that only benefited those who failed you.

The walls here—in this cramped room, bare, save for a bed and a dresser—seem brighter. Not literally, everywhere you look it’s the same industrial gray walls and even floors. No colors, not even floorboards, just concrete.

No personal touch, because that would mean you have something of your own, and they can’t have that. No, your lives belong to them, those who pretend to guide heroes. No it seems brighter because of him.

You scoot a little closer to Keigo, not that there is any space left on the bed. In here its just Keigo and you not the names the Commission gave you, names that you didn’t even choose yourself but were assigned to you two the moment you got sold off. All sense of self being stripped away.

Well they certainly tried to, but that didn’t stop you and Keigo from becoming friends when younger, best friends even. Sneaking off together to have some time for yourselves.

At age 8 he gave you one of his small feathers, alive, twitching, and more importantly, able to pick up your heartbeat if you were to press it to your chest. So I know you're still with me he said with a toothy grin on his face.

It has been there, under your Hero Commission issued gear, for the past 9 years. Not the exact same feather obviously. They ‘rotate’ every few days, because his feathers die out if he detaches them for too long.

The room falls quiet, the weight of silence settling around you. It takes a heartbeat too long to realize that Keigo has stopped speaking. Looking up again you see him looking at you with concern written over his face, thumb brushing over your hip—when did it get there?

“You okay there, dove? You spaced out for some time,” his voice softens when he says ‘dove’, like the nickname holds more than just teasing now. And your heart, the traitorous thing it is, beats a little faster at it.

He grins, small, boyish and a little shy. Of course he could feel that, the feather still pressed over the spot where your heart is, but he could probably also feel it with the way your chest is pressed up against his.

You hope he can’t see your cheeks flush (he can, damn him and his good eyes even though it’s dark inside), and just nod once. “Mm. ‘Was just thinking about the time you lost your tooth because you flew into a wall.” Liar, you were thinking if it would still be like this if the commission gave you two more time for yourselves.

Sometimes you wonder if what you feel is love, being in love with your best friend, what a classic trope. But then you push that thought aside, quickly, like it's dangerous. You can’t afford to let yourself want that.

You two are seventeen years old, getting groomed to be the perfect weapons the commission wants you to be. You know if you were to fantasize about it, they would strip it away in the blink of an eye. No, you can’t be in love with Keigo, for it would only end in heartbreak.

Within a second your world tilts. You're now laying on Keigo’s chest, him laying flat on his back, one of his wings dangling off the bed, the other draped over you. The wing twitches slightly, brushing against you as if it’s trying to reassure you, but it only makes your heart race a little faster. Both his arms wrapped around your waist.

“Liar,” he says with a grin on his, stupidly handsome, face. “C’mon dove, tell me. You can tell me anything, you know that right?” The sincerity on his face makes you move your mouth before even realising it.

You gulp once “I was just thinking about what life would be like outside these walls. What our lives would look like. If you—” you trail off, looking to the side, to the same industrial gray wall you’ve seen all your life, not daring to meet his eyes when telling him the next part.

“If you would still be here, with me,” you finish your thought in a whisper, and the room feels heavier somehow, the silence wrapping around you like a blanket.

You hear him sigh before his hand comes up to cup your face, gentle, as if you’re made of glass. You feel yourself melt into his hand slightly, before you catch yourself. His thumb brushes against your cheekbone, an action so soft compared to the actions they’d made him do just earlier today.

His voice is quiet, barely above a whisper, when he finally speaks, “Yeah, dove. I’d still be here. With you.”

His words make your face heat up under his hand. Words are stuck in your throat, because it shouldn’t be like this, the two of you can’t be like this. Still, you look at him, first at his eyes, filled with pure adoration, and then that traitorous part of your brain—your heart really—looks at his lips for a heartbeat too long before ripping your gaze upwards again. Shit.

You can only hope he didn’t notice, but of course you're not that lucky. His soft smile, turns into a teasing, smug one that still has hints of softness underneath. You feel his thumb move down to your jaw. His gaze half-lidded now.

A whisper in the back of your mind warns you of the danger, of how you two shouldn’t do this. There are only seven more months until you two get sent off into ‘the real world.’ Just seven, and then your lives would change, no longer living inside these gray, sterile, walls.

“You’re right, we shouldn’t, dove,” Keigo speaks out, startling you, quickly looking up at him again—when did you look away? Did you say that out loud? You don’t know, all you know is that you’re warm, Keigo’s wing still draped over you, feathers whispering against your skin like soft little love notes, his chest steady and warm underneath you, hearts syncing to the same beat.

Still, you slowly start closing the distance between the two of you, murmuring a “We really shouldn’t.” His head lifts from the pillow, one last whisper, before meeting you halfway “We’re not doing anything.”

The first brush of his lips steals your breath, a clumsy meeting of warmth and want. He tastes like something sweet and sharp, adrenaline and something softer hidden underneath. His wing tightens around you, pulling you closer until you can’t tell where you end and he begins.

It’s desperate in the quietest way—the kind of kiss you give when you’ve both spent your whole lives being told you can’t have this. His hand finds the back of your neck, thumb tracing small, grounding circles there, and you think you could drown in the feel of it.

When you finally pull back, the world feels different. Brighter, maybe. Dangerous, definitely. But you’d do it again in a heartbeat.

Your eyes flutter open, looking straight into Keigo’s. Lips a bit red and swollen, drawing your attention to them once again. There’s a slight flush on his face, creeping down his neck and disappearing into his Commission issued shirt.

Hands tighten in the fabric, his wing still tight around you, the little feathers puffed up a bit on your back. He pulls you up a bit more, nosing along your jawline. “We shouldn’t do anything more often,” he murmurs against your skin.

You laugh, small and breathy. It skims across his face like a gentle breeze, making him think of the clouds he sometimes flies through when the Commission lets him out—only for him to do his mission, which most of the time involves something teenagers shouldn’t be even thinking of doing.

“We really shouldn’t.” with that you capture his lips again, stealing his breath—and heart—once more. Eyelashes fluttering against cheekbones, tongues entangling a bit more expertly now, but still awkward. Noses keep bumping into each other, and you exhale a laugh into his mouth. You feel him smile in return before he tightens his hold on you once more.

The rest of the time together is spent like that, adrenaline filling the both of you. This shouldn’t be happening, you shouldn’t even entertain the thought of kissing someone, much less Keigo—or Hawks, as they call him here.

He shouldn’t even be in your room right now, having snuck out of his own earlier that evening. How the two of you haven’t been caught over the years is beyond you, but then again, the two of you aren’t perfect weapons for nothing.

By the time you pull away from him—still close enough to feel and hear his heartbeat beneath you, feel the way his chest rises and falls with every breath—it’s way past the time he normally sneaks back into his own room.

“You should probably go,” you whisper, and his eyes are still on you—on the way your hair is a bit messy now with the way he was running his hands through it. On the way your lips are red and kiss-bitten. On the way your cheeks are almost as red as his wings. “You’re already later than normal.”

And oh, how he wishes he can just stay here, in the same bed as you, wrap his around around you and fall asleep with your head on his chest. But that isn’t reality, is it? The two of you are still in this mindless dungeon your parents sold you off to. Industrial gray fills his vision when he looks around your room once more. The only thing that makes it seem brighter is you—even if what you’re wearing doesn’t have any color in it.

He’s been thinking about this moment for years. Just being alone with you, having you all to himself, away from the watchful eyes of the Commission. He’d buy an apartment for the two of you, living together to save expenses.

Of course he’d have to feed the Commission some bullshit lie about the two of you working better together. Team building isn’t something they’re fond of, but with the right twist of words he can definitely work something out to keep you close to him.

But for now he knows he should go back to his room. Be mindful of the handful of handlers that sometimes walk through the hallways—always watching, except for when they’re not. He’s memorised their routines. How many steps each handler takes. When they do their rounds. Knows the way the camera’s are angled, and how to avoid them.

He knows, but still he can’t seem to let go of you. His hands on your hips, tracing small, invisible shapes into your skin. He surges forward once more, giving you a small peck this time. “Goodnight, dove.”

“Goodnight, Kei,” you whisper back, before pushing yourself off him so he can get out of the room. He glances back toward you one more time, feathers angled towards you like they’re reaching out, before he dips out of your room and towards his own.

Rolling over you bury your face into the pillow and let out a small squeal—one of the only feelings you let yourself feel while inside of this building. It’s so unlike you, so unlike the person the Commission wants you to be. But you can’t help it.

And then you feel it, under your shirt, pressed over your heart—Keigo’s feather. The one he keeps on you to make sure you’re safe. It wiggles a few times before sliding up and slipping out of your neckline. Right, he can hear you. Huffing through your nose you look at it hovering right in front of you. “What?”

The feather shudders slightly, as if laughing. Dickhead. Then it moves towards your face and taps you on your nose once—a small gesture Keigo loves to do when you’re frowning, and now apparently when you’re squealing, too—before it brushes feather-soft over your lips and disappears into your shirt once more.

Rolling your eyes you finally situate yourself in the bed. But your smile never leaves your face, and even in your sleep you can still feel fingers and feathers all over you.

The next few weeks are spent tense. No secret glances, no lingering touches, no acknowledgement that you and Hawks know each other as more than just two perfect weapons in the making. There are handlers constantly watching the two of you, so if your gaze would fall onto him a second too long, they’d know something is off.

Inside of these concrete walls you cannot show your true emotions, face blank at all times of the day, despite you wanting to reach out and hold Keigo.

You’re not sure what the two of you are right now—except for children that are being groomed by those who are supposed to protect heroes—as you haven’t had a chance to talk to him about it yet. There have been no more talks in your bedroom.

But every time you walk past him, that one small feather at your ribcage wiggles just slightly. A small acknowledgement that he’s seen you, that he can still feel and hear you, despite not being there with you.

It’s harder than you expected it to be. Never in your life would you’ve thought that you’d share a kiss with the boy you’ve spent most of your life with. And never in your life would you have thought you’d come to the conclusion that you are, in fact, in love with said boy.

That doesn’t mean you haven’t talked to him, though. Well… talked is a big word, it’s mostly you who did the talking while he would hover his small feather in front of you, sometimes tapping on your skin if he agreed or disagreed with something. It was a small language the two of you had configured when younger.

A smile threatens to take over your face, before you smooth it over and look ahead again. Your handler is walking behind you—an older woman in her fifties—hands clasped behind her back, clipboard in hand, her heels click click clicking on the linoleum floor below, suit crisp, not a single wrinkle in sight. Her expression schooled—the same way yours is, and everyone else’s in this entire building.

Another set of footsteps can be heard from the other side of the hallway, one a bit more lax, and the other right on their heel. You know that gait anywhere. Hawks.

The two of you walk past each other and bow your heads towards one another. Custom, something they drilled into you. There’s nothing to be seen in his golden eyes, not a glimpse of emotion, nor can it be found in yours.

His birthmarks seem darker in these lights, almost as if they had filled them in with an even darker shade of black before he had to train. You’re sure people will think that it’s simply eyeliner, when it’s not.

One of the little kids here—around six—had asked him if it was, and he’d laughed at them. Small but genuine. It was one of the only times he’s ever shown emotion outside of your room, and it made your heart flutter inside of your ribcage. Something that didn’t go unnoticed by the blond, whose feathers puffed up behind him a little.

The footsteps disappear behind you, indicating that Hawks and his handler are away from earshot, which makes your own handler finally speak up. She talks about quirk swapping the kids, aged ten to fourteen. There are only four in total—seven children in the program, including you and Keigo—but they need to know what it’s like to not fight with their own quirk.

It’s your quirk, being able to swap quirks of others. The first time you told Keigo that, he absolutely lit up and asked you if you could swap quirks with him, which you did without a second thought. You’d warned him it meant he didn’t have a quirk, at all, but he just beamed and told you he wanted to see his wings on you.

Seven year old you had done so after confirming he really was okay with it. When he nodded, you focused and swapped them around. Crimson wings sprouting from your back, while Keigo’s disappeared. It went fine for all but 2 seconds, then it went wrong.

Keigo was so used to his wings, he instinctively leaned forward to keep balance. Without his wings, he toppled forward, center of gravity having shifted, no longer being dragged back by his wings. You in the meantime fell backwards, the heavy wings dragging you down, not having braced for the extra weight you’d be carrying on your back.

Keigo landed on top of you, while you landed on one of your—technically Keigo’s—wings. Pain shot through your spine, and up your skull. Tears pricking at your waterline, and one even slid down your temple and disappeared into your hair.

And then came the noise. It was as if everything was tuned up to the max—you could hear the buzz of electricity in the ceiling lights, keypads, electric doors. Could hear your own heartbeat, blood rushing through you, the sound of the feathers twitching behind your back. And you could even hear his heartbeat and blood rushing through him.

Putting your hands to your ears you tried blocking everything out, but it didn’t help. You could hear everything around you, even when you curled up in a ball.

The boy above you was touching your shoulder, speaking, but even that felt like it was too loud—not registering the words he was desperately trying to tell you. You laid on that floor for what seemed like hours, crying about everything being too loud.

It was only when Keigo started whispering, so soft no one else would’ve heard, that you finally heard what he was saying. ‘Swap it back. Give me my wings back and it’ll be fine.’ And you did just that. The red plumes disappearing behind you and reappearing behind their rightful owner.

“Sorry, I should’ve warned you,” Keigo’s voice was trembling a bit, fingers wiping under your eyes to rid them of their tears. “I forgot. I’m used to it now.”

That made your heart stutter a bit. That’s what he hears at all times? It wasn’t something you accounted for. You’ve seen his quirk in action—flying, though it was more hovering in place, and him controlling th individual feathers to slice through objects with precision it scared you—but you never actually asked what it did.

“That’s what you hear all the time?” you breathed out, fingers trembling slightly beside you. Keigo nodded his head, his golden curls bouncing with the motion. The two of you are silent for a bit before you finally spoke up again, “I’m sorry you have to hear all of that.”

He merely shrugged, as if this was normal. As if it’s normal to be able to hear footsteps the floors down. To hear the electricity travel through appliances. To hear your own blood pump through you. And it made little you so incredibly sad. While it’s quiet in the building, it is still loud for him. You always thought it was eerie with how abandoned the building seemed—not because it was falling apart or because there was ivy growing everywhere, but because of how empty it was inside. But for him every single thing is noise.

You’d pulled him into a hug right then and there, and whispered in his ear that you’d talk to him if he ever felt lonely. He merely smiled at you and returned the hug. Just two weapons in training that found solace in each other.

The kids inside the facility, despite being older than you and Keigo were at the time, still remind you of the two of you. The first time you swap their quirks around, they all look confused, still used to how they fight with their own quirk, only to quickly realise they have to adapt.

On one hand it’s a good lesson, you’d never know when you’d lose your quirk during a battle, on the other hand it’s absolutely disgusting that they’re practicing this on barely teens.

You keep swapping quirks around once they get used to how the new quirk feels, just to throw them off. It’s not something you do with great pleasure, but you can’t exactly go against whatever your handler assigns you to do.

It’s something you’ve tried before, only to be put in solitary confinement for a week. In there they still had you practice all sorts of things, but you just didn’t get to be around people anymore. You still shudder every time you think of the place.

Once the handler deems the exorcise to be enough for the kids—almost two whole hours later—you get steered out of the room, onto your next assignment.

“Since you and Hawks are about to debut in a few months, we need to make sure the two of you are desensitized, him moreso than you,” she flips through the papers on her clipboard, occasionally nodding her head at something that’s written down. “You’ll have to act like fans without boundaries. There will be other people pulling him into every direction. Just make sure he doesn’t sharpen his feathers.”

With that she pushes the door open, and in the middle of the room stands Keigo—or Hawks, right now—his red wings spread out into a brilliant arc, showing off all the way from the primaries down to the dowry feathers he has.

His handler is checking his wings, ensuring the strength and health of them, twisting and turning some pieces, and tugging on others. You know he hates that. Hates anyone that touches his wings, except for you. It’s something he’s told you since the two of you were young, said it hurt with how they disregarded the fact that he could feel whenever people touched his feathers, as sensitive as nerve endings.

It took him a while to trust you enough to let the pad of your finger skim over one of the primaries while they were in their half-sharp state. He wasn’t sensitized enough to let you touch his feathers when they were in their resting state just yet, but he did trust you enough that he at least let you touch them. Ever since that moment he started trusting you more and more, to a point where you can now preen him without any problems.

He’s fallen asleep once, when you were preening him after a brutal day. They had him run simulations all day long—fly through rubble and falling buildings, soot and smoke clinging to his feathers turning the brilliant velvet into ash. He had to save hundreds, if not thousands of dummies that were stuck in the wrecks—to a point where the skin at the base of his wings were inflamed.

You’d wanted to trace the skin, soothe it somehow, but you thought better of it. He’d snuck out of his room later that day to get into yours, and the moment you saw him you patted the limited space beside you on the bed.

He’d all but flopped onto the bed with a groan, telling you about how much his wings were hurting him. It’s not something the two of you did often—complain to each other—but after particularly hard days you just had to vent to someone, and who better than your best friend.

So you’d combed your fingers through his wind-swept hair, untangling the obvious knots in them. Sometimes you accidentally tugged on a strand a bit too hard, but he didn’t complain about it even once; merely sighed out into your duvet and kept talking about whatever his mind could conjure up.

At some point your fingers slid down to his wings, and you’d started to carefully preen him. While his wings were cleaner now, there were still some stubborn pieces of soot clinging to them—something you yourself couldn’t get off with just your hands—but that wasn’t something you were after. No, you just carefully started to put every feather into their rightful place, sometimes that meant twisting the feather at the base a bit, and other times that meant getting rid of the keratin casings on the newer feathers.

You weren’t sure when, but somewhere when you switched to preen his other wing, he’d stopped talking and his breath had evened out, eyes fluttering shut. Smiling you continued to preen him.

The sight of the handler tugging on some of the feathers makes you more mad than you should be. Not that you can show it, though. If someone were to suspect anything going on between you and Hawks, you were in some deep shit, whether it be just surface-level friendship, or something deeper. So you swallow and steel your expression.

Your own handler gives a squeeze at your elbow before she leaves the room to go to the monitor room. Once Keigo’s handler steps back, he nods once and walks past you, thrusting a piece of paper and a pen into your hand.

With that, the two of you are left alone. Well… you know there are tens of pairs of eyes upon the two of you, watching, waiting.

And then the simulation starts. A pro hero walks beside Hawks, chatting. The entire room transforms into that of a city, cars buzzing past, people leaving little shops—just a normal day in a city. Not that you and Keigo really know what that looks like.

If you were gonna do this, you could at least have some fun with it. Inhaling, you put a smile on your face, before absolutely squealing. “OH. MY. GOD. IS THAT HAWKS?!”

The simulation responds. People stop on the sidewalk, looking back at ‘the two heroes’, cars slow down slightly. And then you move. Fast. You cross the sidewalk in no time, getting all up in Hawks’ space.

“You’re my favorite hero! I can’t believe I get to meet you— can I get an autograph?” you gush, not giving him a moment to respond before thrusting the pen into his face and holding out the paper the handler gave you.

Hawks, for his part, just smiles, and it makes your heart beat a little faster—something he can definitely hear. “Of course, what’s your name?”

You mumble out a random name before your hand shoots out toward his wing. “These are so cool. And so soft! Do you think I can get one?” You tug on his feathers a bit forcefully, not going as hard as you probably should for the assignment, but you also don’t wanna hurt him.

There’s a slight bristle from his feathers before he smooths them over again. Keigo just chuckles at you, signing your piece of paper before giving back the pen. “Ah, sorry, no can do. Wish I could, though.” He winks over at you before he gets absolutely hoarded by other people—fake or not, they still feel real.

The rest of the day is spent like that, you throwing your arms around him, tugging on his feathers, squealing and screaming. Anything and everything to show the handlers that he’s sensitized enough to be able to walk outside without any problem.

Once the two of you are done, your handler pulls you aside. “We’re gonna run another simulation. Tomorrow. Your turn.”

Right, because they have to know if you’re good enough to swap quirks with him if needed. Luckily the two of you have practiced that many times after the first time.. The Commission telling you that no one else should ever get their hands on his wings, except for you. If he ever loses too many feathers during a fight, you have to jump in and swap quirks. You’ll get his feathers while you give him one of the quirks from the fight—leaving one of the villains Quirkless.

So they have to know you don’t completely shut down in an environment like that. Which you get, but it’s still annoying as fuck.

By the time your handler lets you go, Keigo is already gone. Probably towards his own room for the night. It’s only when you walk past a supply closet that an hand encloses around your wrist and tugs you into it.

The first thing you do is try to twist whoever’s arm it is behind them, but you’re quickly spun around. Your back hits the door with a thud, one hand is covering your mouth while the other is on your hip. “Shhhh, dove, it’s just me.”

Your hands fall to your sides. Blinking a few times your vision sharpens enough to see Keigo’s silhouette. “Fucking hell, Hawks, what are you doing?” you hiss at him once he removes his hand from your mouth. Keigo just smiles at you, small, but dangerous. “What, you think you can just touch me all day without driving me absolutely crazy?”

Right, you did do that, but that was for the assignment. Trying to get an reaction out of him. So what if your fingers skimmed over his most vulnerable parts—the base joints near his shoulder blades—that was all for the assignment, of course.

“You can’t just pull me into a storage closet, what if someone saw us?” you ask him, still not moving from where you’re pressed against the door. “No one saw us, and the camera’s have a dead spot here.”

Damn him and his smart brain. His thumb is tracing small circles on your hipbone, while his other hand creeps up to cup your jaw. Your own arms enclose around his neck, fingers playing with the hairs at his nape.

He surges forward, lips crashing against yours in a frenzy. You kiss him back just as eager. It’s been weeks since the last kiss, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss him.

“Missed you,” he mumbles against your lips, nose bumping into yours when he angles his head a bit. “Missed you, too.”

His wing wraps itself around you, feathers whispering against your skin over the fabric. They tremble slightly while your tongues entangle, puffing up slightly in affection he can’t hide.

A string of saliva connects the two of you when you pull away from him. It snaps a second later, leaving your lips shiny and slightly swollen. His aren’t any better, small teeth indentations on his bottom lip from where you pulled it between your teeth.

His forehead drops to yours, eyes halflidded and hazed over a little. Your breaths mingling, but mouths not touching any longer. Your chest rises and falls against his, heartbeats syncing, before it stutters once he looks at you like that—pure adoration filling his eyes.

“Hated not being able to see you for so long,” his voice is breathy, a slight groan pulling from his chest when your finger wraps around one of his locks of hair. “Heard you, though.”

And he did. You talked to him almost every night, but that doesn’t make up for the fact that he wasn’t there in person with you.

“Only five more months,” you reply. Five more months before the two of you are finally free from this prison they keep you in. Those industrial gray walls you’ve seen almost your entire life. The slightly cold rooms that keep you on edge constantly. “Just five before we can get out of here.”

Keigo just smiles at you, not replying with words, but rather by pressing his lips to yours once more. It’s quiet and full of love. “Then let’s endure them and we can finally stop sneaking around like this, love.”

The nickname has you blinking a few times. Maybe it was a slip of the tongue, ‘dove’ and ‘love’ are so similair, after all. But your cheeks heat up all the same. Nodding your head you peck his lips once more before finally letting go of him.

He steps back slightly, fingers lingering on your hip before retracting completely. You twist the doorknob before looking over your shoulder and smiling slightly. With that you leave him in the supply closet, alone.

Keigo presses his forehead against the door for a few moments to let his heart calm down. He didn’t think he would miss you so damn much, but after that once kiss the two of you shared weeks ago, he hasn’t been able to think of anything but you.

Cursing he runs his hands through his hair once, before opening the door and slipping out. Wings dragging behind him like a cape that holds every little sign of affection he’s had for you since the first day he saw you.

It’s only a few days later when Keigo comes to your room again. You honestly hadn’t expected him today. They’d sent him out on a mission that from the looks of it, was going to take all day, if not all night. But here he is, standing in your door opening.

Sitting up you pat the space beside you, inviting him in like you always do. He crosses the room quickly to go sit beside you. His fingers are playing with each other—a small habit you haven’t seen him do often—while he looks at everything but you.

“You okay?” you ask, your hand reaching for his shoulder, only for him to jerk away before you can touch him. Blinking a few times you let your hand fall back beside you. “Hey, what’s going on?”

He takes a deep breath in, stops fiddling with his fingers, and looks you straight into the eyes. You get slightly lost in everything that they are—golden with those amber specs in them, all predator when he narrows them—before you shake your head slightly.

“I think we should stop seeing each other,” he states, still holding eye contact with you. And you can feel your heart drop to your stomach. Freezing slightly, everything around you seems to slow down—the way you’re breathing, the slight electral buzz that’s always there in the walls somehow feels muffled and distant, hell even Keigo looks far away.

“What?”

“It’s just not going to work. Not with the way the Commission is always on our asses. And- and I don’t think I really have feelings for you,” he vomits the words out like they’re acidic, burning his tongue if they don’t leave fast enough.

It doesn’t compute for a second. The words sound foreign. As if some random stranger came up to you and told you the sky was purple. “I- what? But what about the five months? You said we only had to wait for five more months before we could stop sneaking around.”

Keigo just shakes his head, standing up from your bed. The distance between the two of you feels greater than it actually is, as if there’s a canyon between the two of you, whereas you two were normally all up in each others’ space.

“Just… don’t. This is better. For the both of us.” With that he starts walking toward the door. You feel under your shirt for the red plume that’s pressed to your ribs.

“Then take this back,” you spit towards him, throwing the feather in his direction without a care. He picks it up before slipping out the door, just as quietly as he came in.

When you hear the door click shut behind him, you let yourself fall back onto the thin matrass, staring up at the cold ceiling. There’s this quake in your chest you refuse to acknowledge.

Almost twelve years. Almost twelve years of knowing the boy with his crimson wings. Almost eleven years of being friends. Ten of being ‘best friends’. And yet, two months of being more than best friends, and everything crumbled.

You knew. You knew the friendship you and Keigo built was based on a house of cards, one wrong move and everything would collapse, but never did you think the collapse would look like this—like him being the one pushing the house to collapse.

All those smiles and giggles. All those memories made in corners the Commission could never reach. And now it’s all gone.

All because you let yourself fall in love with your best friend.

The next few months are a hell on earth—not that you weren’t used to it by now, but it’s definitely different not having Keigo by your side. You pushed yourself into assignments more and more; any free time you did have was spent asking for more assignments, or just training in general.

You couldn’t dare to sit in your own room, forced to sit in the silence that feels more suffocating than ever. The walls still carry the laughter. Still carry the gentle warmth Keigo somehow left behind, almost as if his feathers spanned the walls, feather-soft to the touch.

Whenever you’re in your room you just stare blankly at the ceiling, listening to the buzz of the electrics around you. There was one time you had your pillow clutched to your chest, unable to sleep, because you kept seeing golden eyes staring back at you. Crimson wings touching your skin, and those unruly tufts of wind-swept hair.

The pillow still faintly smelled like him at that point, and you tried so hard not to bury your nose into it and inhale like your life depended on it. You were so lost in thought, trying—and failing—not to think about him, that you startled when you felt something prick into your chest.

Moving the pillow you felt something soft brush over your skin, something that felts suspiciously much like a feather. Heart pounding in your chest you ripped the pillow from your chest, hoping to see that familiar crimson plume you threw back at him in a fit of anger, only to see a singular, sad white feather.

Right, pillows are filled with feathers.

Your hands were shaking when you picked it up, swallowing around the lump in your throat, you laid it under your pillow, which you put under your head again. It was something you couldn’t explain, but it just felt right to keep it there, with you.

It’s still under your pillow, even now—almost five months later. Sometimes you pick it up and twirl it around in your finger, watching the way it droops down like it’s sad. And with the right imagination you can imagine it being red, but even when you do that you know it isn’t his.

His feathers were a little harder, not fanned out as much. They were sturdy and so brilliantly red, you couldn’t imagine it being his.

Despite that you still held onto it like it was worth anything more than it actually was. Sometimes you put it under your shirt while you slept, waking up with an itch, almost as if reminding you it shouldn’t be there. Other times you just… talked.

But this feather doesn’t respond to what you’re saying. Doesn’t hover in front of you, shuddering with laughter when you say something stupid. Doesn’t tap your nose or skin in agreement. It’s just there, clutched between your thumb and index finger.

You sometimes wonder if he misses you as much, but then quickly push the thought away. He broke it up for a reason, so you can’t let yourself go down that route.

Whenever you saw him in the hallways, you didn’t look at him. Didn’t nod like you used to, just stared blankly ahead. Teeth clenched, hands balled, leaving small indents on your palms.

He didn’t look at you, either. Always staring ahead. Hand in his pockets while avoiding eye contact. While the two of you never lingered on each other, there were some glances. Now it’s like the two of you are merely strangers.

So no, you wouldn’t admit you miss him, because he’s clearly doing fine without you. The Commission’s golden boy. Now getting even more praise. You hear it from the ‘kids’ all the time—missions he went on, the absolute control he has over his quirk, anything and everything.

You tune everything they say about him out. Never listening too much about what they’re saying. Not the handlers, not the kids.

The two of you had a mission together two weeks ago, which went… okay. Hawks did most of the work, to be completely honest. Something about not needing you there. It honestly stung when he said that, but you pushed the feeling away, merely telling him he could do whatever he wanted. Which he did.

You’d gotten reprimanded about not participating, while Hawks got all the praise. He’d looked over at you with a smirk on his face—not the one he used to give you, no this one was radiating smugness from him—and you wanted to punch it clean off his stupidly handsome face.

Now it’s time for you to step out into the real world. The Commission had gotten you your own agency with a few sidekicks in the Sendai district, while they had sent Hawks to Kyushu—the other side of the country.

You weren’t sure how to feel about that, feelings conflicting in a tight knot inside your chest. On one hand you were glad he wasn’t with you, on the other hand you felt sad because the two of you had dreamed of running an agency together, or at least close enough to each other that you two would be able to frequently see each other.

And with the way the Commission had sent you out on missions together from when you were younger, to training together, you’d absolutely believed they would let the two perfect weapons stay together, strengthening each other. But alas, the two of you had drifted away from each other.

Now you’re looking at the building that supposedly ‘yours’. You know damn well it’s the Commission’s, but you let yourself believe for just a moment that it’s something of your own. They own you, though, so you’re not sure you’ll ever get something of your own.

Stepping inside the lobby you step into a new part of your life—alone.

The first year goes well. You quickly climb the rankings, no doubt the Commission having something to do with it, but it’s still something. You recently just breached the top 10. Your name being everywhere.

The rookie hero who debuts in the top ten!

But wherever your name is, his follows. Hawks being more popular amongst the masses, purely for being so charismatic. You roll your eyes at that, as if you didn’t know damn well how charismatic he can be. And from everything you’ve seen, the smirks, the winks, the little murmured sentences to his fans—all fake.

You’re muttering to yourself about how his real smirk is more awkward, it has that little adorable tilt to it that makes it more cute than sexy. His wink normally isn’t as smooth. The little dimple doesn’t appear on his face when he smiles.

But not that you notice that. Of course not. He’s made it very clear with what the two of you are, which is absolutely nothing. So you don’t look at it too long, always clicking away whenever his face pops up on the screens.

Seems like despite not working together you still can’t get away from him.

The Commission drowns you in assignments. You do your normal patrols, go out when you get paged, and after that you have to do the dirty work no one ever would even think of heroes doing. Granted most heroes don’t do the things you—and Hawks—do.

It makes for a good distraction, though. You’re simply too exhausted to even care about a certain blond-haired crimson-winged hero at the other side of Japan.

That is until the annual hero billboards come around. Your days have been so swamped that you didn’t even realise it was that time of the year already.

So here you are, walking backstage, waiting for the event to start. Number ten.

You know the Commission definitely messed with the numbers, but you aren’t complaining. There’s a lot of things you do that go unnoticed, so maybe this is a way of them telling you you did a good job. Or maybe they’re trying to keep you under their thumbs by putting you in the spotlights so you can’t slack off for even a day.

The perfect weapons.

That’s all you’ll ever be to them. Not a person. Not a hero. A weapon they created to use at their disposal. Same for the guy you spent almost your entire life beside.

Speaking of— your shoulder collides with another, making you stumble slightly. It’s not something that has happened often, your handler always being on your ass to be alert. Vigilant. Stay aware of your surroundings at all times. But with how tired you are you can’t really focus. Seems like even the strongest sometimes need a break.

You’re bowing a full ninety degrees, mumbling out a ‘sorry’ before straightening up again. And all the air seems to leave your lungs.

A pair of golden eyes is staring straight at you, lips pursed, bushy brows furrowed slightly. An annoyed look you weren’t familiar with. Never in the thirteen years of knowing him has he ever looked at you like that—or anyone for that matter, because handlers would have his head if he so much as disobeyed them.

“See you made the top ten,” he mutters out with a scoff, disdain lacing his voice. But you can’t hear him, not really anyway. Your mind already far, far away from the billboards and rather back in those industrial gray rooms that you were so familiar with.

Eyes that are golden with amber specks in them are looking at you. There’s dark marks around the eyes that has your head tilt a bit. Your hand is fisted in the fabric of this tall stranger’s pants—you’ll later learn that it’s your handler, one of the many you’ll get over the years that you’ll stay in that rotten place you’ve never escaped—while you step away from their legs just slightly when you see the boy stand there.

His golden curls bounce on top of his head, a single curl falls into his eyes, which he swipes away with one hand while the other is clutching a plushy of sorts. You’re not familiar with what, or who it is, but it’s clearly a man with a flaming beard.

Your voice doesn’t come to you, throat hoarse from all the screaming you’ve done when your parents told you to stay here with the nice lady while they went out for errands. You just couldn’t understand why they didn’t want to take you with them and rather let you stay with a stranger.

Eyes welled up with fat tears that rolled down the round apples of your cheeks that were blotched red with the way you were crying for your parents.

Why didn’t they want to take you with them?

Nose snotty and eyes completely red-rimmed you were staring at this boy that seemed to be your age. He wasn’t that much taller than you were, but he was calm, looking at you like you were something interesting. And in that moment you calmed down slightly.

The hiccups stopped after a while, when the handler nice lady told you you could play with the boy. That seemed more fun, for a second forgetting your parents just left you here. Maybe being here for a few hours wouldn’t hurt all that much.

Said boy told you his name was Hawks, and you’d giggled then and told him your real name—something you got reprimanded for by the lady, and your little mind just couldn’t understand why she was scolding you for simply telling him your name—in turn.

The rest of the day was spent with giggles and hushed voices. There might not have been much to play with—only giving the two of you a few blocks to play with—but it was enough to keep your mind off the fact that your parents pretty much had abandoned you here.

It was only when the lady came back and told you two to go to bed that you were brought back to reality. Your little fist rubbing your eyes while you asked if mama and papa were there for you. The lady gave you a look, something between disappointment and reprimand, and told you that you were having a sleepover today.

Your lips pursed while your eyebrows furrowed together. As much as you liked this new boy, you weren’t a fan of sleeping over here. Your parents said they would only go out to run some errands, never saying anything about you staying here for the night.

When you’d pleaded with the lady to just go home, she got angry and told you to behave, almost scolding you like a mom does.

That seemed to do something to the young boy, though, because he immediately clamped his mouth shut while his eyes turned blank—the signs of him being happy were simply erased from his face like a light switch was turned off—and he stood up to go to, what you presumed was, his room.

From then on out there were no more playdates, only people testing your quirk out on different people, trying to gauge your power from when you were a mere five years old. Your parents never came back for you, and you later found out that you’d simply been sold off.

But through it all, from that first day up until almost the last, was one person you could always rely on—Keigo. Or as the masses call him: Hawks. That name makes you shudder, for multiple reasons, but mostly because you know what it meant for him to get a name like that. A prisoner in a corrupt system that should’ve never existed to begin with.

And now he’s here, looking at you like you’re a pest in his life. Like you’re one of them. Not trying to hide his disdain for you, and you can’t help but feel a nerve in your jaw tick at the sight.

Sure, you were the person who fell in love with your best friend—which you knew was stupid to begin with, not just because he might not love you back, but also because the Commission would never allow the two of you to be distracted to begin with—but he’s the one who broke whatever it was the two of you had off.

So why is he glaring at you like you’re mere gum on the bottom of his shoe, or that one little barb he never can reach in his wings that you always had to preen for him otherwise he’d get agitated.

“Mhmm. See you did, too. Must’ve been easy, charming every women to get a little more popularity over there,” you smile at him through gritted teeth, trying so incredibly hard not to let anyone who’d walk past see that there’s any animosity between the two of you.

He smiles at you all condescendingly. It makes your eye twitch just slightly, but his eye see the movement—of course they do, the two of you have been trained to look at little tells like that since you were young, always so in tune with other’s emotions—and his grin widens, almost as if he’s won something.

He’s about to retort something when his wings twitch on his back, a movement so minuscule, no one else would catch it, but you know him better than anyone else, even if you don’t want to acknowledge that part right now.

The two of you straighten up and smile at each other—one of the practiced, fake ones that no one would be able to tell was fake to begin with—pretending to chat about the rankings. One of the heroes walks past and nods his head at the two of you, while the two of you bow back to him.

When he’s out of sight you drop the entire persona, not bothering with the fake smiles and niceties. You note the way Hawks relaxes slightly, feathers betraying his every being no matter how much he tries to hide from you, too.

Your hand shoots to your ribs, fingers skimming over your hero suit. The fabric dark with gold details—just like his, because the two of you might not do things together, but the HPSC still has their claws in the two of you—but it’s empty underneath. Just flesh and bone. No red feather that flutters against your skin whenever the blond saw you, or missed you. No longer replies to your sighs.

It’s easy to get lost in all that’s him. The blond and red. The cocky smirk he has on his face, and the slight stubble he’s beginning to grow. It’s easy to get lost, and then get pulled back into the present when he scoffs and walks past you, shoulder deliberately knocking into yours.

You want to spill your heart out when you once again see him walk away from you, just like that night. Wings held high, feathers trembling slightly and the back of his head turned towards yours. Want to tell him that it meant nothing, that the two of you could still be friends, like old times sake. But you know that won’t happen, no matter how much you want it to.

The two of you have simply… grown apart. No longer best friends, or that more-than-bestfriends thing the two of you had before he broke it off. Right now the two of you are colleagues. Strangers with history. Enemies competing for the better spot on a leader board the two of you don’t care about.

Your hand falls from your ribs to your side, and it’s so easy to make him stay, but it’s also easy to let him walk away. Because what good would it do? He’s made his stance very clear on the matter. No longer wanting you in his life, no matter what he had promised you.

Walls no longer industrial gray, but rather a muted white, but they feel more lifeless that the prison that you called your home for years, because a certain someone isn’t there to brighten them up. Only the sun setting into hues of violet and peach paints the room in colors.

He said he’d still be here with you, yet you watch him walk away from you the moment the two of you see each other again.

Fine. So be it.

And that’s how the competition really begins.

After the first hero billboard comes the petty revenge. Flirting more with your fans—showing him that you can use his tactics to become more popular, too. The hero rankings are constantly fluctuating, you and Hawks surpassing each other every time, trading ranks like you’re trading stock.

People online have started putting bets on who will be higher ranked this year. The two rookie heroes going head to head, making for an exciting race, or whatever it is they’re saying.

He garners attention by flirting with his fans, you garner attention by doing a shoot, face plastered on every billboard across Japan. It’s petty. It’s stupid. It’s the only way you can keep him close to you despite being hundreds of kilometers apart.

There’s a nagging voice at the back of your head now every time you see his face or name anywhere on the internet. No longer associated with Keigo but rather with Hawks the hero who you’re competing against.

The second annual billboard ranks you at five while he’s at six. The saccharine smile you plaster on your face when the two of you are on stage ticks him off. You can see it in the little tells, one of his feathers near his scapula is razor-sharp one second, while soft the other.

People start asking the two of you questions—rookie heroes, dating scandals, anything and everything they can get their hands on. You deflect with a smile and a wink, and he does the same.

Later that same night there’s hundreds of clips posted about how the two of you would make such a good team or would be so good together. Your eye twitches at that, fingers cracking with the way you’re balling your hands so hard your nails breach the skin on your palms and blood steadily trickles down your forearm.

What would they know about you being ‘such a good item with him.’ They do not know Hawks the same way you do, and over your dead body would you go back to him. The feud you have with him is at this point more important than anything else.

So you start doing other things on your off time—which you already barely have, but for the sake of winning this god-forsaken competition you’d give up all of your free time—such as going into schools and telling children about safety and what to do in villain attacks.

Your popularity numbers are climbing by the day, more of you can be seen in tabloids. Face plastered all over social media for helping a cat get out of a tree. Bringing in groceries for the nice old lady on the sidewalk. Things you would never do out of your own volition, purely because that hasn’t been trained into you to do.

Seems like you underestimated how low Hawks would step, though. It’s during one of your regular patrols, the sun is blistering down and sweat is beading off your temple and down your jaw. There’s a marker in your hand while a kid is jumping up and down in excitement to get your autograph.

You’re smiling, already thinking of where you could get something to hydrate, the cold surely feeling nice against your parched throat, when a big shadow falls across you.

People starts squealing and pointing into the sky, and sure enough there he is. Hawks. All red wings and cocky smirks, hovering in the air. He circles a few times before touching down, immediately getting mobbed by tens of fans.

Hell, even the kid you were giving an autograph just… runs away from you. Your pen hovering uselessly in the air. The stench that comes from the marker fills your nostrils, and it finally snaps you out of your reverie.

Pinching yourself once, you confirm that Hawks is, in fact, really here. Standing on your turf, talking and taking pictures with your fans. And you can already hear that stupid counter climb up by the second, getting more popularity by just touching down here.

And as if he can feel your gaze on him, he lifts his head lightly, golden eyes finding your form. For a second he just stares blankly, then he smirks and throws a wink into your direction. Fucking dickhead.

Sighing you continue your patrol while already thinking of how you’ll get your revenge.

Kyushu is… different than you expected. You never read up much about it, but you knew it was an island—duh—so you didn’t expect to see high rise towers litter everywhere you looked. The buildings so high you would almost be able to touch a cloud if you opened the window; an over-exaggeration, but still.

You thought the place Hawks chose, or well, the HPSC chose for him would have more sea. You thought the air would smell salty, like the ocean, and hear the waves crash ashore, but nothing is less true.

Fukuoka is a heavily populated city. There’s buildings, cars, and street life everywhere. When you got sent here you thought it might be different than back in Sendai, but nothing is less true.

The mission had been simple. Go undercover for a drug ring, get the info, let the President know what’s happening, and turn the whole thing upside down before they even know someone infiltrated their home.

What you’d failed to consider, though, is the fact that this is the home of a certain crimson-winged hero who could spot you from hundreds of meters away.

Looks like he didn’t spot you, but rather you him. Tiny feathers slicing through the air at lightning speed, multiple civilians getting pulled out of the way by their clothes while the number two hero fights the villains.

It’s a sight for sore eyes, wings almost down to little nubs, no longer able to fly, and it seems like these villains aren’t gonna stop any time soon.

He’s exhausted. There’s too many innocent bystanders nearby that he has to keep track of while also fighting off two other villains. His wings are almost non-existent, most of the feathers having been used up at this point. One feather-blade is in his hand, luckily still able to use it.

There’s sweat beading down his brow, nearly falling into his eye before it drips to the ground, which is littered with debris from the wreckage the villains have done to the city. It’s honestly more than he’s encountered in the years before—here anyway.

Villains of this size were normally more common in Tokyo, but seems like they decided to bother his district this day.

He deflects one attack while scooping up a child that had fallen trying to run away with one of his feathers, returning the child to his mother who was in tears, officers holding her back from running onto an active villain site.

Then he hears it, a sharp whistle he hasn’t heard in years. It’s music to his ears. It grates him. Almost like he can’t decide if he loves you for being here right now, or if he hates the fact that you’re even here to begin with.

He knows you wouldn’t come here out of your own volition, just like he doesn’t go to Sendai unless ordered, so you’re here on a mission. And here you are, seeing him in this pathetic state, nearly losing to two villains.

You’d probably laugh at him when you have the time, tell him he’s gonna drop a rank and you’ll sprint ahead of him again. The swapping of places hasn’t once stopped. The number two and three, constantly swapping places but never getting that number one spot.

But he knows. He knows he should give you the go-ahead. Get this over with. The civilians are the most important thing right now, so he should do what’s best for them—even if that means you get a tally added to the score.

So he gives his signal that it’s okay to swap. His wings slowly disappearing from his back. The feathers that he has in his hand goes limp—just an ordinary red feather right now—just like all the others that he’s used to get the bystanders out of the way.

Some people gasp, while others are already filming. He can feel the way his quirk has been swapped for someone elses—one of the villains, though he doesn’t know which of the two.

The villains in front of him look confused for a split second before they grin again, certainly thinking they have the upperhand now. Hawks can only grin in turn, tucking his feather in his jacker sleeve—a souvenir he can give to fans if they want it.

And then a flurry of red feathers come down—sharp as can be. The villains get pinned down almost immediately while Hawks goes in to put quirk-cancelling handcuffs on them. He sees you walk up to him a few seconds after, whistling with your hands in your pockets—a sight so him it pisses him off. Of course you’d try and mock him while he’s already down.

More people are gasping and screaming each of your names now, but neither of you give them any attention. You stop in front of him, a lazy nod given while the police officers rush onto scene, dragging away the suspects.

There are some words exchanged while you still have his quirk, crimson stark against the dark fabric of your hero suit. And he can see the way the feathers are trembling, just like your fingers. There’s a slight tick in your jaw you never could hide, not even from the Commission.

You’re overstimulated. His quirk simply picking up too many noises at once, while he can’t hear anything at all. It’s something the two of you haven’t done in a long time—swapping quirks. While you did this on a regular years ago, it’s now something foreign. Still, he has to applaud you for keeping your face as neutral as you are right now, because he knows how rowdy people can be.

After the officer is done talking with the two of you he walks away, leaving the two of you to fend for yourselves. Masses crowd around the number two and three, as if you two are merely circus acts and everyone can just do whatever they want.

People want pictures where you have the wings, others are touching the feathers to see if they really are as soft as Hawks’. And he notes how uncomfortable you are right now, shivers running up your spine when someone tugs on one of the feathers, and he sees the way your—technically his—wings are twitching like they want to lash out.

So he whispers, as low as he can go, that the two of you can get out of here if you just fly away with him. Which is exactly what you do, picking him up with ease—ease that was never there to begin with since he was heavier with the wings dragging behind him—and flying away from the crowd to one of the high-rises.

It’s an bumpy, unsteady flight all the way up to the tallest building there is, and he has to cling onto you to not plummet to his death. Once you land, clumsy and everything, you set him down.

Your wings shudder behind you before they disappear from your back and form back onto Hawks’—only for there to be stubs instead of actual, massive wings he normally has.

There’s sweat clinging to your spine and beading down your temple. You’d forgotten just how loud his world actually is, not having had to bother with it for years on end. That of course doesn’t mean you forgot what his quirk can do—things no one else in the world except for the President and a few handlers know.

You straighten up, swallowing past the bile that was threatening to come up if you stayed down there any longer, you nod to yourself. You’re okay. This is okay. Everything is okay.

The blond is just watching you, for once having no quip ready on the tip of his tongue, but rather just… looking. There’s a hint of concern he can’t quite seem to hide from you, but you don’t focus too much on that.

Walking up to him you pat him on the back, just between his scapulae where he’s the most sensitive. A little payback you’d say, not just for the fact that you had to get the two of you out of there since he didn’t have enough feathers to even fly, but also for all the bullshit he had pulled this year to get ahead of you.

“Well, see you later, number three,” your voice mock-cheerful. You were the number three hero currently, but with today’s save, or whatever you want to call it, you’re sure your rank will rise once again, surpassing Hawks’. “Gotta do stuff.”

Before you can even walk away a gloved hand wraps itself around your wrist, tugging you back. Another hand finds itself on your hip, warm and familiar in a way you don’t want to acknowledge right now. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Clenching your jaw you look over at the blond, brows furrowing and lips pursing into a straight line. You don’t bother to conceal your expression right now, there’s no one around to see, so you can just show your disdain on your face whenever you want—one of the special occasions.

“Oh I’m sorry, I forgot. I… gotta… go,” you slowly annunciate every word, almost as if you’re talking to a deaf person with dementia who has to lip read. You know he can hear you just fine—while he might not be able to hear everything, his ears still work perfectly fine.

The next instant you’re backed onto a brick wall of the bulkhead. Rough stone scraping against your back through the fabric of your hero suit. It has you gasping out slightly, not thinking he would do something like this.

“You’re such a brat sometimes,” he breathes out, pupils almost like slits, and oh, he’s pissed. Not his normal relaxed self, but rather actually annoyed at something you did—and if you had to guess it was to hit him where it hurt the most. “You should be happy I even gave you the go-ahead to use my quirk.”

That ticks you off. It’s not like you want to use his quirk, but he was in a bind and he knows it. If it were up to you, you would never even think of using his quirk. So you do what you know best—hands coming around to his back to where the little wings are still uncovered, one of your fingers tracing over his feather. Slow and teasing.

He groans out at the sensation, eyes fluttering closed for just a second before he opens them again, pupils dilated slightly. Then he turns you around, your chest pressing up to the stone while your cheek lays flat against the rough texture. A gasp rips itself from your throat.

His breath ghosts the shell of your ear while he presses his chest against your back, and you feel the bulge in his pants on your ass, making you gulp out. He cannot be serious right now.

“You sure you wanna do this, birdie?” the nickname has you close your eyes for a split-second. For a moment you can hear it echo in your head, distort it until you hear that all too familiar nickname: ‘dove’, but he doesn’t, he just uses the same nicknames he gives his fangirls.

You scoff out at it, and try to wiggle your way from him, only for your ass to brush his bulge. He moans out at the sensation before pushing his hips further into you—pressing it right against your ass so you can feel just how hard he is. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

Pressing your thighs together, you can feel yourself getting hot and bothered. Even after all these years he still gets you going like no other—not that you’ve ever even looked at someone else. The competition between you two has had your focus so much that you haven’t even had the time to go on a date, and honestly you didn’t care to go on one, either.

When you don’t say anything he chuckles. It comes deep from his chest, rumbling it with the sound that’s completely foreign to you.

“Who would’ve thought,” he whispers, fingers slowly tracing up and down your side, not groping, not grabbing, just tracing featherlight touches along your sides while he humps against your ass. It’s almost as if he isn’t aware of his own ministrations, simply rutting against you like a dog in heat—better yet, like a bird in heat. “Bet you flew us here just to rile me up.”

One of his hands slowly goes to the front, fingers skimming your ribs, just where his feather always used to lay. He makes a little shape there before his fingers trace upwards, squeezing your tit once over the fabric. Shivers run down your spine, straight into your core, and you can feel yourself getting wetter by the second. Panties sticking uncomfortably to your folds.

“Hah, you wish—shit,” your head lolls back onto his shoulder when he finds your nipple over the fabric, pinching and rolling the bud between his forefinger and thumb before he tugs on it slightly. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“You’re gonna be full of me in a second,” he murmurs against your cheek, hips never ceasing their motion, while his other hand finally trails down, stopping just at your pants. It’s only when you nod at him that he slips his fingers inside them, digits finding your heat immediately. “Oh? So wet for someone who’s ‘so full of himself’.”

His fingers move over your panties, lightly caressing it, almost like he’s preening himself—careful not to press too hard, nor move too fast, and it has you absolutely whining out for him.

“R-really, that’s all you can come up with. Thought you’d have some—fuck just keep them there—more practice with your l-little fangirls,” you moan out when his fingers skim over your clit, not pressing or rubbing, just featherlight touches that drive you absolutely crazy for him.

Chuckling his finger finally presses down onto your clit, moving it in small circles while pleasure shoots up your core. Your hand clamps itself onto his forearm, not trying to move it, just holding onto it while you gasp out into the open air.

“That’s itttt, love it when your rival plays with your pussy hmmm?” his finger doesn’t stop, just keeps circling your nub until you’re whining out. “Just put them in already, Hawks.”

He makes a thoughtful sound in the back of his throat—something between a hum and a groan—before he finally moves your panties aside and glides one finger through your slick folds. The feeling of the pads of his fingers directly on your skin has you arching into his touch, trying to chase his fingers even though he keeps sliding them through your folds.

One of his fingers finally slide inside your snug walls, warm and wet around him. It has you struggling to catch your breath. When was the last time you even got time to get yourself off? The feeling of his singular finger so much thicker than your own, eyes rolling to the back of your skull.

He slowly starts to pump in and out of your pussy, walls clinging onto him every time he tries to slide his finger out. Soon another one joins the first, stretching you out even further. Blunt nails dig themselves into his forearm, making him hiss out.

“F-feels so good,” you whimper out, careful not to be too noisy. There might not be anyone around, but if someone living in the apartments below, there’s a possibility they’d be able to hear you, and you’d rather not get caught getting fingered by your so-called rival.

His hips pick up pace behind you, still rutting against your ass like a damn animal in heat. Groans fall from his lips like an open faucet, never once stopping. He curls his fingers up while his thumb grazes your clit before it presses down onto it—adding all the more stimulation.

Trusting his fingers in and out a few times, he finally finds a spot that has you actively keen out, your other hand slapping itself over your mouth when he continues to attack your g-spot with his fingers. “F-fuck, please keep them there.”

Hawks just groans while his hips stutter behind you, fingers keeping their pace. Your thighs are starting to shake, knees buckling slightly. Suddenly there’s a tug on your nipple, completely forgetting his hand was still on your breast, and your eyes roll to the back of your skull. “Cumming, cumming— oh shit.”

Your orgasm shoots through you, and it’s so much more powerful than ever before. At the same time his hips cease behind you, warmth seeping through his pants while he muffles a moan into your shoulder.

It’s only when you catch your breath that you look at him from the corner of your eyes. “Did you just cum in your pants just by rutting yourself against my ass?”

His fingers slip from your heat, cunt clenching around nothing after his fingers retreat, when they come down with a quick slap to your clit. You jump slightly at the feeling, yelping while your head turns to the side to look at him.

“Shut up,” his cheeks are blotched pink, not once daring to look you in the eye, confirming what you thought had happened. He eyes his hand, spreading his fingers slightly, looking at the way your arousal webs between his fingers before they snap!

Almost in a trance he pops his fingers in his mouth, lips wrapping around the digits while his tongue licks the wetness right off. He moans out at the taste, eyes nearly rolling to the back of his skull while he can feel his dick twitch to life in his pants again.

Your mouth falls open at the sight, so sinful it makes you all the more hornier. Without realising your hips are moving back, ass brushing against his hardening cock, which he gives a quick slap. He pulls his fingers out of his mouth, lips shiny with a mixture of spit and cum, having your eyes snap to them. “Still haven’t had enough, thought you hated me?”

You roll your eyes at that, not bothering to confirm nor deny his accusations. Turning around your hand cups his member, palm pressing against it while you smile sweetly up at him. “Could say the same thing for you, Hawks.”

He growls—actually growls—at that, eyes narrowing down at you before his fingers make quick work of your pants. You unbuckle his belt, fingers fumbling slightly with how they’re trembling, and you can only hope he doesn’t see it.

He frees his cock from his underwear, mushroom tip angry red and shiny with cum. Giving it a few tugs he gets himself fully hard again. His other hand creeps down your thigh before he grabs just below your knee and hoists your leg up to put it around his waist. Your other feet shuffles around on the ground slightly, trying to find your balance again, while your hand shoots out to grab his shoulder—this time careful not to touch anywhere near his wings.

“Sure you’re ready for this?” he asks, fingers toying with your panties that are soaked through at this point, flimsy material doing nothing to hide your swollen folds.

“Just put it in already,” you roll your eyes at him, watching the way he once again pulls your panties to the side while he lines himself up. There’s anticipation and slight dread running through you now. Are you ready? Did he prep you enough? How are you even sure you can take him?

He glides his shaft through your folds a few times, skin getting shiny with your slick, when his tip rubs over your clit, shooting more pleasure through you. It’s only when he glides over it once again that you feel it—something metal.

Dickhead has a dick piercing.

“Bet your f-fangirls love that,” you whimper out, still eyeing the way he’s gliding through your folds, tip catching on your entrance only to move it up again, and again, and again. “How many compliments did you ge—fuuuckk.”

He doesn’t let you finish your sentence, instead finally deciding to push inside. The stretch feel insane, walls clamping down immediately, tip pushing past that first ring of resistance. Tears immediately spring to your eyes, and your hand tightens on his shoulder.

“S-shit, ease up, d— birdie,” he grunts out, not trying to push in any further. His hand comes down to your hip, thumb rubbing circles on your hip while he lets you adjust to the stretch. “You always this t-tight, or is it just me who has that effect on you?”

“Shut up,” you whine, not caring how you sound right now. You let your body slump to the wall behind you, sweat starting to collect at your nape again. Never in your life did you think it would feel like this. “Y-you can move.”

Looking at you for a few more seconds he slowly inches in, the stretch torturous, and he isn’t even half-way in yet. You claw at his shoulders, trying to find anything to hold onto while he was splitting you open.

“Just a few more inches,” he murmurs down at you with—is that concern? in his voice, thumb sliding from your hip to your clit, rubbing small figure eights on it to help you relax slightly. A few more inches? Looking down you see the way his skin is wrinkling at the base, and yup, he still had two more inches give or take left.

Once he finally bottoms out he lets his head fall forward, straight against your collarbone, breath hot even through the fabric. His tip is smooched against your cervix, and you can feel the two barbells of his piercing sit snug against your walls, even when he isn’t moving.

It’s a weird sensation—the metal cool against your warm cunt, smooth surface rubbing you just right. After a few moment he finally pulls his hips back—just slightly—and thrusts back in. It’s a shallow thrust, but it knocks the breath right out of your lungs.

“Y-you always this weak when fucking your girls?” You shouldn’t ask it, you don’t even want to know his answer to it, but your mouth is moving before your brain can even catch up. Luckily for you he doesn’t reply, only pulls out further before thrusting back in, making you moan out.

He sets a steady pace after that, hips pulling out halfway only to thrust back in, tip hitting your cervix each and every time, pre clinging to your walls. Moans and groans fill the air while the two of you are too lost in the pleasure to even taunt each other.

“F-fuck, pussy gripping onto me—shit look at that—like she doesn’t want me to leave,” he groans out, eyeing the way your lips are wrapping around him every time he pulls out.

“Maybe she just wants you to cum so she can get away from you,” you mutter out, which he hears loud and clear. The stubs on his backs flutter slightly, not bothering to hide any reaction you pull out of him any longer.

His eyes narrow at you before his hand that’s still rubbing circles stops. The pleasure dwindles slightly, only for him to set a more brutal pace, balls slapping against your ass while he pummels into your poor pussy.

“Yeah? Well then maybe— oh fuck… maybe I shouldn’t get you off,” he changes his angle slightly, hiking your leg further up his waist before he starts pistoning his hips in and out of you, an audible squelch can be heard every time he bottoms out.

“Don’t need you—there, please there,” your eyes roll back while you babble out ‘please’ and ‘there’ over and over again. Your mouth falls open, high off ecstasy while Hawks keeps bullying your g-spot with lethal precision.

“There, yeah? Fuck feel her clamping down on me. What was that… hahhh, about not needing me?” he grunts out while he can feel his abs start to tighten.

Your own hand comes down to your sensitive clit, rubbing circles on it while you’re incoherently babbling now, cock-drunk on the way he’s pummeling into your weeping hole. “Gonna—” you gasp out, before it cuts off with a choked cry. Your walls spasm around him while you get thrown into your second climax of the day, thighs trembling slightly.

“F-fuck,” he chokes out before he thrusts once more, hips stilling while he paints your entire walls white. His wings twitch and flex against his back, and you’re pretty sure you can see the left over feathers sharpen and soften against his back through your hazed-out mind.

The two of you stay like that for a while, just breathing in each other’s presence, not daring to move. It’s only when he pulls out with a hiss that you realise the situation. Looking down you see his seed bubble out of you, a bit of red mixed in the mess.

Hawks also sees it, looking down with concern at you. “Shit— fuck, are you okay?”

Rolling your eyes you let your leg fall from his hips, and your thigh almost immediately seizes up. Luckily you can deal with cramps—having been through enough training that this doesn’t feel like anything anymore—but the foreign feeling of your pussy having been stretched out has you grit your teeth.

“That’s your blood,” you mumble out, swiping your thumb on a cut just on his eyebrow. It leaves behind a trail of red, staining your finger in the crimson substance. Holding it up for him to see you just swallows and nods once.

Wiping it off on your uniform, you put your panties back in place, grimacing slightly when you feel the sticky substance ooze out of you. Pulling up your pants you pat everything down to see if you still have everything before straightening up.

There’s an awkward beat where the two of you just look at each other. And it finally sinks in what just happened. You fucked Hawks. Your ex-bestfriend, ex-lover, current rival. The one person you swore you would be done with.

Swallowing you quickly push yourself from the brick wall, finally noticing just how much your back hurts at the moment. Running your fingers through your hair you nod once towards the hero before you open the door and walk away from whatever all of this is.

And while you awkwardly walk down the stairs—gait off and your hole pulsing around nothing—you know that you’re absolutely and utterly fucked.

The time after that moves weird. You hadn’t seen anything of the crimson-winged hero while you stayed in Kyushu, only hearing people whisper about him in passing, but never once seeing that blur of red move through the sky.

You know somewhere deep down that he’s avoiding you, and you’re honestly doing the same. The night in the safehouse after what happened made you unable to sleep, eyes blinking up at that same industrial gray you’ve seen your entire life, and for just a moment—just one—you could feel him beside you on that bed. Only this bed was bigger than the one you had for twelve years.

When you closed your eyes you could feel the way his breath would ghost your skin while laying beside you, his wing flopped over you like a soft, unique blanket that sometimes twitched whenever either of the two of you moved.

Could still feel the way he would trace soft patterns over your arms when he thought you’d fallen asleep before he was out of the room. Could still feel the gentleness in his gazze whenever he looked at you.

But when you opened your eyes you were met by silence. No soft whisper of feathers ruffling or the soft breathing pattern he always had around you—something that had been trained into the two of you. There was still that small electral buzz you were familiar with, but it made your heart only do more complicated flips.

It was like you were suddenly thrown back to when you were seventeen years old and got told that the two of you shouldn’t see each other anymore.

And just like then, you have a feather in your hand. Soft, white, and itchy. Not the crimson, alive feather you used to wear like a shield. Like a promise etched onto your skin. But rather just a dead feather from god-knows-where.

It droops to the side sadly, like it’s reminding you that this isn’t what you were familiar with for half your life. But still you put it on your chest and begin talking to it like it can respond. The stories are quite silly, and you would never actually say all of these things out loud—when you’d done grocery shopping online, the latest villain arrest, a short story about how your sidekick had put soap in the food instead of olive oil.

You’re gesturing around the room wildly, a small smile on your face while your eyes are closed. It’s easier that way, telling stories to a feather that can’t respond. But for a moment you just let yourself believe it can. Let yourself believe that you’re seventeen years old again and that you’re ranting to your friend.

The golden-eyed boy across the hall that always looked like you were more than the weapon they were trying to make you out to be. The one who you shared secret glances and giggles with. The one who put a warm hand over your stomach whenever your cramps got too much, but the handlers just kept pushing you to do more more more.

And when you open your eyes, there’s a slight part in your heart that yearns to see that red feather hovering in front of your eyes. But you’re met with air. The white feather still laying on your chest, not moving an inch from where you last put it.

A tear slides down your face before you can stop it. Quickly wiping it away you chuckle into the empty room. No one can hear you, after all, so why would you care?

There’s a slight throbbing between your legs, soreness running through your muscles—an type of sore you’ve never been before, and it scares you slightly—while there’s no one to tell you it’s okay.

Rolling over you look at the empty spot beside you in the bed. It’s cold and pristine, not a wrinkle in sight. How many times have you imagined there to be someone beside you? It’s honestly too many to count, and you can’t help but let another tear slide down your face.

There’s a slight discontent in your heart that tells you that after today he’ll never even look at you anymore. That this will be just like what happened seven years ago, where he told you the two of you couldn’t be together and walked out of your life.

You had this silly competition, chasing after numbers the two of you knew didn’t matter. While other heroes yearn to be in the top 10, the two of you treated it as an game to one-up one another. Taunting the other with whoever has the higher rank that year.

That was the only time you talked to him, honestly. The annual Japanese Hero Billboard Chart. One of the only times you’d see him in real life instead of on a screen with an update on his latest endeavor.

And somewhere deep down you know that even that will cease to exist after today. The silly competition will be over, no more trying to get more popular, but rather just actually focusing on what the two of you are—heroes.

You grab your pillow, squeezing it to your chest. Of course you had to fuck it up once more.

The pillow feels to hard. Too many feathers stuffed into the thing, and without thinking about it you rip it open, hundreds of little feathers spilling from the casing. Sitting up you look around the room knowing that each safehouse had a small kit with a thread and needle stored somewhere.

Searching around for it, you find it under the sink. Sitting on the bed once more—a few feathers poking you in the butt and your legs—you get to work.

Hours pass, the dark night sky changing to the soft break of dawn that paints the entire sky hues of orange, to daylight where the sun is shining onto the sealed windows.

Your hands are cramping and bleeding slightly, small spots of red against the stark white feathers that make you just wanna cut your hand open to stain them red entirely—something you decide against when you repeat it in your head.

When you finally lay down the thread and needle you look up at your nightstand. It’s just past twelve in the afternoon, which gives you plenty of time to still get ready for the mission. Scrubbing a hand over your face you look down onto the bed.

An entire sheet of feathers lay there, neatly sown together in something that resembles the form of a wing. The entire thing is soft and way too itchy, but you still run your hands through it, hoping that one of them would twitch.

They never do.

Leaning your body back you look over at the wall, just… staring at it for a good few minutes. Since when were you so lonely that you had to sow together a whole feather blanket just to be reminded of when you were younger?

A small chuckle escapes your lips. Hollow and heartbroken. Of course, of course you would go ahead and fuck him after what happened when you kissed him last time.

Hands shaking you put the feather blanket over your legs, trying to feel the warmth in them—but they are too different. Even your brain knows this isn’t what you want, but it’s the closest what you can get. Sighing you get up to get ready for the day.

The mission comes before anything and everything else.

After that night you haven’t been able to focus, quickly losing sleep and some of your popularity considering you haven’t been doing that good of a job interacting with your fans. You were short and snappy with them sometimes, almost like a bird that’s being cornered into a cage.

Your number two rank—because you did get to two after that save—quickly dropped to four over the span of mere weeks. Tabloids printing out more and more articles about you. Speculations, your latest mishap, you name it and it’s there.

And of course wherever your name went, his was not far behind. Hawks, the number two hero, charming his way with the ladies once more. His ruby studs catching the light just right in the latest picture, and you know his magpie brain loves to see it.

Clicking the screen off you let yourself fall backward. This isn’t what you wanted, not even close. And just like you expected, there’s no more real competition. But maybe that’s also because you’re not letting there be competition.

The Commission has been on your ass about your latest endeavors, scolding you and even putting cameras inside of your own agency, just so they can keep track of what you’re doing in there.

Your sidekicks have been eyeing you carefully, but you just smile at them and tell them everything is fine. Because it is, isn’t it?

No matter how much time passes, every time you get home—if you even get the time to go back to your own apartment, nothing Commission owned—you look in the almost-empty closet and fish out the little feather blanket you made weeks ago.

Every time you can’t sleep, you lay it over you, just to try and trick your brain that everything will be okay, even when it will never be again.

The Hero Billboard Chart that year felt brutal. You fell down the rankings—now the number five hero—while Hawks was at his number two spot. It’s been the first time in years since the two of you didn’t stand next to each other. And oh boy, didn’t people have their opinions about it.

There’s speculation, children and adults alike screaming at the two of you asking if something happened. Others are more bold and ask if the two of you had a falling out of sorts. And of course there are the shippers who are making sad edits about you and Hawks, compiling every picture the two of you are in together to throw a sad song over it while unrelated pictures get used.

It’s honestly… something. Never in a million years would you have thought that people cared like to this extent. The two of you weren’t that close. Not in the public’s eye anyway, and no one knows about the history you have with the birdbrain.

So why is everyone always trying to get you two together anyway? Is it because you two debuted at the same time and rose the rankings together? Or do they see something deeper you yourself are refusing to admit?

Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter, because the HPSC is once again calling a meeting. Walking in you see that one face you were dreading to see, but you can’t just walk back out. Steeling your face you go to sit down at the long table that’s filled with people in business suits.

The meeting drones on and on. Beginning with reprimanding you for losing rank so fast. Rolling your eyes you let them talk about how they are going to rectify things, as if being the number five isn’t good enough.

A pawn. That’s still all you are to these people. Just a little piece on a much bigger board they can use any time they want. Same goes for the crimson-winged hero across from you. He’s leaning back, arms behind his head while he leans back.

There’s a beat of silence before your handler finally speaks up. “The two of you will do an ad together. Just to show everyone there’s no bad blood.”

That makes you freeze up slightly, hairs standing on end like someone threw a cold bucket of water over you. The blond across from you also halts for half a second—one you’re sure everyone around the table saw—before he smiles, big and bright.

“And what would this ad be?” he almost purrs across the table, canines on full display while he sits up a little straighter. The lax position from minutes ago disappearing completely.

The handler looks you over for a second, then him, then looks down at the tablet, just to create a little suspense. You know she knows what the ad is about, everyone here, except for you and Hawks do. They never call in a meeting without being prepared to the max.

“It’s an underwear ad. They want to advertise their new matching sets—for partners. The two of you can do that, right?”

Of course. Of course they would throw you in the deep end like this. It isn’t even just the fact that you have to do an ad with him, but the forced close proximity and underwear. Fucking great. Across from you Hawks’ eyebrows shoot up.

“An underwear ad,” he echoes, dragging every syllable like he’s chewing on taffy and trying to figure out how to get it out of his mouth. “For couples.”

Everyone at the table looks at him before his own handler smiles, cold and devoid of any emotion. “The two of you can do that, right? Show the world there’s no bad blood like they think there is. Just two heroes who are competing to be the better hero.”

You nod slowly, mechanically. There’s no saying no to this, and he knows it as well. His golden eyes flit over to yours, and for the first time in forever you can see a glint of emotion in there. It’s gone as quick as it came, but you swear there was some relief in there.

Which is why you’re here now, two weeks later in a warehouse that doubles as the set. There are people everywhere around you. Two are working on your body, lotioning it up so it looks good in the lighting—or whatever they said, you weren’t really listening to begin with to be completely honest—while there are another two people working on your hair and makeup.

The underwear is plain. A little heart cut out on your ass—nothing scandalous, just something cute—while there is a little bow on the front. Your bra also has a cute little bow at the front, tits sitting snug in it, and it’s honestly cute.

You can hear the assistants whisper to each other about everything and anything, but most of the time yours and Hawks’ name fall from their lips. Straining your ears you can just about hear what they’re saying—He’s adorable’ ‘adorable? he’s so hot.’ ‘I think I like her more’ ‘Fine then, more for me’.

They’re giggling as if you can’t hear what they’re saying, and if you can hear it, you’re certain he can, too.Speaking of, looking in the mirror you can see him walk up and lean against the doorframe, arms over his chest, biceps bulging.

He’s in nothing but boxers, and you have to keep your eyes up to not ogle him. Lean frame gotten a bit more defined over the years, but nothing extreme. He has to be able to fly, after all, and it would be more difficult if he was on the bigger side.

The stylist puts on some lipgloss before she steps away with an watchful eye. Once she determines everything is fine she nods at you to go stand up. Walking over to the guy who fills every room without even trying—though his wings certainly had something to do with that—you stop just short in front of him.

He lets his eyes rake over you, stopping just slightly when he sees the cute bow before he whistles. Low and sharp. A catcall if you ever heard one. Your hand shoots up and hits him on the back of his head, a small little flick of your wrist.

There’s a small, sharp sting on the back of his head. Not hurting him enough to complain, but enough to get him back into the present. The two of you are not alone, and when he looks around, he can see almost every eye on the two of you.

Right. Just an ad campaign and not just the two of you.

“Ready?” he murmurs, pushing himself upright before stepping aside slightly. You roll your eyes at him before pushing past him to make your way to the set. He flicks two fingers into the air to everyone in the dressing room before he turns to follow you. And, oh—oh now that’s unfair. The little heart cutout has his eyes drawn to it.

It’s cute, small enough to be inconspicuous, but enough for him to notice. And notice he does. His feathers bristle slightly before he has to calm them down. Memories of months ago filling his head. You pushed to the brick wall, your warm, wet walls clamping down on his fingers, on his dick—shit.

He flexes his arms in hopes to get the blood rushing to there instead of down there. And he already knows this is going to be a long day.

The director is absolutely delighted when he sees the two of you walk in, immediately shaking your hands and thanking the two of you for coming, since he knows how busy hero work is. He’s absolutely beaming when you start talking a bit more, but then remembers he has to actually put the two of you in positions for the shoot.

It starts out with Keigo sitting down, muscled thighs spread oud, and you have to perch on his lap. Of fucking course. This is a couples ad, after all. But that didn’t mean you weren’t hoping it wouldn’t be like this.

Still the shoot goes on, running through multiple poses. Sitting on his lap, standing in front of each other, standing in front of him while you were with your back turned toward the camera, one of his hands on you waist, which slid lower lower lower, until he was grabbing your ass—which the director absolutely loved to see.

‘Make it more sensual.’ ‘Good, good, look each other in the eyes like you mean in.’ ‘Oh, yes yes that! that’s it!’ ‘Put your hand on his chest—there we goo.’ ‘This is looking good guys.’ ‘Okay now I just need something that shows off the front. Ohhh that’s good!’

He was… energetic to say the least.

By the time the two of you are done with the shoot—having had solo shots done as well—it’s already late at night. Most of the people have packed up already with a promise to go to dinner together, while there are still a few people walking around.

You’re in your dressing room removing your makeup when the door opens. Looking up through the mirror you can see Hawks leaned against the door, crimson wings spread open slightly while his arms are over his chest. Still in just his underwear—same as you.

You’re not sure what happened next. One minute he was talking to you—taunting you, really—and the next the two of you are stumbling to the couch, fingers groping and touching everywhere your eyes can see.

You’re laying on your back, hair splayed out underneath you while Hawks stands over you, teeth in the wrapper of the rubber that he— “Where did you even get that from?” He walked in here in just his boxers, so unless he was hiding it in there you have no idea where he got it from.

“Sent a feather to retreat one from my wallet,” he chuckles before he drops the last piece of clothing, dick springing free and hitting his bellybutton. He’s already hard and leaking for you—a sight you cannot get used to—and the soft amber lighting of the mirror shows you the two barbells just under his tip.

Fuck, if that isn’t hot. Your thighs squeeze together while you feel yourself start to soak through your underwear, white fabric almost turning translucent, sticking to your folds that leaves nothing up to the imagination.

Rolling the condom on he positions himself between your legs, hand at his base tapping his tip on your clit over the fabric a few times. Each tap has your thighs jolt, almost clamping them shut before you feel multiple feathers on them, keeping you nice and spread for him.

“You always like to tease this much or— or are you trying to keep me here longer?” you ask him through your teeth, annoyance dripping from your voice. It just makes him chuckle, golden eyes trained on where you were dripping for him. “Hmm, just wanna get you nice ‘n wet for me, but seems like I don’t have to do much, do I?

You roll your eyes at the statement. It’s not like he’s wrong, though. There’s no hiding it, either, not with the way your spread out for him.

He finally takes your panties off, hooking his slender fingers into the waistband before he lets it snap against your skin once, having you jolt out, before he finally takes them off. He looks down at the way you’re spread open for him—wet slit spread open for him with the way his feathers are keeping you open, and he can’t help but pry your lips open ever further with his thumbs.

Your hole clenches around nothing, more arousal dripping out of you and down the couch. He’s just staring for a few seconds, pupils blown out at the sight, and it would’ve made you chuckle—taunt him about hypnotizing him with your pussy—if it wasn’t for him putting his thumb in your weeping hole.

“Fuck, Hawks. Wanted your cock,” you mewl out when he slowly moves his finger in and out of you, totally transfixed on the way you’re swallowing him whole. “Seriously, just g-get this over with.”

You grab the base of his cock, manicured fingers wrapping around the appendage, before you move it over your slit, head bumping your already-sensitive clit. That finally snaps him out of it, retreating his thumb from your snug walls with a pop!

Positioning him at your entrance, he finally moves his hips, pushing in slowly. The stretch is still overwhelming. Leaning down his teeth sink into the fabric of your bra before he pulls it down just enough to bunch under your tits. Your nipples pebble immediately after they get exposed to the cold air, which just makes him groan before wrapping his lips around one of them.

The dual sensation has you mewling out, hands finding purchase on his back, fingers skimming the base of his wings making them arch out, the red plumes the only thing you can see right now. He whimpers at the sensation, feathers bristling slightly before he folds them back in.

His cock throbs inside of you once he bottoms out, flushed head steadily dripping more pre. The feeling of the rubber is different, the layer between your walls and his flushed cock has you whining out. The little barbell also feels weird, not like last time.

“Stop clenching— fucking hell… like that,” his hand smacks your thigh, aa sharp sting running up your thigh and straight to your core, having the exact opposite reaction he wanted—walls clenching down on him further.

“Just move already,” you moan out when his tongue flicks over your nipple, still waiting for him to move. His hips start to move, pulling them back he thrusts forward again. A deep and brutal thrust that has you clawing at his back, leaving behind angry, red marks. The red that matches his wings.

Your hips move in tandem with his, skin slapping against skin, heavy balls hitting your ass while his mouth finally finds your other tit, peppering it with kisses and bites. “So good for me, love it when I fuck you, don’tcha?” he murmurs against your skin.

Your legs wrap around his waist before you flip the two of you around, his body hitting the couch with an ‘oomf’. Straddling him you grab him at the base before sinking down on his girth, weeping hole swallowing him greedily. “Hate you. Hate you so much.”

His hands come down to your hips, helping you move up and down his cock. His eyes are transfixed on where the two of you are connected, lips stretching around him. “Yeah, hate me? That why you’re bouncing on my cock right now?”

His thumb presses onto your clit while two of his feathers come down to play with your nipples—feather-soft brushes against your skin making you keen out into the air, not caring who could possibly walk by and hear the two of you.

“T-this doesn’t mean anything,” you moan out, ass slapping against his thick thighs with each fall of your hips. Your pace slowly dwindles down, hips not lifting as far up as they did before, which is a wrong move because Hawks tightens his hold onto your plush hips and starts moving you.

“C’mon now, birdie. Wanted to ride me so. ride. me.” he slams you down with each word, tip hitting your cervix every time he bottoms out. You throw your head back at the feeling, back arching to the point where your tits are basically smothering him. Not that he cares though, he just happily groans while licking off the sweat that’s beading down the valley of your breasts.

“You’re—shit—dirty,” is all you can get out while he’s bruising your walls, fingers digging into your flesh in a way that you know will leave behind marks the next day. Luckily your hero suit covers it, because otherwise people would definitely know what happened.

Your thighs are starting to strain, knot in your stomach coiling deeper and deeper until it finally snaps. Body trembling above his, walls constricting around him. “Shit— tryna milk me even when you know you can’t get filled?”

He holds your body against him while he plants his feet on the ground. Pummeling his hips into yours, he chases after his own orgasm. You’re whining out at the overstimulation, hips writhing above him trying to get away from the feeling, only for him to lock his arms around your waist, keeping you still for him.

With a groan he finally cums, rubber preventing you from feeling him fill you up. The only sounds filling the room is the two of you greedily gulping in some air, and his feathers twitching against his back—puffing up slightly with affection before they go down again.

That’s the way the two of you begin this… arrangement of sorts.

Instead of taunting about rankings, the two of you began doing… favors for each other. He ate you out after you shot up the rankings again, and you sucked him off when he was still the number two—above your ranking—the next year.

You can still remember the way he was teasing you about sounding hoarse during patrol. Your throat was constricting around him a mere ten minutes before you had to go out, so there was no time to even look for something to soothe your throat.

And then you had the times where he came over just to take his frustrations out on you, hips pummeling into your ass from behind, grunting about how overworked the two of you were. The Commission still on both your asses, giving you assignment after assignment.

Your ass was red and swollen by the time he was done, puffy cunt absolutely abused while he watched his cum drip out of you only for him to lick it out of there mere seconds later.

Sometimes he came inside of you, other times he pulled out just in time, painting your skin with ropes of white, rubber having been ditched after your third time together. You were whining about not being able to feel him, telling him that you were on the pill so he couldn’t get you pregnant anyway—thank you Commission for doing something good for once.

Which is leads you to today, you’re laid out on a bed. Not the small beds the two of you had in the safehouses, nor the couches backstage somewhere or the rough bricks scratching against your back whenever the two of you find yourselves outside again. No this is Hawks’ bed, massive, just to comfortably fit his wings onto.

He’s pounding into your poor, overstimulated pussy. His hips coming down to grind against you before he pulls back and slams back in. The headboard is hit hit hitting the wall behind you, luckily for the two of you he lives in the penthouse, so there will be no noise complaints.

“Fucking hate them,” he grunts while sweat is beading down his temple, wings spread out behind him in a brilliant, crimson arc. Your fingers are clawing at his biceps while he continues his rant. “No, Hawks, it isn’t enough. Nothing you ever do is enough. We’ll just keep on sending you on missions, because that’s why you’re here. To be a hero means to sacrifice,” he mocks one of the handlers.

It’s not often that he reaches out to you, much less when he actually calls you over. Hell, this has been the first time you were even in his apartment, and you had no time to actually admire the place before he had you pinned to the wall already.

Sinking to his knees he muttered out a, need this. need this pussy to suffocate me. before he all but yanked your shorts and panties down in one, swift movement. His lips immediately latched onto your sensitive nub, making your hand fly to his hair while your head thunked! onto the wall behind you.

“Fucking hell, what’s gotten into you?” you asked him through a moan. While he’s eaten you out before, he was never this desperate to get his hands—or in this case lips—on you. It was always filled with teasing and taunting remarks. But this time he just groaned into your mound like it was the answer to all of his questions. “Seriously, Hawks… what happened?”

You’re pulling on his hair trying to get him to at least acknowledge you, but all it did was make him whimper out into your slit while his wings shuddered behind him. Well guess you found out something new about him.

“Commission was on my ass,” he mumbles through licks, his tongue flitting over your clit while one of his hand is groping your ass like it was his personal stress-ball. “Fuck you taste so sweet.”

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, hips starting to grind down onto his face while he plunged his tongue inside of you, wiggling the muscle around into your tight walls. “Want me t-to talk about it?” you breathed out, swinging one leg over his shoulder—careful not to pin his wing to his back—to give him more access to your slit, which he happily takes, pressing his mouth further into your pussy.

“Jus’ need you right now,” he grunted out, continuing to eat you out. It was messy, spit dribbling past the corners of his mouth while the lower part of his face was shiny with your arousal. “Pussy loves me, doesn’t she?”

You couldn’t answer that, too busy trying to focus on your upcoming orgasm to even think of responding to him talking to your pussy like it was alive instead of just an organ. Gripping his hair even tighter you began gyrating your hips down onto his face which he happily let you, groaning out while he angled his face so his nose would nudge your clit with each roll of your hips.

Once you came on his face—thighs trembling, tummy clenching, moans flowing free out of you—he dragged you to the bed where he took no time to slide into you. You’re still not used to the way he stretches you out, despite it having been years since you first began fucking him.

He’d filled you up once already while you’ve cum three times, weeping pussy sensitive to each roll of his hips, and you can feel your stomach starting to tighten once more.

“Haven’t I sacrificed enough already?” He’s still talking, still asking rhetorical questions that you could answer—that you would answer if he wasn’t pounding you into oblivion—but all you can do is moan out at him. “D-did everything for them.”

Nodding your head you run your hand through his hair, trying to soothe him slightly, but you just tighten your grip once he finds that spongy spot inside of you again, bullying it when he realises he’s found your g-spot once again.

“F-fuck, Hawks. Wait. Feels weird,” you’re trying to get him to slow down, to get that weird feeling building up in your lower stomach to go away, only for him to continue babbling about the Commission and how they ruined his life. If you weren’t so busy you’d give your two cents on it, but you can’t. Legs starting to tremble around his waist while your toes curl.

He presses his thumb to your clit, and that does it. Your orgasm crashes into you like a lighting strike. Clear liquid gushing out of you and onto Hawks’ abs, thighs, balls and bedsheets. Your hands tighten in the sheets beside you while you sob out his name. “Fuck, Keigo— Kei. Pleasepleaseplease. Love you— shit.”

That makes him still. Just completely still against you. You don’t notice, though, too busy riding out your orgasm to even see the way his eyes are wide open, mouth agape. The pleasure shooting through you has you crying, tears rolling down your cheeks and disappearing into the pillows below you.

“What did you just say?” His voice is so small, unlike his normal, cocky self that you finally open your eyes. Blinking a few times you note the way he’s hunched over you right now, a few feathers suspended in the air while his golden eyes look at you like you’re made of glass. He says your name—not birdie, not dove, not your hero name, just your actual name. The one you haven’t heard in years.

“Say it again,” he breathes out, almost begging you. “Please.”

Gulping you look at those golden eyes you’ve seen your entire life, the ones that always meant that you were safe. The ones you’ve hoped to see beside you every day, but got taken away from you when you were a mere seventeen years old.

“I love you,” you murmur, trying to gauge his reaction. The next second his mouth crashed onto yours, plump lips groaning out after he finally tasted you. It’s been ten years. Ten years since the two of you last kissed. You two hadn’t kissed even once after debuting, despite the two of you having been fuck-buddies for years.

It’s filled with warmth and lust, his tongue clashing against yours while you drink up all of his sounds. The wings on his back unfurl and furl back in, almost as if he has no control over what’s happening to them.

“Love you, love you, love you,” he mumbles out against your lips while slowly starting to trust back inside again. The overstimulation has you keening out, but you just wrap your legs further around his waist while pulling him back in. “Mine, all mine.”

His pace picks up, hips snapping against yours once more. One of his hands gropes your breast while the other squeezes your waist, pulling you down to meet every thrust.

Your body is completely pliant against his, bones feeling like jelly with the way he’s made you cum multiple times already. The last sunrays catch your eyes, and it has him gasping out. You look like an angel beneath him—his angel.

He spills inside you not soon after, a second load filling you up. And you coax him through it, hands running through his hair while his lips latch onto your throat.

You thought he’d be done now, but you can feel him twitch inside of you. “Are you still hard?” you whisper, incredulous.

Keigo merely smiles down at you before he pulls out of you, his thick seed immediately bubbling out of you. He gives you no time to even realise what’s going on, picking you up into his arms and setting you down in front of the big window that overlooks the city.

Your body tilts forward, tits pressing against the cool glass while you turn your head to the side to look at the man behind you. “What are you doing?”

“Gonna show everyone you’re mine,” he growls before nudging your knees apart and slips back inside. Your mouth falls open when he starts moving again, the cool glass a stark contrast to your overheating body.

The streets below are still busy, and if someone were to look up they would be able to see the number two absolutely railing the number three hero. Your nipples brush against the smooth surface, adding all the more pleasure to your core.

Inner thighs are slick with a mixture of your and his cum, and you can see him in the reflection of the glass. The crimson almost getting swallowed by the burnt-sienna of the sky outside, but his eyes are transfixed on you. He chuckles when he feels you clench down onto him, walls fluttering uselessly around him. “You like the thought of people seeing you like this?” he murmurs into your ear, breath warm against the shell.

Your hips move back against him, knees weak with the way he knocks you forward with each thrust. Wrapping his arm around you, he lifts you up, feet dangling uselessly above the ground. You gasp out at that—at him using your body like you were merely a doll he could just pick up whenever he wanted.

“Shit— Keigo,” you whine out his name, forehead thumping against the glass, eyes fluttering close when that piercing passes over your sweet-spot with each pass of his hips. Nails leaving angry indents into his forearm.

“I know, dove. I know,” he murmurs against your cheek, he pounds into you from behind like a man possessed. “Let go for me. Show me how much you want me.”

Your eyes roll to the back of your skull, mouth opening in a broken moan that sounds so unlike you. White-hot pleasure shoots through your core, whitening out your vision for what feels like an eternity.

Keigo is not far behind, hips snapping against your ass like a punctuation. “S-shit, trying to milk me for all I’m worth.”

He spills into you for the last time that night. Hips ceasing their ministrations completely, his sweaty chest pressed flush against your back. Letting your head loll back against his shoulder you look at him, tired eyes blinking over his form.

He’s flushed from his face down all the way to his chest. Sweat beads down his body and he’s panting against your neck. His hair is plastered to his forehead, eyes blown out wide.

Moving the two of you back to the bed, he carefully lays you down before walking away, only to return with a washcloth seconds later. He carefully opens your thighs for him and begins to clean you up. You trash slightly at the sensation. “I know, dovey. Will be over soon.”

He throws the washcloth somewhere to the ground, and it lands with a wet schlap! somewhere in the corner of his bedroom—something you’ll probably reprimand him for when you have more energy, but right now you couldn’t care less.

Shuffling into the bed, he pulls you to his chest. One of his wings wraps itself around you—just like old times. It takes you right back to that too-small bed where the two of you would talk into the late hours of the night.

Feathers are twitching against your skin as if trying to kiss your entire body. It makes you relax, body sinking more into his chest while he traces small shapes in your skin.

“That was… a lot,” you mumble out, not quite sure if you should even address it, but you can’t stay silent any longer. The way he said your name, told you he loved you, gave you your old nickname back. It was, quite frankly, a lot. And even if that all didn’t happen, he also made you squirt for the first time. The memory has you flushing bright red.

“Mhmm, nothing I said was untrue, though,” he mumbles out into your hair, pressing his lips feather-soft against the crown of your head. It has you closing your eyes for a few seconds before opening them again.

“Why did you even leave in the first place, Kei?” It’s been bothering you ever since he walked out of that room. The way he was so fidgety, no longer wanting anything to do with you when the two of you only had a few more months before the debut. A few more months and the two of you could’ve just stopped sneaking around.

You can feel him lean back a little, head angled down before his fingers find you chin and nudges your head up so he can look at you. “What are you talking about, dove? You’re the one who told me that we couldn’t be together.”

Furrowing your brows you look at the golden eyes you’ve known your whole life. Shifting slightly—and hissing when you accidentally rub yourself against his thigh—you sit up a little, just enough to look at him.

“No, no. You came into my room telling me it couldn’t work any longer,” you start, eyes darting around his face, confusion settling over you. You can still remember that night vividly, and it was him who broke it off with you. “Said you didn’t have feelings for me and then just… walked out.”

“Now why would I do that when I’ve been in love with you for all of my life?” He asks you, bushy brows furrowed together. There’s a slight crease between them, and you want to rub it away, but you’re still racking your brain.

He continues, voice lower now, more sad, “I came back from that horribly long assignment and you were waiting for me on my bed. At first you were just… quiet. Then you told me that it was a mistake and that it was just the proximity that had made you kiss me.”

You chuckle at that, hollow and sad all at once. “Just the proximity? Keigo I’ve liked you ever since I realised what it meant to have a crush on someone.”

He just purses his lips at that, not moving an inch. The feathers that are still on your back twitch a few times, a shudder going through them that he doesn’t bother to stop.

“Then why would you—” he trails off, golden eyes almost bulging out of his skull with realisation. “The Commission.”

“Wait, what?” You’re confused now. What does the Commission have to do with any of this? It was just you two that knew about everything, the Commission has never even known that you and Keigo even knew each other outside of any assignments.

“Think about it, dove. You’re saying it was me who broke it of, I’m saying it was you—”

“I never broke up with you. God I was so heartbroken.”

“—and neither of us is saying we did that. Hell, we’re both saying we wanted to be together. So what else could it have been? You know how the Commission is, they could get their hands on any quirk user, and I would bet there’s someone who could shapeshift, or something like that.”

You’re still looking at him, mind racing now. You honestly can’t believe neither of you thought about this earlier, but then again the two of you didn’t really talk. Just played stupid games to be close to each other.

“The feather,” you finally breathe out, fingers ghosting over your ribs where he always put the small feather. The one you’ve been missing on your skin for years. “It didn’t float when I threw it back at you. It just… fell to the floor. And ‘you’ picked it up. Picked it up.”

How could you have missed it—that small detail that would tell you something was wrong. Sure he was acting strange, not letting you touch him and just being twitchy in general, but his feathers were the dead giveaway. They never could quite hide everything he wanted to, despite having been trained for years.

How did it never occur to you that he had telepathic feathers and he picked it off the floor rather than just bringing it toward himself.

“You gave that feather back,” he murmurs, his own thumb coming to your ribs. Then a small, sad chuckle falls from his lips. “Even after all the training we’ve had, we still got outsmarted by the suits. Purely because we couldn’t see past our emotions.”

Tears spring to your eyes, because it’s true, isn’t it? You let the emotions get the better of you, throwing out the small feather that could have solved everything. What would’ve happened if you never threw it back at ‘him’ in that fit of anger? Would the two of you still have been best friends? More than best friends? Or would he not have believed you?

“How did they even find out about it?” you whisper. His thumb comes up and wipes away some of the tears that are gathering on your waterline, the action so soft compared to how he used your body mere minutes ago. “We’ve never gotten caught in twelve years.”

“Must’ve been the supply closet,” he answers, pulling you back to lay on his chest. “Maybe they realised that us walking back took longer than needed.”

And how stupid could the two of you have been? Of course they would know how long it takes for the two of you to walk back—especially considering Keigo had left before you and went out of the supply closet after you.

That’s the exact thing the two of you were trained on noticing, patterns and behaviours. Yet it didn’t occur in your minds that they would be using it as well. Didn’t think about much but him at that moment, to be completely honest.

“Can’t believe secret kisses in a supply closet is what has gotten us caught,” you groan out into his chest, the words slightly muffled. And he laughs at that, a small breath through his nose that rattles his chest. “At least you were my first everything.”

“Wait what?” He looks down at you, looks at the way you’re burrowing yourself further into his chest, trying to find his warmth. His wing instinctively tightens around you, feathers whispering against your skin from where they’re puffing up slightly. “You mean to tell me that time on the rooftop was your first time, too?”

You hum slightly, a small, drowsy thing that comes deep from your throat. His words still have to catch up with your brain, but when they finally register your head snaps up. “What do you mean, too?”

“I never fucked anyone beside you,” he says, not even a tremble can be found in his voice. Looking at him for a little while longer, you let a small chuckle escape your lips. He never fucked anyone else?

“Then why do you have a piercing there?” Your leg shifts slightly over him, making him groan out, wing tightening a fraction. He grabs your leg with one hand, halting your movement, because he can already feel blood rush south again—way too sensitive from the multiple rounds the two of you had earlier.

“Got it so I could jerk off faster—why are you laughing, you out of all people should know that we don’t get any time to get any release. Especially with the way the Commission keeps throwing more and more missions at us.”

“It’s just… I thought you had fucked half the population here in Fukuoka City, and here you are telling me you were a virgin and just got a dick piercing to make yourself more sensitive?”

It’s ridiculous, honestly. And everything makes sense—the way he would never respond to your taunts about other girls, just like you wouldn’t respond to any of his taunts since you wouldn’t just tell him he was the one to take your virginity.

“Guess we have a lot of catching up to do, love.” There it is again, that nickname. Not a slip of the tongue as you thought it was ten years ago. He really did call you ‘love’ back then.

Your eyes close against your will, body finally going boneless against him. “Mhmm, but first we should go to sleep.”

“I don’t care what we do as long as I have you beside me,” he murmurs out against your skin, lips brushing your temple—feather-light, almost like it was never there to begin with.

You don’t know what’ll happen tomorrow. All you know is that you got the boy you loved back and that this time nothing will come between the two of you.

©CursedKisss do not copy, steal, plagiarize, or feed my works into AI. I will send Shigaraki after you if you do.

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[katsukiib]

Messy Backseat ɞ·˚ KB

❥ SMUT! ♡♡ Katsuki Bakugo x F!Reader

❥ IN WHICH, Katsuki’s car is strictly spotless, but when Y/N is a soaking mess—it's the only mess he’s more than happy to let his wife leave on the leather.

Katsuki’s car was perfectly maintained, smelling of rich leather and his signature cologne with every inch of the interior kept in perfect condition.

Anyone else in his car got an earful about not leaving a single piece of trash behind.

Katsuki rarely let Y/N touch her own car keys, insisting on driving her himself whenever she needed to go anywhere.

He steered effortlessly with one hand while the other rested on her thigh, his wedding band glinting under every passing streetlamp.

He kept his eyes on the road but sensed her stare, catching her lingering gaze that had been stuck on him since they left the restaurant.

"Got somethin' to say?" He asked, his thumb pressing firmly into her thigh. "What's goin' on in that head of yours?"

She didn’t answer immediately, the heavy tension in the car making her breath hitch as she covered his hand with her own, staring at his fingers while her body heated up.

"Just thinking.." She finally whispered. The warmth from his hand that drifted closer to her inner thigh made her anticipation to get home stronger than ever—she wanted the comfort of their home, but the wait was turning into an ache. "How much longer?"

Katsuki glanced at the dashboard. "Forty-five minutes."

He heard her soft sigh as he slowed down for a red light, before turning his head to find her watching him with heavy eyes that told him everything.

"If you keep looking at me like that, we aren't making it past the next block."

Before the engine even cooled, the windows were already clouding over with fog.

Katsuki was pulling her in close and hoisting her legs up until they were hooked firmly over his shoulders.

Space was limited, but he didn't let that slow him down—he snapped his hips forward, each thrust pressing her deeper into the cool leather.

"You like that?" Katsuki growled, his gaze locked onto hers—refusing to let her look away. "This is exactly what you've been craving all damn night."

There wasn’t a single inch of air left between them. He slammed back into her, a deep thrust that tore a desperate moan from her throat.

"That's it.." He hissed through gritted teeth as he felt her tighten around him. "Stop tryin' to be quiet."

"I told you this car was off-limits." He rasped, slowly pulling out. He left only the tip to tease her, his smirk widening as he felt her body practically beg for him to slide back in. "Yet here you are, shaking all over the backseat like you own it."

A low satisfied chuckle rumbled in his chest. He watched her unravel, her small pleas falling on his ears while her fingers gently dug deeper into his biceps.

"Look at what you're doing." Katsuki muttered, his gaze flicking down to where they were joined before dragging back up to her face. "Making a goddamn mess all over my interior."

There was no hiding the mess she was making—her slickness coating his cock and spilling over onto the seats.

"Please, Katsuki—keep going.." He didn't need to be told twice.

Grunting at her plea, he buried himself inside her with one heavy, bottoming-out thrust before immediately returning to that relentless pace she loved.

"Fuck—Go ahead and ruin it, baby." He groaned, his voice nearly breaking as they both hit the edge. "I'll clean up your mess, then I'm gonna ruin you all over again back here."

Katsuki was a fanatic about his interior, but apparently, her soaking his leather was the only mess he tolerated.

© katsukiib ʚ♡ɞ do not steal, edit, or copy my work! ♡