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[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.

Perm tags: @tojiscreampie @etheralpanic @yoonsucks @liliklei @dollieadored @starsforvia @iinvivible @jiyuspassion

MHA tags: @mousedit @pukicats @yorikae

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[deeversuswords]

‧˚₊ Truth Exposer 1: Uncovered

PAIRING — Pro Hero Bakugou Katsuki/Vigilante F!Reader

RATING — Explicit

CONTAINS — heavy angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), mutual pining, slow burn, eventual smut, moral ambiguity, cheating (not between katsuki/reader), unhealthy relationships, unhealthy coping mechanisms, grief/mourning, dark themes (past abuse, stalking, kidnapping, torture, quirk trafficking), violence, swearing, open but hopeful ending, dual pov (mostly reader), no use of y/n ◆ married bakugou katsuki—not to reader—and has a daughter too ◆ characters are in their late 20s

CHAPTERS & WORD COUNT — 50/54 ◆ ~208k (currently)

FIC STATUS — ongoing

SUMMARY — Running away would be the sensible thing to do. Getting as far away as possible from him, the one person who’s your ticket to losing your freedom. Not searching for him out of stupid curiosity and showing up at the last place you should: his house.

They say curiosity killed the cat, but yours seems to always end up as the key unlocking doors that should probably stay locked.

Because when you open the door to Bakugou Katsuki’s life, it’s not a loving marriage, not a happy family of three you find, but falsity, forced duty, and a dark secret that threatens his very own life.

Bakugou Katsuki, the pro hero tasked with catching you and your downfall. And you, the vigilante exposing ugly truths for a living—his salvation.

➥AO3 LINK // new chapter every Wednesday @ 3 PM UTC relevant tag(s): #dee's: truth exposer || #truth exposer 1: uncovered

a/n: might want to check AO3 for some tag specificity. gotta love walking on eggshells outside the archive when it comes to tags XD

—regarding taglist, if you're interested in being on it, please let me know! and if you're already and want off, feel free to poke me :)

01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 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 | 41 | 42 | 43 | 44 | 45 | 46 | 47 | 48 | 49 | 50

— extra: hold on | 900 words | ao3 link

Your bike becomes his bike. (set between ch.13 & 14)

— extra: in collapse by @ribbonbambisblog | 1.9k words

Your existence haunts his narrative. For a woman who released truth like a pack of wolves -starved, unforgiving- you certainly had a talent from running from it. You were impossible to catch, more impossible to contain. But when your restless feet ceased, what did it mean for the ones that chased? (set before ch.1)

[bfbkg]

hear meee outtt, single mom reader whos starting to get out there in the dating world and a younger bakugo id say maybe like 25 to 26 whos so down bad for mama

— drabble

and the kid can talk, like 7/8, new adult pregnancy situation and he’s soooo blunt and frowny towards bakugou like straight up tells him “i like deku more.” but they both end up getting on because they’re both honest and forward and bakugou’s more big brother that’s strict energy.

BUT hmmmm not sure how he meets you first. him out of uniform in public. you’re so wrapped up in your own busy life that you don’t connect the dots that bakugou katsuki is dynamight. omg what if you go to a speed dating event that goes wrong and he’s also at the bar with his friends in the corner. he’s waiting for his drink to be made and you go up to him assuming he’s one of the guys that you didn’t get to speak to and he’s also there for the event.

you recognise he does look a little younger than you, but he’s also fine as hell. exactly your type with his strong build and grip. tall with a pretty face.

“these things are always so awkward. this is my first ever one.”

and he frowns at you, confused with what you’re talking about or why you’re talking to him. but you’re also gorgeous, stunningly so. what your age could be doesn’t even pass his mind.

so he kinda just plays along, “er yeah. fuckin’ hate them.”

he leans his forearms on the bar, licking across his bottom lip, trying to gain context cues to what you mean. you, who’s maybe on the edge of tipsy with your two drinks you had previously for some confidence, stare at the veins in his arm. how thick they look, how his plain black t-shirt sucks on his bicep. you’d love to suck on his bicep and—

then you realise you were staring. darting up to his face with round eyes then away, looking forward. you’re a little nervous now, overwhelmed with the shitty conversations you just had and now you’ve got yourself in a conversation with a stupidly sexy man.

“how come i didn’t get to speak to you? i would have dotted your name down on the card.”

bakugou takes advantage of the fact you’re not looking at him, that you’re cutely chewing down on your lip as you stare into your drink and notices the sign by the door.

27+ Speed Dating 8pm-9pm

what the hell are you doing in fucking speed dating events?

should he lie? say he came late or something? and why such a random age limit?

“gonna be honest, sweetheart, i’m here with those idiots in the corner. didn’t come for the dating thing,” he nods a thanks to the bartender as his beer slides along the bar. “apparently i’m not even old enough to attend.”

he doesn’t move though, instead he slightly leans on the top to face you. bakugou watches as another wave of embarrassment settles through you.

“oh, shit. sorry, i just assumed…,” that’s what you get for being brave. one night away from your kid and you’ve wasted it. then you blink in a mixture of shock and disgust at yourself, “wait, how old are you? you’re not one of those kids that look double their age with all the gmos and preservatives are you?”

bakugou chuckles, it starts deep in his chest and rises up out of his mouth. it’s an attractive laugh, it’s even more attractive when he takes a swig of his beer and licks the foam off his top lip.

“i’m twenty five, but don’t worry i’m into older women.”

heat blooms under your skin. you feel as if your body has been set on fire. you have the urge to grab the ice cube in your glass and press it to your forehead.

you fight it, especially when he smirks at your reaction. you scoff under your breath, “that makes me sound like a cougar. you’re only four years younger than me.”

you flick your eyes onto the man and he’s already staring back at you. you won’t lie, you love how his attention feels. his ruby eyes are beautiful, specks of burnt orange swimming in them as he keeps his focus on your face. occasionally on your lips and one glance at your top but nothing inappropriate. he licks along his teeth, pretends like he’s confident talking to gorgeous women at bars. he’s just as new to this as you are.

“hey, i never said cougar. i’m a big boy, i don’t need a mommy.” then he waves for the bartender, “d’you want another drink?”

he points at your single melting ice cube in your glass.

you’re shocked at how thrilling talking to this man is. after boring, uninspired and one offensive conversation about you being a single mother at the speed dating table, this one is fun and you actually find the guy attractive.

“i have a child by the way. i am an actual mother,” you blurt, then sigh at yourself, “not that you’re interested in anything more or even like me like that but just so it’s out there.”

you’ve been in situations where guys are into you and then back off at the fact you’re got a kid at home. then you get guys like today blaming you for not being with the baby or the baby’s father. you’re exhausted.

bakugou raises an eyebrow, “hold on sweetheart, drink first and then you can tell me whatever you want. including your name.”

your flush isn’t letting up. when you were younger you were so much better at flirting, talking to random men on nights out but after focusing on your kid and work, you’ve seemed to have lost it.

you ramble off your choice of drink to the bartender and then you introduce yourself, “yn, 29. i grew up around here. that’s what we said at the speed dating thing.” you point your thumb behind you at the now empty tables and the few couples awkwardly getting to know each other.

“alright. katsuki, 25. i grew up a city over but i live here now.”

“oi kacchan! you comin’ back to us or what?” another blonde guy in the corner table shouts and you watch as katsuki grits his jaw. you don’t see the look he gives them but they all laugh, settling back into their seats.

“sorry about them. fuckin’ idiots,” you notice the faint blush on his cheeks, looking down at the brown liquid of his beer.

seeing him blush is cute but you feel the urge to ignore it just to talk to him more, “what do you do for work?”

that has him looking up again, tilting his head. that gets his confidence up. standing straighter, his chest puffing out slightly, “i’m a hero. been one since i was sixteen.”

you gasp, “wow that’s crazy! you’re so brave fighting villains all the time. maybe you could deal with all the annoying people in my life.”

he smirks and from this angle, his gold cased canine catches the dim light of the bar, “unless they’re tryin’ to kill ya, i can’t help there sweetheart. though i could bend my morals for you.”

he’s smooth with it, bakugou’s impressed himself with this one, even when you lightly giggle, “shush. my son’s favourite hero is deku. i don’t know if you know him but he’s always watching his videos online.”

you think you said something wrong when bakugou scrunches his nose, “the fuck? not dynamight?”

you frown, “which one is that? sorry i’m terrible with heroes.”

bakugou forces his jaw not to drop. obviously not everyone knows about heroes but to know deku and not him? like they don’t work together all the time?

“you must have seen him. blonde hair, explosions?” he blurts, pointing to his own hair and he even holds out a palm, letting it crackle between you.

“oh yes! my son thinks he’s loud, always shouting. he’s with deku, isn’t he?” you reply and then everything connects. you blink a few times and bakugou watches the realisation in real time, “you’re dynamight? wow.”

bakugou chuckles again, wiping his face with his hand, “tell your son, i only shout because nobody listens. you gotta be brave to tell people how it is.”

you smile, “he’s gonna think i’m lying if i tell him i met you.”

bakugou notices you’re not starstruck or anything, if anything you’re genuinely excited to tell your son this little story. he wonders if the kid has the same eyes as you, hair colour. if the fathers in the picture.

“how old is he?”

“nine. i had him when i was twenty.”

bakugou imagines you pregnant, waddling around, needing breathers when out in the supermarket with your hand on your stomach.

“must be a cute kid if he looks anythin’ like you.”

he’s taking cheap shots here, he’s talented in many things but flirting with pretty mothers isn’t one of them.

you roll your eyes, “he’s alright.” you joke but you catch yourself, “i mean he’s my whole world. always comes first for me.”

bakugou nods, he gets it. he works with children a lot either at hospitals or schools. little ones running at his feet. their parents always have the same glowy look in their eye, the same one you have currently.

“what’s work for you?”

“i’m an animator. freelance but i do work for lots of studios, if they need extra hands or specific scenes they’ll message me in.”

bakugou doesn’t get shocked often but he does here. he doesn’t know what he was expecting you to say but not that. “that’s fuckin’ sick, what the hell?”

the conversation drags you both to a two seater table in the corner. your knee in between his, chairs so close you can feel his breath on your face when he talks.

he tells you he texted his friends that he’s gonna sit with you when you worry you just took him away from them, “they don’t give a fuck. probably laughin’ at me for even talkin’ to you.”

“why would they laugh!?”

bakugou takes a gulp. he’s not sure how much he should admit to him being a loser when it comes to women. sure they come onto him but he never does anything back.

“i don’t really talk to women. especially ones that look like you.”

alcohol has fully saturated your blood at this point, “looking like that,” you point at his chest, “with a mouth like that,” bakugou licks his bottom lip as a reflex, “i don’t understand why you wouldn’t.”

he loves the praise and also the distraction from his terrible skills, “like what? more words, sweetheart.”

his smirk makes your panties wet, you’re going to have fun choosing a toy out of your drawer tonight.

“you look like you belong in a boys anime but girls watch and write fanfiction about you.”

it’s probably the best compliment bakugou’s ever received.

“pretty face,” you continue, sipping your drink, “great body and you can actually hold a conversation. rare nowadays.”

bakugou grunts, a satisfied one that makes him lean over the table. “i dunno what the fuck you were doing at a speed dating event.”

“just wanted to meet new people, get out there.” you reply innocently, full of hope that makes bakugou want to look after you. treat you kindly and wrap his arms around you. but then you’re looking at him with these watery eyes, shifting your bare thighs in this tiny skirt, nudging your knee with his.

he is so fucked.

“forgive me for being so forward but i need to take you out or home. whatever you want i’ll give it to you.”

you run through the options in your head. he’s asking if you just want sex or want to date. your mouth dries up and you’re immediately taking another sip of your drink.

“oh, i’m, err looking to date?” you respond, tilting your head. forcing yourself to not focus on his lips. how tempting it would be to press yours against his. that would be the only reason why you say your next words, “but i’d have sex with you too.”

with glowing signs from both parties, bakugou slides his hand on your jaw, the first touch of the night and then kisses you. it’s only a peck that quickly becomes more. a groan and he angles his head, nipping your bottom lip so you open up. you’re almost crawling into his lap when you suck on his tongue. you take control of the kiss, no matter how badly bakugou wants to. it’s a little messy, very needy and when you part, you need to wipe the spit from your mouth.

“oh god,” you whisper.

“d’you still have a thing with the father? your kids father?” bakugou mumbles against your lips. it’s not the right time to ask but he’s not about to ask to date you if the man is. fuck it, maybe he can, prove he’s the better choice.

your eyes widen, “no, no!”

“good.”

after spending another hour of conversation and making out, bakugou slides his phone over to you.

“i’m gonna take you out.”

you like the forwardness. you don’t see it with many people nowadays, “okay. i don’t like fish and my bladder is too weak for rollercoasters.” you wince, too much drinking for tonight, “ignore that i said that.”

“fuck rollercoasters. my whole life in a teenagers hands. fuck that.”

you giggle, typing in your number.

[atsublooms]

𐔌 . 𓎟 𝒦ILL 𝒯HIS ℒOVE ᐟ｡୧ ꒱

＞︿＜ ׅ⠀⠀𝅄⠀⠀̸ ⠀ׄ⠀synopsis ; bakudeku x coworker!reader at a pizza place⠀٬⠀⠀

ㅤ ﹟ notes · i don’t even have anything to say about this… i saw this artwork (creds to sa1back on twt) and it fried me. lil embarrassed of genuinely wanting to write this but cmon. its funny. ㅤnot even sure where im going with this, so feel free to send in ideas lmao !࣭ ㅤׂ

ㅤ ﹟ warnings · none. crack. language. maybe eventual suggestive content, not really sure where i wanna go with it. ㅤ࣭ ㅤׂ

ㅤ ﹟ about · you never expected a minimal wage, half-ass part time job to be more stressful than your actual college life. but working with a green-haired, jittery midoriya and a hot-headed (but begrudgingly sexy) blond did just so. you don’t both questioning why two practical (ahem, one-sided) enemies are working together… or why it’s affecting you. you just learn to cope into your new daily spiel, and pray the work Gods will be on your side when creating the schedules. ㅤ࣭ ㅤׂ

೯⠀⁺ ⠀ 𖥻 𝚌haracter 𝚒ntros. . . . „. 𐔌 all 𐦯

☆ 001 ── texting privileges ❞

© atsublooms do not repost, translate, or plagiarize any of my works on any platform. my work will likely have errors, and may be deemed ooc.

🗒️ taglist: @teeesthings , @ttulipwritezz , @desiree-lee — either use the form, or send an ask .ᐟ

[bfbkg]

imagining greyscale reader tip toeing n snooping around the apartment while katsuki is gone just to find that it’s essentially an ultra expensive ikea show room with protein powder and supplements lmao

SNOOPING

— bakugou x reader

greyscale au, just texts between you and bkg.

he gave notes to an interior designer and they built his apartment from scratch for him. also yn has been over to his a handful of times on hookup terms. after a date, sex and home. or bakugou calling you when you’re already in the city and you come over to his for sex and goes. so you’ve never actually looked around his house minus his bed, making out against his front door and his en-suite bathroom. otherwise he’s ALWAYS at yours.

after he leaves for work you wait 15 minutes to shower, trying to get the feeling back into your legs, lowkey surprised that an orgasm has halved your hangover in two. you’re feeling considerably better and you still haven’t brushed your teeth yet. bakugou’s got a gorgeous perfect pressure double shower head shower which also makes you wonder what he thinks about your weak, having to hold the handle at an angle to work shower. you won’t admit you sniffed bakugou’s shower gel and immediately thought about touching yourself to it. instead you smothered it all over yourself with the new loofa he left out for you. you think you’re going to eat bakugou alive when you see him next.

it feels like a spa. spending an extra fifteen minutes in the shower and wrapping yourself in a fluffy ivory towel. smothering yourself in a random tub of cream you found till you realise he’s got about five of the same one. you try to find the brand and underneath read, USED BY DYNAMIGHT! turns out to be true because he does smell like this actually, when you sit on his lap and stuff your nose in his neck.

you walk back into his bedroom for clothes till you realise the only ones you can see is your top and miniskirt from last night, neatly folded on a chair. rich people don’t keep clothes in their bedroom. you laugh to yourself, walking to the room over to his walk in closet. multiple drawers, six doors of wardrobes. he’s got caps and snapbacks on display. a table in the middle of the room with a clear glass surface where you can see all his jewellery. you could pay off your student loans with a few of these earrings. necklaces. it looks like a store in here. you clutch the top of your towel and open every single door and drawer, with the idea to find clothes for yourself but you’re just snooping. he can’t expect to leave you unattended if you’re not going to snoop. two wardrobes are hero gear. full of metal scraps and gaunlets all neatly organised. you open the last drawer and there’s a row of grenades. you shut that draw immediately.

you pull on another clean shirt of his, a white one with DYNAMIGHT in grey font on the breast and branded underwear that you roll up four times. you stare at yourself in his floor length mirror, hands on your hips. he’s got a photo booth strip tucked in the frame of the mirror. you and him, from a few weeks ago. you kissing his cheek, him kissing your lips, you with your arms wrapped around his neck smiling at the camera while he grins at you and the last is you pretending to bite his cheek. you look like a couple. you look like his girlfriend in his underwear and tshirt. branded by him. it’s the only photo in his house you’ve seen so far.

it scares you so you grab that breakfast sandwich he left you in his bedroom and start to walk around his apartment. the colour scheme is a soft masculine grey. minimalist. tidy with pops of white or black. the greyscale theme is calming, not as overstimulating as yours can be to a newcomer. you feel relaxed, walking on clouds in bakugou’s thick white socks. his apartment is massive, so much open space, stupidly clean and everything is top of the range.

you fiddle with the heating, gasping at the immediate effect of heat under your feet. not even bothering with slippers. you see he’s got this fancy airfryer so you even pop your breakfast sandwich in there to stare at the kitchen. an expensive smoothie maker, coffee machine, he’s got a kitchen aid in a cupboard. one shelf full of protein powder tubs. opening his fridge to find smoothies, jars of sea moss and meat. preseasoned chicken probably for his dinner tonight in a tupperware container. you think that’s adorable. imagining him alone in his kitchen, preparing dinner for the next day.

he’s got these expensive fruit bars you see in the stores that always way out of your budget.

can i try one of these

img.024

i’ve never tried one before

70 seconds later.

Yeah take anything

Don’t have to ask baby

you take out your hot sandwich from the airfryer and take a fruit bar. it’s as tasty as you thought and you’re upset you can’t afford them on your wage. also you’ve never seen the man drink coffee and he’s got a… you pull out your phone to google. a £2400 coffee machine. what the hell.

his living room looks like a bachelors pad. every gaming console underneath the massive television. maybe a 60 inch? 70? insane. turning the tv on and it’s the news because of course it is. he also has cable. who the hell pays for cable? you can only assume he’s got all the streaming services possible. you clutch the blanket over his sofa and it’s this knitted blanket that you know costs hundreds.

your favourite part is sneaking into his office. you refuse to touch any paperwork because it’s terrifying to think you might mess anything up.

but in there he’s got a wall of awards. trophies, medals, the first ever prototype of his figure. a little five inch dynamight. you trace your finger over the engraved text of either dynamight or bakugou katsuki. in awe. you know what he does for work, you couldn’t miss it but you’ve never actually considered how great he is at it. framed certificates for him being in the top 5 for years in a row. even a fan mail letter in colourful crayons written by a kid. turns out bakugou is sentimental, even though he loves to tell you he’s not.

now you see another photo in his house. a picture of him, his parents and the fucking prime minister. again, what the hell. he looks bored in the photo, deadpan stare down the camera lens that turns you on. jaw sharp, eyes tired, in a structured black suit. you snap a photo of the photo with your phone. his parents are adorable, they look just like him. obviously they do but you can see his eyes are from his mum, hair texture from his dad and that blonde is his mums. facial structure, glasses and his height from his dad. katsuki’s mentioned once that he wanted you to meet them, the first time he kinda asked you to be his girlfriend. you wonder if they would like you.

then he’s got a magazine rack, similar to yours at home, and it’s got all of his covers. every single one he’s ever done. you notice a bunch of duplicates, dated back to a month before you met him. you want one. he’s the cover of Heroes Weekly. you want it. you’ve never seen this one before. he’s standing arms folded, smirking in his hero gear. should you text him? that’s embarrassing to ask for one of his covers, especially since he usually just leaves them at your apartment in an attempt to be nonchalant. you know he does it on purpose. you sneak one under your arm and take a bite of your sandwich.

you circle around his desk. a fancy chair that you sit in and recline back. then you wonder if bakugou’s the type of guy who will know someone’s been in his chair. oh well. he’s got two dual monitors and you can only imagine gaming on this machine. would he let you? he probably has the prime ministers email address.

beside the papers you refuse to touch… you put your stolen bakugou Heroes Weekly cover on the desk and your sandwich on top. he’s got picture frames. one big frame with about fifteen spaces to fit photos in. it’s something you’d have in your bathroom, on top of your toilet full of photos of your friends. or in the kitchen on top of your faulty fireplace. it’s when you realise he’s got photos underneath. dog eared ones. yellow tinted from age. photos of him at sixteen with his friends. you recognise a few as pro heroes, seen on the news with your… katsuki. you know names from stories he’s told you but you can’t put them to faces yet. you definitely know deku though. there’s a photo of them both, deku with his arm around bakugou’s shoulders and whilst he looks pissed off, it’s an adorable picture. his puffy cheeks, his cheek scar fresh and new. you snap a photo of that one. then he’s got another with his parents. of him and his sidekicks. a photo of him outside his agency building from a few years ago, holding a massive pair of scissors. him and other blonde people around his age. you think they’re his cousins? he’s even holding a little blonde baby. you turn over and everything is written in japanese. even you can tell that is handwriting is just as ugly in japanese.

him and…. is that that tv cook? and then him and a random old short guy with glasses and a pot belly. bakugou actually looks the happiest in this photo. grinning, bending his knees to get to the guys height and he’s pointing to him as a pose.

you have a photo with this short old man with glasses

who is he?

you flip through the other photos and three minutes later.

The prime minister?

The president?

Are you in my office?

img.025

five minutes wait. perhaps the longest you’ve ever had to wait from bakugou.

That is a voice actor from an anime I love

Does my favourite character

you awe aloud.

so cuteeeeeeee

the last photo you find is smaller than the others. less than half the size. it’s a polaroid of you, in your bedroom, smiling, sitting cross legged in your bed in pretty much the same outfit as you’re wearing now. one of your old t-shirts and cotton shorts. you wonder if he stole it from you. possibly? he took it last week after you bought some new film with the deal that if you let him take one, he’d buy you a new box. the next time you saw him he gave you three boxes of film. you didn’t mind the photo. you didn’t have any makeup on and your hair wasn’t done but bakugou clearly liked it enough to include in his line up of 15 photos.

you finish eating your sandwich in his office chair, staring at everything that makes bakugou katsuki. mostly work wise. achievements, his family, friends and you. just a single photo.

you throw the packaging in the bin and you don’t mean to, you swear but you just want to check if he’s got that new subscription service in his living room and you can finally watch that new series people have been talking about and—

bakugou comes home to you fast asleep on his sofa, wrapped in his new knitted blanket and his Heroes Weekly cover on the coffee table.

[cupidkats]

00. 𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 ⋆ katsuki bakugou. “i’d do it again and again if it meant i found you each time.”

every now and then, you swear off men. and then, sometimes, when you get a little bored, you re-download all of your dating apps. friday night, when you find yourself swiping mindlessly through poorly made accounts, you stumble upon the holy grail: fully clothed in each picture, literate responses to the prompts, a nice smile—you sit up straight and swipe right.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭. a hybrid traditional / smau fic. pro-hero! katsuki x civilian! reader. beware of the following when approaching a new chapter: profanity & sarcasm, alcohol & drug usage, angst, suicide jokes, possible ooc. irregular update schedule. taglist is open - comment or send an ask to be added.

01. this user has blocked you.

02. a child militia.

03. sweet summer soul.

04. on twitter, no less.

05. a nervous little guy.

06. pretty pink-haired friend.

07. oh honey.

[cupidkats]

00. 𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 ⋆ katsuki bakugou. “i’d do it again and again if it meant i found you each time.”

every now and then, you swear off men. and then, sometimes, when you get a little bored, you re-download all of your dating apps. friday night, when you find yourself swiping mindlessly through poorly made accounts, you stumble upon the holy grail: fully clothed in each picture, literate responses to the prompts, a nice smile—you sit up straight and swipe right.

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭. a hybrid traditional / smau fic. pro-hero! katsuki x civilian! reader. beware of the following when approaching a new chapter: profanity & sarcasm, alcohol & drug usage, angst, suicide jokes, possible ooc. irregular update schedule. taglist is open - comment or send an ask to be added.

01. this user has blocked you.

02. a child militia.

03. sweet summer soul.

04. on twitter, no less.

05. a nervous little guy.

06. pretty pink-haired friend.

[lokissweater]

miss pretty

{single dad!katsuki bakugo x kindergarten teacher f!reader}

summary: katsuki bakugo has never liked mess and always made sure his son and his life reflected just that. with years worth of a sparkling clean and organized home, toys put away and not once scattered about, and a barking knack over any calls of disorder in his life— meeting you, his sons sweet and sugary kindergarten teacher who was the definition of pure and who was for some reason turning his fiery heart into complete goo— was altering his boring strict cycles of no messes around… and for the better.

warnings: cursing, FLUFFF GALORE MY GAWD??, no smut but a lil steamy something, slight angst, afab!reader, katsuki thinks you are an ANGEL, sunshine x grumpy trope, mentions of abandonment, WHOLESOME AFFF, use of y/n, all characters are aged up.

word count: 11.4k

authors note: THIS MAKES ME WANT TO BE A MOTHERRRRR omg this one is sickeningly sweet and i’ve gotten a few requests to do sunshine x grumpy with sir katsuki and i WAS ALLL OVERRR ITTT i hope i fulfilled!!! <333 THANK YOU THANK YOU AS ALWAYS FOR ALL OF YOU BEING SOOO SWEETT TO MEEE I LOVE YOUUUU MWAAAHHH :] <33333

katsuki bakugo hated messes.

“oi!” he grunted, his son’s little head turning to look at him as he munched on his gummy fruit snacks from the backseat. “you better not leave that wrapper in here. take it outside with you when i drop you off.”

“kaaayyy!” his son dragged out happily, completely unphased by his dads snappy personality as he contemplated on which color fruit gummy to eat next.

“and wash your hands too. ask your teacher.”

“mhm!” he chirped.

“and don’t be a brat. pay attention.”

“yup yup!”

and for the most part, his life reflected that almost entirely— raising his son to always clean up after himself and not make bombastic huge messes around the house, begrudgingly understanding that he’s a small growing human, that a little spill of apple juice or two is basically guaranteed… but he just hated mess, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t raise his son right to be a clean and organized man even at five years old— katsuki keeping everything in his life practically spotless.

that was of course, until he met you.

katsuki shoved through the other parents in line as he went up to the front desk in the main office with a grip on his sons little hand, not giving a damn about the glares and huffs of bewilderment he got as there was no way in hell he was gonna wait like an idiot with the rest of them.

the lady at the front desk raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“can i help—”

“where the fuck is room twenty four.”

her eyes bulged open as the rest of the parents in line softly gasped and murmured.

“e—excuse me?—”

he rolled his eyes.

“room twenty four.” he pushed. “where is it?”

“sir— if you need me to help you i’d like you to wait in line until—”

“hah?! absolutely not.” he spat. “if i wait in that fucking line my son’s gonna be late why can’t you just tell me—”

“uh sir if you could—”

katsuki’s son giggled as he continued to spout profanities at the poor front desk lady.

“—sir please no foul language there are children around—”

“i don’t give a shit! just tell me where room twenty four is what the hell is so hard about that?!—”

“oh! that’s my class!”

katsuki snapped his head over, fiery red eyes shooting towards the voice until they landed on yours.

“is he one of my kids?” you smiled sweetly, eyes coming down to look at his son.

“oh—” he let his shoulders relax just a tad as he watched you fix the strap of his sons backpack on his shoulder. “i mean— if your class is twenty four—“

“it is!” you beamed, nudging your head. “i’ll show you where!”

“hiii miiiissss!” his son greeted, happy and silly as he followed you down the hall.

“hi honey!” you gushed, just as excited as he was as you patted over his blonde scruffy hair. “what’s your name?”

“milo!”

“nice to meet you milo! are you excited for your first day?”

“yeaaahh!” he cheered, smile bright as he grabbed your hand.

katsuki’s eyes widened.

“milo!” he snapped lowly. “what’d i tell ya? you can’t grab her hand like that you have to ask—”

“oh it’s alright!” you dismissed, smiling. “i don’t mind it at all! the other kids do it too.”

milo snickered and stuck his little tongue out at his dad, and katsuki rolled his eyes.

“is he yours?” you asked kindly, tilting your head.

“who else would he be…” he grumbled.

“i guess you’re right!” you giggled. “he looks just like you.”

katsuki’s eyes flickered to yours before dropping back down, a permanent furrow in his brows as you all rounded the corner.

“here we are—”

“ooo! ooo!” milo hopped up and down. “miss you have race cars?! dad can i please go?!”

he looked over, a mountain of toys scattered about in the classrooms play area, little kids already making a damn mess and the school day hadn’t even officially started yet.

“the hell you asking me for? ask your tea—”

“miss miss can i please go play with the race cars?!—”

“of course my love! go! go have fun.” you smiled, gently ushering him on before milo zoomed over to the play area and crouched down with the rest of the kids.

“oi!” katsuki barked. “put them away when you’re done!”

he huffed under his breath as he watched his son give him a thumbs up and fucking dump the entire bucket of race cars down on the ‘abc’ play rug, taking one in each hand and dragging them across floor.

“he’s so cuteee.” you grinned. “i’m glad he’s not afraid being it’s his first day.”

“oh fuck no.” he mumbled. “milo doesn’t care. the little runt doesn’t have a filter and does whatever the hell he wants without askin’ sometimes.”

he leaned against the doorsill as he watched milo converse with another kid and share a car, satisfaction in his chest that his son was sharing and being nice.

“but i guess he gets that from me.” he finished off.

you nodded. “but that’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

he pursed his lips.

“in my experience, not really.”

you hummed.

“i think it’s definitely a good thing… i’d rather be assertive of things and not be afraid of what the consequences will be.”

katsuki looked at you, properly this time.

“what’s a kindergarten teacher afraid of?”

you shrugged, a slow playful grin spreading across your face.

“parents.”

he snorted, crossing his arms over his chest and you quickly had to look away, a pink buzz to your cheeks at the way his big built arms flexed.

inappropriate inappropriate inappropriate—

“i don’t know how you do it..” he spoke lowly.

“do what?”

“take care of little shits all day.”

you laughed loudly, reeling over a bit as he watched you out of the corner of his eye.

“i don’t take care of them! i teach them.” you quipped cutely. “they’re small, but this is when their brains drink up the most knowledge… and i love to see the progress from the beginning of the year compared to the end! i love it all really.”

pure.

katsuki curtly nodded, your sweet positive ambiance throwing him completely off, as he doesn’t think he’s ever met or surrounded himself around someone who’s directly emmitted the feeling of sunshine and rainbows and candy as much as you did.

and his cheeks flared up for some reason.

“oh!” you looked to the time on your little wrist watch and walked inside your classroom. “it’s almost time to start! i have to wrangle them all in their seats heh!”

katsuki swallowed and nodded.

“milo!”

he turned and upon seeing his dad wave him over, milo dropped his toys and bounded to him.

“don’t give her a hard time alright?” he spoke sternly, nudging his head over at you for emphasis. “listen. listen and learn and be the best one in there.”

“kaaayyy!”

“and you let me know if any of the other kids mess with you or you deal with it yourself. you already know how—”

“beat the crap out of them!” he cheered loudly and katsuki’s hand flew to clasp over his sons mouth before his frantic eyes looked at you.

the last thing he needed was someone to call up fucking child protective services on him.

“he’s joking! he’s joking… fuck.”

you giggled hard and clutched your stomach, your pretty smile sending katsuki for a loop.

“no you’re absolutely right!” you waved your hands in front of your face, reassuring. “treat others the way you want to be treated, so if someone’s being mean to you, bite back milo, okay? and also let me know first though!”

katsuki gave you a wobbly tiny smile amidst his branded serious face, looking at his son then and ruffling up his hair.

“okay, go.” milo ran off. “and don’t let me pick you up with dirt all over your clothes ya hear me?!”

“byeee daaaddd!”

you could tell that behind his harsh exterior— the slight purse of his lips, stiff frame and bouncing leg gave away that he was only worried about his kid and his first day of school, a sight you’ve seen time and time again since you started working as a kindergarten teacher, and one that never failed to warm your heart.

“don’t worry!” you sweetly smiled, and katsuki switched his gaze over to yours. “i’ll watch him especially… okay? to ease the nerves.”

he softly snorted, attempting to play it off but internally relieved as he pushed himself off the doorsill and nodded, thankful that the teacher milo got was as kind as you.

“um…” he mumbled. “katsuki.”

you tilted your head. “katsuki?”

“it’s my name idiot.”

“oh!” you giggled, a blush rising in your cheeks again as you tried to simmer it down. “nice to meet you katsuki! i’ll see you after school then with milo?”

he stiffly nodded, the way his name sounded so sugary off your tongue something he’d never heard before in his life or was used to at all.

“…ya gonna tell me yours or what?”

“sorry!” you sputtered, laughing nervously. “sorry it just— flew! you know—”

you stuck your hand out and offered it to him.

“y/n!”

katsuki untangled his arms and firmly shook it, grip strong and one that nearly made you stumble forward as you caught yourself and smiled.

“i’ll see you katsuki!”

out of all of the kids you’ve taught, milo was by far the cutest one.

the little man was like your personal assistant— a little bee buzzing around as he followed you everywhere in the classroom and helped you clean up after the rest of the kids that didn’t, ‘yelling’ at some of them to and cutely scolding them whenever he’d catch them leave some things behind, and was always on watch for you like a security guard with his little balled up fists on his hips, surveilling the classroom for any misbehaving kids or messes that you’d missed throughout the day.

all traits you no doubt knew he got from katsuki, even if you had just met him. it was pleasantly obvious.

“thanks for helping me out today, milo!” you gushed, pushing another students chair in as they all sat down and chattered for lunch. “you made my job a lot easier!”

“really?!” he squealed, big glimmering eyes beaming up at you before he happily chowed down on some apple slices.

and you noticed then milo’s lunch was insane, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches cut up and molded neatly into the shape of panda bears, his watermelon and apple slices shaped like stars with carrots and celery lined up with a little wedge of lemon if he wished, tiny rice balls on the side for a little snack you figured in case what he had didn’t fill him up— all so considerate and careful…

“wow!” you exclaimed, kneeling down next to him. “your lunch looks so yummy my love! did your mommy make this?”

“nuh uh!” he shook his head, cheeks filled with watermelon. “my dad did!”

you faltered.

“katsuki made this?”

“who’s katsuki miss?” he asked curiously, sipping on his little juice box after swallowing the fruit in his mouth.

you giggled. “nothing! nothing. enjoy your lunch okay?”

you went to stand, but milo’s hand shot out and caught your wrist.

“can you— can you eat lunch with me?” he mumbled shyly, fiddling with some carrot pieces in his hands. “please.. i always eat with my dad but he’s not here…”

your eyes softened and you quickly nodded.

“of course! let me just go grab my lunch and ill bring it over! sounds good?”

“yaaaayyyy!” he cheered happily, arms up as you scooched a tiny chair over from a nearby table and sat with him, laughing at his cute expression.

you knew you shouldn’t use a little kid to pry… but you were guiltily curious as to know if katsuki was married or not for reasons that made you ridiculously flustered and red in the face over.

and you wanted to be respectful in case he was… since the ogling you did at his muscles this morning through his black ribbed tank was the most embarrassing moment of your career and one you hadn’t seen coming at all, it catching you off guard and feeling horrible if katsuki indeed had a wife.

but he didn’t have a ring on his finger…

“milo?” you spoke up softly.

he smiled big. “yes miss!”

“does your mommy make you lunch as well or just your dad?”

he shook his head. “just my dad! i don’t have a mom.”

your shoulders deflated.

he didn’t have a mom… at all?

you slowly reached over then and patted his blonde hair, smiling warmly as his cheeks went pink. “that’s alright! i’m sure your dad makes you lunches like this every time huh?”

“yeah!” he gasped excitedly. “yesterday he made pizzas and cut them into dinosaurs! it was so cool! and then!— and then this morning for breakfast i had waffles that looked like dynamite blasts!”

“oh my goodness!” you giggled, your heart absolutely thumping over the fact that katsuki was so dedicated to his son like that. “man, i wish my lunches were as cute as yours!”

his little eyes snapped to yours.

“i’ll tell him!”

your brows furrowed confusedly. “wha—”

“to make you lunch! i’ll tell my dad to make you lunch!”

your eyes widened and you frantically shook your head, cheeks blazing as you laughed. “oh no my love! that’s totally okay don’t worry about me silly—”

“i’ll tell him i’ll tell him i’ll tell him!—”

“milo it’s okay! i’m a big girl.” you grinned. “i’m supposed to make my own lunches.”

milo grumbled and plopped a carrot in his mouth, begrudgingly chewing as he sat there in thought.

“…will you at least let me share some of mine?”

you pouted at his generosity, wondering how a kid could be so sweet as you nodded and held your hand up.

“of course sweetie! whatever you wa—”

milo plopped all of his peanut butter sandwiches in your palm and grinned, earning a gasp from you.

“milo this is too much i can’t—”

“eat it! eat it! eait it!—”

by the end of the day, you managed to get milo to take back his sandwiches in exchange for one singular watermelon star piece, him still doing his regular duties of being your little assistant and helping you clean up after everyone before the final bell rang signaling the end of class, you carefully making sure each kiddo got their designated backpack (as there was often a mix up) and art pieces they made for their parents to take home— a permission slip for the end of the year field trip tucked away inside their bags.

and the minute you stepped outside with the rest of the kids, you were surprised to see that katsuki was one of the first parents there as he stood directly across from your classroom with crossed arms, an angry usual scowl on his face that made you laugh to yourself as you led your kids to sit down on a bench in a single file line until their parents physically came to get them or their vehicles pulled up.

“milo!” you tapped his shoulder gently. “your daddy’s over there!”

“DAAADDD!!”

milo jumped up and ran across the grass, his tiny arms out as katsuki smiled softly and crouched down to pick his son up and settle him on his lower abdomen, you wringing your fingers behind your back and walking up to them.

“were you a brat?” he grunted.

“nope!”

“did any kids mess with you?”

“nope!”

“did you leave a mess?”

“nope!”

you giggled, and katsuki’s eyes snapped in your direction.

“how was he?”

“he did so good!” you gushed, patting milo’s back as he grinned. “was my little helper and everything! didn’t leave a single mess behind and helped me clean up after everyone else… he even made sure everyone was paying attention and not misbehaving.”

“yeah! yeah! see dad?” milo poked his dads cheek. “i didn’t lie!”

“never said you lied you little runt.” he scowled. “…but good job.”

“thanks!”

katsuki set him down after milo started kicking his legs and saying something about the swings, him instantly running towards the playground and to the slide.

“did he actually do all of that?” he spoke up.

“oh yes!” you quickly nodded. “i’ve never had a kid do that before so it was really nice of him to!”

you detached your fingers from around your back and fiddled with them.

“you teach him well katsuki.”

he scoffed and turned his head, cheeks pink as he tried to regain his composure.

“damn right i do.”

you giggled then, the memory of milo telling you he didn’t have a mother suddenly popping into your mind as you watched him happily slide down the blue slide head first.

“hey i don’t mean to um..” you timidly began. “i don’t mean to pry but—”

katsuki raised a brow at you and you snapped your mouth shut.

“nothing! nothing nevermind—”

“spit it out.”

“no it’s alright! sorry i—”

he glared and you cowered, smiling bashfully as you bit your bottom lip.

“milo… milo mentioned that he didn’t have a mommy? i was just— wondering if that was true…”

“tch—” he shook his head. “that’s what you were afraid of askin’ me?”

“i told you i’m scared of parents…” you slumped cutely, and he chuckled.

“it’s just me and him.” he answered. “his mom’s never been a part of our lives.”

your heart sunk a little, eyes sad as your gaze shifted to milo playing and racing around with another kid.

“don’t do that.”

you jumped and looked at katsuki.

“do— do what—”

“look all sad and shit.”

he hesitantly reached over and planted an index finger to the crease between your brows, the feeling rough as he tried to gently drag it down and smooth over the lines.

“it’s fine.” he grumbled, letting his arm fall to his side. “it doesn’t bother him. at least i don’t think it does.”

“no!” you spoke quickly, a crazed blush on your cheeks. “it doesn’t! and milo speaks so highly of you… especially the lunches you make him.”

his brows furrowed. “his lunch?”

“yeah!” you nodded excitedly. “you prepare it so so well! how do you get his sandwiches to look like little bears? and his fruit?! every time i try to cut mine into stars they always break in half…”

he huffed out a laugh, finding your little whine funny as he reached over and ruffled up your hair, you smiling cheekily in response.

“do you use molds?” you asked politely. “to shape out the bear?”

“fuck no.” he scoffed. “i do it myself.”

your eyes flew open.

“what?! so that’s really just you? and the dinosaurs too? the pizza dinosaurs? and the waffles? the ones that looked like dynamite blasts—”

“jesus christ how much did that kid tell you?”

your face grew hot as you smacked a hand over your mouth.

“sorry!” you giggled. “i just was thinking— that his lunch was really cute and thoughtful…” you took your hand away from your face. “i’m really glad that you do little things like that for milo to make him happy.”

katsuki stared at you, your swarm of compliments and sweetness and sunshine and butterflies almost suffocating as you looked at him with those pretty doe eyes, his throat oddly closing up the longer he stared right back and allowed you to pull him into your world of wonder and abc blocks and puzzles.

but it wasn’t suffocating in a bad way, not at all.

and… maybe he did want you to pull him in.

“dad dad dad!”

milo ran over, sweaty and red faced as he reached the two of you.

“there’s a dead lizard in the slide!”

“a dead lizard?” you laughed, surprised as you reached for his little water bottle from his backpack on the ground and uncapped the lid, handing it over and ushering him to drink.

katsuki didn’t know why the domestic sight of you doing that made him melt a bit.

a bit.

“yeah miss! it was big and gross.” he breathed out after gulping some of his icy cold water. “but i buried him!”

his dads red eyes snapped down to his and narrowed.

“don’t tell me you touched that thing milo.”

“i did!” he giggled.

“oh my fucking god—” katsuki snatched his hand and started pulling him to the car as milo giggled and stuck his tongue out.

“it’s a prank! some other girl in my class did… but i helped with the dirt!”

you chuckled softly as you watched katsuki stop and roll his eyes, coming back over to you with a hyper milo.

“say bye to your teacher ya little runt. and you’re still taking a shower when you get home!”

“but i don’t wanna take a showeerrr!” milo whined, letting go of his dads hand and running to you, you crouching and extending your arms big with a pretty smile.

“bye my love!” you hugged him tight as he giggled. “i’ll see you tomorrow okay? and give your daddy a break. no more digging up dirt and playing with dead lizards.”

“kaayyyy!”

you both let go and he stepped back, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before bouncing back to his dad.

katsuki choked on his spit.

“oi!” he barked. “you can’t just kiss her cheek milo the hell is going on with you?!—”

“it’s okay don’t worry!” you smiled kindly. “he’s just being sweet is all! i don’t mind.”

“you sure?” he pushed, milo snickering. “i—”

you waved him off and wrung your fingers behind your back, leaning forward.

“i’ll see you tomorrow morning kats!”

and he froze, nodding hard as he quickly took milo’s hand and backpack before walking to the car, his heart completely aflame in his chest and cheeks red as he led his babbling son further into the parking lot and inside the car, buckling him up in his car seat before hopping in himself and starting the engine, unbelieving that he had barely just met you and he was already thinking and acting like a fucking dumbass.

“and then we learned the days of the week! oh!— and we learned numbers! i can count to fifteen dad!”

“that’s good milo.” he responded, pulling out of the schools parking lot and craning his neck to see if he could catch a final glimpse of you and settling once he did, you so pretty and conversing so nicely with another kid until he was out of the lot.

“did you eat all of your lunch? y/n tells me ya shared with her.”

“i did! i did share with her.” he grinned. “she liked my lunch!”

“good.” katsuki gave him a thumbs up through the rear view mirror. “that’s good that you always share. especially with her.”

“yup yup! she’s preeettyyy.”

he rolled his eyes, but a small smile grew at the corner of his lips as he nodded curtly.

“that she is.”

katsuki continued to drop off his son personally at your classroom every morning before school.

even when it had been a couple of months into the year, at this point many students already used to their route to and out of class and their parents just dropping them off and leaving— them not even allowed on campus as security rounded every corner and told any parents who wished to go in that they weren’t supposed to, as per policy.

but not katsuki.

katsuki didn’t give a fuck as he stormed through the main office and ignored the calls of the front desk lady, her already used to the rude asshole who came through the building every morning as he strode by and down the hall to class twenty four… wanting to see you— his son’s pretty kindergarten teacher that was sweet and joyful and someone who was everything he wasn’t, his mind curious and filled with your giggles and smiles throughout the time that he’d gotten to know you and chat with you in the mornings and the afternoons, loving the way you were with milo and treated him like he was literally your own— always watching over him and making sure he had had enough to eat and drink and that his hands were washed when he wasn’t around.

and even katsuki himself— you bringing him candy bags from their classroom parties or donuts that were passed to faculty in the mornings and saving yours for him, treats he always took and ate with no questions asked even though he wasn’t a fan of sugary shit and junk food, always making the exception for you.

he had never experienced honest help like that… he’d never experienced someone caring enough about him and his son like the way you did so perfectly every single day…

and katsuki feared that he was a little obsessed.

“oh! miss y/n!”

“yes honey?” you responded kindly, opening a juice pouch for another student and handing it to them carefully during lunch.

milo dug into his lunch pail and pulled out a small container, sticking his hand up and offering it to you.

your brows furrowed, taking it from him.

“what’s this milo?”

“it’s from my dad!”

you stopped, heart dropping to your ass as you recounted his words.

from katsuki?

“your— your dad?”

“mhm!”

you shakily popped the lid of the container open, eyes widening and filling with hearts once you saw a mix of star shaped strawberries and watermelon and papayas, drizzled over with sparkling strings of honey and singular little blueberries scattered about.

“for me?” you asked softly, crouching down next to milo. “my love— are you sure this isn’t for you? i think your dad cut these up for you—”

“nope! for you!” he gave you a big toothy smile before stuffing his mouth with crackers. “he told me not to eat it and to give it to you.”

he swallowed and reached up, you tilting down your head so he could pat it just like you always did for him.

“i hope you like it miss! they look like the ones you told me looked cute!”

“i— i love them milo.. thank you!”

you picked up a papaya piece and ate it, entirely dazed and love struck as your tastebuds savored over the sweet velvety thick honey, literally blinking back tears at how thoughtful and kind katsuki was.

he didn’t have to do this at all… yet he took the time anyways out of his morning to do this for you.

and your heart nearly fucking gave out.

after school once you got your rowdy kids to sit neatly on the bench and wait for their parents, you extended a hand for milo and he hopped off the bench and took it, you both walking up to a waiting katsuki as he stood there with a soft smile on his face.

“hi kats!”

“hey.” he picked his son up and settled him over his abdomen, milo’s arms clinging around his neck and chin propped up on his dads shoulder as he was exhausted from a days worth of playing and learning.

“i wanted to um—” you peered up at him. “i um—”

his brows furrowed, and just as he was about to bark about you stumbling over your words, he stopped.

your bottom lip was trembling.

you hurriedly wiped your eyes.

“i wanted to thank you—” hic! “f—for the star shaped fruit this morning—”

“why are you crying dumbass?” he mumbled, reaching over and wiping some tears with his rough fingers.

“because it was so nice!” you sobbed, shoulders shaking as you let him wipe your cheeks. “and— and you put honey over it too! you didn’t have to do any of that for me!”

“tch—”

he flicked your forehead softly, not enough to hurt you but enough to get you to snap out of your hiccups as you sniffled.

“it’s just fruit y/n—”

“but it’s not.” you wiped your eyes again. “not to me anyways…”

katsuki slowly lowered his arm, gaze tracing over your pretty face and perfect hair and the way you cried over something so stupid, his brain unable to process the fact that an act as simple as cutting fruit up for you could make you this happy, and it made him want to see what you saw for once— how you saw the world for exactly what it was and appreciated it regardless of how big or small things were, not snippy or angry or spiteful over everyone and thinking everything was out to get him and his son.

“crybaby…” he grumbled. “i’m glad you liked it though.”

“i did kats.. a lot. thank you.” you wiped the last of your tears and smiled. “i’m sorry i cried.”

what a pretty sweet girl…

he shook his head and hoisted milo up, him completely knocked out with drool coming out of his mouth as katsuki felt it run down his shoulder, barely even noticing that though as his entire focus was trained purely on you.

was it okay if he… asked you out? would it be weird? would you tell him to fuck off?

katsuki internally rolled his eyes at his stupid fucking high school boy thoughts, though it didn’t alleviate the gnawing feeling that if you did tell him to fuck off… that he’d be angrily mortified at his fail and probably lose the right to talk to you since it’d be too awkward to.

but you were just so fucking sweet. all of the time.

“listen uh—” he cleared his throat, face growing hot. “i was wondering if ya wanted to eat dinner with me… sometime.”

you stared, eyes big and shocked and katsuki took it defensively and entirely the wrong way.

“forget it.” he snapped. “forget it i didn’t say shit—”

“no! no no—” you quickly shook your head. “no it’s okay i would!”

he stopped.

“you would?”

“of course!” you expressed sweetly, cheeks hurting from how big you were smiling as you tried to simmer down your giddy squeals. “i’d love to have dinner with you…”

his tense shoulders slowly relaxed, an eventual small smile growing on his face.

“a—alright uh…” he sighed. “i’d prefer to take ya somewhere nice but i don’t really have anyone to watch milo—”

you shook your head again, brows pinched. “oh no kats— we don’t have to go anywhere at all! we can order something in at your place and eat with milo? or— or my place?”

“my place.” he replied. “and i’ll cook.”

he cooks?!

“okay!” you giggled, your hand reaching up and patting over milo’s sleepy head gently. “sounds good!”

katsuki and you agreed on the details of the date after and bid each other bashful goodbyes, swooning as you watched him walk away into the parking lot with a sleeping milo in his arms and feeling like none of this was fucking real, for you couldn’t believe someone as handsome and cool as katsuki would ever be interested in someone like you.

and funnily enough, he felt the complete opposite, stressed and extra snappy as he cleaned the house from top to bottom (though it barely needed it), unnecessarily fixed the positioning of the furniture and made milo put away his toys, him not even whining or protesting like he usually did solely because the little man knew you were coming— pretty miss y/n with the pretty smile and the nicest lady he had ever met, and one he secretly hoped would be his new mommy every time he saw you and his dad converse before and after school, thinking you would fit the role perfectly.

especially after his dad had given you those fruits as a present!

“milo!” katsuki called. “come ‘ere!”

his son ran into the kitchen, toy race car in hand. “what!”

“be good today, ya hear me?” he pushed, face stern as he flipped a kitchen towel over his shoulder and sautéed vegetables in his frying pan. “please milo. don’t try to be funny and do somethin’ to scare y/n off.”

milo gave him a look.

“scare miss y/n off? dad you’re gonna scare her off not me!” he giggled. “silly.”

“yeah..” he grunted. “you’re probably right but i’m just sayin’. i’m thinking of the time grandma came over and ya put that fake rat in her purse to try and be funny.”

“ohhh yeeeeah!” he doubled over in little fits of laughter, holding his stomach as he did. “i did do that!”

“see what i mean?” katsuki grumbled, snatching the kitchen towel from his shoulder and throwing it down on the counter top, stepping back to peek in the oven. “you better not do that with y/n please.”

“i won’t!” he grinned. “not when she’s about to be my new mommy!”

katsuki choked as his spit went down the wrong pipe, bending over and coughing uncontrollably in his elbow before spinning around and looking at his son with wide eyes and pink cheeks.

“the hell you just say?”

“what!” milo tilted his head. “that y/n is gonna be my new mommy?”

his eyes grew even wider as he dropped the pan he was holding on the stove and leaned back, running his hands over his face.

“oh you little runt please don’t say that in front of her, alright?”

he pouted. “why not?”

“you’ll scare her off! worse than when you put that fake rat in grandmas purse!”

“boooo!” milo stuck his tongue out and crossed his little arms over his chest. “whatever.”

“oi!”

“what!”

katsuki’s doorbell chimed and milo booked it to the front door.

“missss preettyyyy!!—”

“milo get your ass back here!—”

katsuki swung the door open and swooped his son in his arms just as he was about to pounce on you in midair, you giggling and covering your mouth as you watched the scene unfold before you.

“i’m sorry—”

“hiii misss y/nnn!” milo greeted happily, dangling off of his dad as katsuki tried to stop him from wiggling out of his grip. “i’m so exciteeeddd!—”

“hi my love!” you gushed warmly, smile wide as you extended your arms and walked forward, taking milo in your arms and setting him on your hip. “how are you? you excited to hang out with meee?”

“yes! yes!” he vigorously nodded. “i wanna show you all my race cars!”

“oh i can’t wait to seeee!” you bounced him on your hip and he giggled, you turning your attention and smiling at katsuki.

“hi kats!”

“the little brat is hogging—”

milo blew a silly raspberry at him before wrapping his arms around you and shoving his face into your neck.

you laughed and ran a soothing hand over the little man’s back, katsuki rolling his eyes before stepping to the side and letting you in, shutting the door behind him and leading you over to the kitchen.

and jesus christ you looked beautiful, him noting that pink was what you mainly wore on the day to day as he eyed your small rosy cardigan, you walking through his home and looking around and oblivious to the way he was staring at you like a fucking creep.

katsuki bit the inside of his cheek as he watched your eyes scan your surroundings, stupidly nervous about what you’d think of his house and furniture and minuscule decorations, and annoyed with himself that he’d even give a shit about something like that, trying to occupy himself and ignore it as he looked in the oven and lifted lids of various pots and pans, checking over tonight’s dinner.

“i’m sorry i’m behind…” he grumbled and waved his hand around. “had to clean the house and shower milo since he decided to play in the fuckin’ mud this morning.”

“oh you don’t have to apologize for that kats!” you looked at him worriedly. “you don’t have to apologize for anything i totally understand…”

you hoisted milo further up your hip and grinned. “i’m just happy to spend time with the both of you.”

katsuki felt smoke puff out of his red ears as he nodded and scratched the back of his neck, turning slightly and lifting the lids from his pots and pans again.

“miss preettyyyy!” milo whined. “when can i show you my race cars?!”

katsuki scowled and you laughed.

“now honey! but how about we move some of your toys to the living room so i can spend time with both you and dad? how does that sound?”

“yayayay!!” milo cheered, bouncing on your hip as you smiled cutely and set him down, him running off down the hall and you quickly following after him.

milo talked you through his entire collection of race cars as you both sat down on the living room rug— telling you the model of each and every one, what they did, how fast they went, they places they’d gone, and which were his favorites as you excitedly talked to him about his cars and shifted conversation between him and katsuki, a task he was surprised you did so efficiently, but then quickly realized that that was literally your fucking job everyday dealing with little brats talking your ears off and you attending all of them at the same time.

and when it came around to dinner time, you helped katsuki set up even through his snapping and huffing that you absolutely shouldn’t, you giving him a silly little face as you assisted anyways and set up milo’s booster seat, picking him up and sitting him down before buckling him up while katsuki placed your dishes on the table—

and gourmet fucking dishes at that.

you were bewildered. absolutely bewildered as you gawked over the lasagna platter he set before you, it delicate and fancy looking as he had even draped sauce on your gray ceramic plate in gourmet intricate designs, knowing that katsuki had mentioned to you he was a chef over the several months you’d gotten to know him, but you didn’t know exactly to which extent that chef occupation stretched to.

“kats…” you murmured. “what do you do for a living.”

“i told you idiot.” he passed over a couple of napkins and you gratefully took them, taking one then and wiping down milo’s mouth as he messily ate his cut up pieces of lasagna. “i’m a cook.”

“yeah but what kind? where?”

“why?” he gruffed. “does it look like shit?”

“no!” you giggled. “absolutely not the opposite actually! this is probably the most beautiful lasagna i’ve ever seen in my life.”

“duh.” he responded, but sent you a small smile as he ate. “i’m an executive chef down at a restaurant in the city.”

your jaw dropped. “the city?! you’re so cool kats! oh my goodness!”

his face flushed.

“my dad says his boss is a piece of—”

“don’t say it!” katsuki snapped at his son, eyes wide as you slapped a hand over your mouth to keep yourself from laughing, not wanting to encourage the little man any further.

“milo i told ya not to cuss until you’re ten—”

“ten?!” you giggled loudly and let your hand fall, sticking your fork in your lasagna and eating. “as long as he cusses with you and not at you… i think it should be fine!”

katsuki stopped.

you get it. or you rile up his bad cussing habit. either or he might as well have found his fucking soulmate.

“miss pretty!” milo called.

“yes my love?”

“do you have a boyfriend?”

katsuki smacked a hand on his forehead and you snickered.

“i don’t!” you grinned. “why milo?”

“because i want you to be my new—”

“milo if ya shut your mouth right now i’ll buy you two new race cars tomorrow.”

his son gasped dramatically and pursed his lips shut, eyes big and excited as he tried to contain himself and do as told.

“his new what?” you tilted your head cutely, katsuki’s heart hammering against his rib cage as he stuffed his mouth with food.

he shrugged. “the fuck should i know?”

“but i wanna know!” you pouted, taking your final bites of your yummy dinner.

he swallowed.

“do you want dessert?”

you gasped. “oh my god yes! i do!”

“then i suggest you shut your mouth too.”

you laughed over the table, quickly nodding as you pursed your lips like milo and pinched your thumb and index finger together, running it across your mouth and twisting your wrist like a pretend lock before dropping your hand in your lap, giddy and excited over dessert.

katsuki playfully rolled his eyes and stood, collecting all of your plates and stacking them on top of each other before taking them over to the sink.

“dad!” milo called as he bounced in his seat, katsuki grunting in response.

“what’d you make for dessert!”

“mochi.”

“yaaaayyyyy!” he cheered happily. “can i eat it with y/n in the living room?”

katsuki’s brows furrowed. “the living room?”

“yeah!” milo exclaimed. “so i can keep showing her my race cars!”

he struggled for a moment before eventually nodding. “alright… but don’t make a mess i just cleaned—”

you and milo ended up building a fucking fort once he gave you the all clear, you both saying something about it adding to the ambiance as you used the couch cushions for makeshift walls and milo’s choo choo train sheets for the roof and tent, katsuki before he knew it his entire living room a fucking mess as the three of you sat amongst the scattered about pillows and blankets eating your bits of mochi, milo mainly inside the little tent you made for him as you and katsuki were too big to fit inside with him.

his living room was a mess… but he didn’t mind.

katsuki didn’t mind the mess.

your way of living was entirely different from his, as yours had everything to do with mess due to your full time job with kids— paint all over your hands and face, marker stains on your clothes and sticky glue residue and pieces of cut up construction paper somehow in your hair, all things katsuki despised for years and made sure his house never reflected any of that.

but in that moment, with his living room in complete disarray and the positioning of his couches utterly fucked up? the dishes still in the sink and the table still set?

katsuki didn’t fucking care.

because he had never seen his son so happy. he had never seen him so excited and hyper as you helped him set up and somehow tie fairy lights that katsuki had somewhere up in his attic for holiday seasons around the fort, you looking fucking gorgeous under the dim dark lightning as you read milo one of his favorite children’s books you got from his little shelf in his room— ‘the very hungry caterpillar,’ one of your favorites too as his son followed along with you and giggled whenever you’d make a silly joke only a five year old would find funny.

and katsuki felt warm… that’s all he ever felt when he was around you.

is this what it was like to be a family?

“oh my goodness i almost forgot!” you quickly sat up and handed milo the book, him taking it as you crawled over and reached for your bag. “i brought something for you honey!”

milo gasped and sat up. “really?! what?!”

you pulled out a ceramic cream colored globe with hollowed out stars, a small bulb inside as you scooched on your knees back over to a curious katsuki and milo.

“woah..” his son whispered. “what is it?”

you smiled and reached for the nearest outlet, plugging in the little globe and flicking a switch.

the darkened room illuminated itself then with the soft murmur of a lullaby playing, star shaped shadows slowly shifting around the entire living room as milo gasped and stood, frantically pointing at each moving shadow and gushing while his little mind was trying to process how cool and fascinating this was.

and all katsuki could do was stare at you.

stare at the way you sat back on your ankles and pointed with milo, counting how many stars you could see before it shifted and repeating that for fun, stare at the way both of your eyes glowed with wonder and curiosity, and stare at the way you smiled so gracefully and looked unreal now under the starry lights, his heart on overdrive at how gentle you were and how much you cared about his son.

about him.

and katsuki was sure then he was absolutely sick over you.

you all settled after a while of playing games and eating more mochi, especially milo, the little lullaby knocking him out as he snored next to you in his fort, you and katsuki laying down next to each other as you stared up at the shifting stars.

“i’m sorry i made such a mess in your living room..” you whispered bashfully. “i promise i’ll pick everything up before i leave.”

he shook his head. “don’t worry about it i can pick up. it’s fine.”

you smiled at him warmly before looking back up at the ceiling, feet planted on the blanketed flooring as your mindlessly moved your propped up knees side to side.

“was it hard raising milo on your own kats?” you asked softly, fingers wrung together neatly on your tummy.

“it was at first.” he mumbled. “but i got used to doin’ it on my own.”

you frowned, not particularly happy with the idea that katsuki had to raise a human being on his own without any help or guidance, wishing that he would’ve had someone there to help him every once in a while, or just be there for him.

“you did an exceptional job, okay?” you began. “you should know that... milo is such an honest kid… and he’s so precious too.”

katsuki’s eyes softened, and he couldn’t bring himself to look at you in fear of you noticing his stupid flustered face as he opted for keeping his gaze glued to the starry ceiling, your sugary peachy perfume not fucking helping as he decided to sit up instead.

“he is.” he grunted softly. “don’t know how his mom didn’t see that.”

you faltered and sat up with him.

“what do you mean?”

katsuki eyed you before looking down, hands flat behind him propping himself up as he thought.

“ah… milo happened because of some random hookup i had in college.” he mumbled. “didn’t love her or anythin’, i barely knew her but still told her i’d support her and the baby obviously.”

you nodded, encouraging him to continue.

“i was there through her entire pregnancy and when milo was born… but the minute she got discharged from the hospital and took him with her, i woke up at four in the mornin’ with a knock on my door and milo left abandoned on my doorstep.”

you gasped, hand hovering over your mouth.

“are you— are you serious?”

katsuki nodded.

“she wouldn’t answer my calls, my texts, nothing. i went to her house and found out she took the first flight she could to fuck knows where.” he shook his head bitterly. “but i didn’t give a shit about me i’ll raise him i don’t care. it was never about me.

he looked at you. “it was about milo. i didn’t want him to know that his ‘mom’ left him behind like that, and i didn’t want him to think it was his fault or anythin’… shits ridiculous.”

katsuki shifted his gaze back up to the ceiling. “still don’t know how she could ever do something like that.”

the sound of a hiccup make his eyes widen and snap back to you, your eyes filled with fat tears as your bottom lip wobbled, hands coming up to cup over your mouth and nose as you tried to keep it in.

“you’re crying?”

you nodded, squeaky slight sobs slipping past your throat as you strained to keep everything down.

“that’s so cruel.” you cried softly, embarrassingly drowning in your tears in front of him yet again. “you didn’t deserve that at all kats… milo didn’t deserve that you both should’ve had such a good mommy and— and a good support system—”

katsuki pushed himself up and wrapped his big arms around your shoulders, pulling you in and rubbing a hand up and down your back comfortingly.

“you cry over everything y/n.”

“s—” hic! “—sorry—”

he laid the side of his head on top of yours as you shook, somehow feeling guilty of what he told you just because of how much you were crying.

more than when he gave you those star shaped fruits.

“oi…”

katsuki pulled back and looked at you, reaching up and wiping your tears with his thumbs.

“don’t cry baby…”

baby?!

you funnily sobbed even more and shoved your face in his chest, him chuckling as he wrapped his arms back around you and gently swayed side to side.

“stop it idiot.” he mumbled. “it’s fine. it happened years ago n’ milo and i have always been alright on our own.”

…but he wanted you now.

now that he knew what it was like to be softly cared for by someone precious like you, to feel what it was like to be warm and fuzzy and sunshine and rainbows and candy all of the time… and katsuki wanted you so. bad.

“i know..” you hiccuped. “and i’m really glad but i just wish you had someone.”

you pulled away and quickly wiped your wet cheeks. “m’sorry i cried all over your shirt—”

“don’t give a fuck.”

you breathed out a laugh and dropped your hands in your lap, looking at your fingers as you sniffed.

you were always crying for him.

“y/n.”

“yeah?”

he looked to the side with a blush to his cheeks.

“thanks for comin’ today.”

you smiled brightly and nodded.

“of course kats! how could i not?” you looked behind you to a sleeping milo, reaching over and pulling his blanket a little further up his shoulders. “i want you to know that i wanna be there for you and milo…”

he shifted his gaze to you as you turned back around.

“whether— whether you wanna keep seeing me or not—” you gnawed nervously at the inside of your cheek. “which i hope you do! but— but if not that’s totally fine i just want to be there for you both…”

how were you so pure? so thoughtful?

“why the hell wouldn’t i wanna keep seeing you?” he huffed, grumbly and embarrassed as he pursed his lips. “i’d be stupid as fuck not to…”

you blushed, happy shiny eyes looking at him eagerly like he was everything and more, and he wasn’t used to people looking at him like that whatsoever as your gaze flickered down to his lips and back up.

and you were so pretty.

“y/n.”

“mhm?”

he slowly leaned closer.

“would you be mad if i made a move on you—”

“of course not—”

katsuki lunged and planted his rough lips on yours, you tasting like straight sugar and honey as he placed his big hands on the sides of you head and held you like a piece of delicate glass, kissing and sliding your tongues in each others mouths rather quickly and breathy as he moved one hand from your pretty face down to your waist to grip it.

you placed your hands on the blanketed floor and slowly crawled over to him during the makeout, him reaching and wrapping the rest of his built muscly arms around your waist and pulling you to straddle his lap as he ran his hands up and down your sides and back, wanting to feel you as much as he possibly could and squeeze you tight as he gulped your little self down, brows furrowed and lips red.

katsuki pulled away and ran his fiery wet mouth across your jaw and to the spot right below your ear on the side of your neck, your hands gripping his broad shoulders as he bit and sucked and still squeezed you, manhandling you in a way and eating you up.

your eyes fluttered open once you heard a slight rustle, your line of sight catching milo shifting a little in his sleep.

“k—kats—” you breathlessly whispered, pushing a little at his shoulders.

he grunted.

“milo—” you pointed. “he’s waking up—”

“the fucks that gotta do with us—”

“kats!”

he groaned and pulled his mouth from you, scowling over to see his son only shifted positions and was now directly facing the both of you, tiny eyes closed as he drooled and was probably dreaming about race cars and his dads shark shaped pb & j sandwiches.

“the little runt is fine—” he shoved his face back in and gnawed at your neck again as you gasped.

“nooo!” you whined and giggled softly. “now i’m scared he’s gonna wake up…”

he huffed and officially pulled away this time, red eyes dilated and half lidded as he looked over your pinky cheeks and shy face, the purple and blue mark he made on your neck making the right side of his lips curve up into a little prideful smirk, you too distracted to notice over the way he clutched and loosened up the hold on your waist repeatedly.

katsuki kept you on his lap and scooched himself down, laying on his back and head on the pillow as he nudged you to lay on him completely over his chest and body, you more than happy to do so as you settled your head on his pecs and got comfortable with his strong arms around you— feeling so safe and looked after.

and you hadn’t expected to sleep over… but you just didn’t wanna leave, and katsuki sure as hell didn’t want you to either as you softly and quietly talked over the small tinkling of the lullaby and milo’s soft breathing, shadowy stars still slowly shifting around you as you easily switched between various topics— ranging from serious to silly as you ran a loving hand over his chest and his on your back, the both of you subconsciously lulling each other to sleep until you were just as passed out on the floor as milo.

since then, katsuki didn’t wanna let you out of his sight.

as if he wasn’t already involved enough with milo’s school activities because of you, this man became a fucking member of the pta and volunteered himself for every single event so as long as you were there, helping you out especially with fundraisers and bake sales as his desserts always sold out quicker than anything else and made bank as he snickered and boasted at the other parents that weren’t selling as much, you giving him a silly glare that never failed to shut him right up as he wanted to be good for you and not upset you.

the front desk lady even went from hating him to loving him, katsuki grumbling and chucking her a bag of leftover fundraiser chocolate chip cookies on her desk as he passed by to drop off milo in the mornings, serving as a ticket way in and to get her to shut up now instead of yelling at him from down the hall.

and he continued to give you yummy star shaped fruits.

except now some days they looked like hearts or little flowers, and he always made his fruit assortments different so you wouldn’t get tired of them and added different dippings like caramel or chocolate hazelnut, you gushing and nearly bawling literally everyday whenever you’d open the container and milo giggling at you during lunch.

you also never went a day without stopping by or staying over at katsuki’s house since your first initial date, your days so much fun and filled with love as you ate lunch or dinner with the two of them, laughing at milo’s sporadic comments or katsuki’s barking and scolding while you either played with milo, helped katsuki clean up the house and him the kitchen or you the kitchen and vice versa, or simply cuddle on the couch with kisses shared amongst you and katsuki— the three of you with milo seated peacefully and comfortable in the middle while you watched a movie or lulled the little man to sleep.

and katsuki had never felt so complete as he started leaving messes behind without even realizing or stressing about it, and he didn’t know when the fuck it was that he turned so soft and sappy— the change a bit strange to those who knew him as he was just a teeny weeny less explosive and angry over small things, and more so when it came to you and his son.

“make sure you keep your little bucket hat on honey, okay? it’s hot today and i don’t want you to tire yourself out milo.”

the end of the year field trip for the kindergarteners this year was a voyage to the local wildlife sanctuary, a gorgeous exhibit that sat right next to the national science museum in your city, its main attraction being the 25 foot koi pond and butterfly wonderland that housed various butterfly species and their little habitats— the kids field trip assignment being to count how many they see throughout the day and pick one koi fish and butterfly to draw on their journals.

katsuki, of course, volunteered as a chaperone.

“single file line please my loves!” you called, hand by your mouth. “and don’t seperate from your friends okay?! everyone stay where i can see—”

“oi!” katsuki barked, snapping and pointing at a rogue kid who decided to break free from the line and run across the grass. “the fuck do you think you’re doing!—”

“kats!” you breathed out a shocked laugh. “you’re gonna get me fired if you talk to the kids like that—”

“shit! sorry— i’m sorry baby hold on—”

katsuki booked it across the grassy lawn and caught up with the running kid on the other side, the rest of your class giggling and cackling as katsuki swooped him up with one arm and dangled him upside down while he kicked and swung tiny punches to his abs, katsuki not even flinching.

“do that again and see what happens brat.” he spat, the little kid not having a single care in the world as he giggled with the rest of the class, all of them deviously planning to piss katsuki off as much as possible since his outbursts were just funny.

“okay okay—” you smiled apologetically at him before taking the dangling boy from his arm and setting him back down, fixing over his clothes and backpack before patting his head and standing upright.

“no more running alright?” you placed your hands on your hips. “don’t we wanna see some cute little fishies and butterflies?!”

“yeeeeaaaahhhh!!” the babies cheered excitedly, each of them immediately returning to their designated spots in two lines as you grabbed your line leaders tiny hands and started the walk down the grassy field to the sanctuary.

“lemme help ya with one line baby—” katsuki went to grab one of your line leaders hands until they burst into a crying fit.

“no! no! i wanna hold miss y/n’s hand!”

katsuki’s eyes narrowed. “what’s so bad about me hah?”

“you’re ugly! miss y/n is pretty!”

the rest of the kids ruptured, laughing as katsuki sent death glares to a literal child, about to spout something nasty until his eyes flickered to your pleading face, his muscles instantly relaxing as he casted his gaze to the ground with a grumble.

you giggled and gave him a sweet kiss to his cheek in gratitude, his face flushing as he eyed your deep blue overalls and pinky shirt and the way your sunglasses sat pretty in your hair on top of your head.

“what honey?” you tilted your head.

“none of your business.”

you snickered and nudged your shoulder with his, looking over at milo from somewhere in the line to make sure he was okay before walking up the front gates of the sanctuary.

the wildlife guide met you once you all were cleared and inside the greenhouse, your kids absolutely restless as they ‘listened’ to whatever the guide had to say and just wanting to break free and run around to look at all of the fishies and butterflies like you had promised, and you not even listening either as you drooled over the way katsuki’s muscles looked under his t-shirt.

“any questions sweetheart?”

“huh?” your eyes snapped to the guide, cheeks pink as you quickly shook your head. “oh! no not at all! thank you ma’am!”

“alrighty then! just please make sure to tell your students—”

suddenly your two perfect lines broke apart as the kids started running around and pointing at fluttering butterflies and screaming, the guide looking like she’d seen a ghost as the usual quiet and serene sanctuary was now the epitome of noise.

“i’m sorry! i’m sorry—” you guiltily apologized. “my kids will settle down they’re just excited is all…”

the guide kindly waved you off before walking back to the main office, you turning and expecting to see katsuki standing next to you, but faltering once you saw he was on the other side and pulling one of your kids down that had climbed up the gates of one of the sanctuaries closed off exhibits.

“oh god..” you mumbled, about to make your way over until you spotted milo in a corner alone, staring at one of the koi ponds.

“milo?” you called softly, walking up to him.

your heart sank once he turned and you saw his little tear filled eyes and wobbling lip.

“oh no!” you gasped, crouching down and taking his tiny hands in yours. “what’s wrong my love? are you okay? is it too hot?”

you pushed some of his spiky blonde bangs back from his sweaty forehead as he shook his head.

“i can’t draw!” he sniffled. “and the koi fishies keep moving…”

your shoulders relaxed in relief.

“that’s okay!” you took his journal and pencil, wiping his wet cheeks as you smiled sweetly. “as long as we’re patient with the fishies, they’ll swim back and you can draw them again!”

you opened his journal and flipped to a new blank page, the both of you waiting quietly until a big chubby koi fish swam by.

“there!” milo whispered and pointed, and you quickly drew what you could, just making out the shape of the body before it disappeared again.

“and now we wait!” you grinned up at him. “the fishy will come back around and you’ll be able to draw it again.”

“kayyy!!”

“and you can draw milo. i’ve seen your artwork in class, remember? you always get a gold star!”

he giggled. “i do miss pretty!”

you ran a soothing hand over his back before passing his journal back.

“now you try honey—”

“i love you.”

you froze and looked up, katsuki standing there with a sincere and vulnerable look in his eye.

you stood from your crouched position and looked at him wide eyed.

“i’m not— i’m not good at this kinda shit at all and i always say somethin’ dumb but i do.”

“kats—”

“and i’m sorry it took me so long to say it but i tried to make it obvious with my stupid shaped fruits n’ shit… and i always thought you kinda just knew…”

milo was too busy focusing on catching glimpses of the koi fish to draw with his tongue peeking out to even realize what was going on next to him.

“you’re so patient baby. the way you are with me… the way you are with my kid. i need that in my life and i can’t live without it at this point…” he spoke genuinely. “your fuckin’ fault.”

you giggled and covered your face with your hands, face hot to the touch and bashful at everything he was telling you.

“come here.”

you listened and walked forward, dropping your arms as you wrapped them around his abdomen and his around your head, squishing you in his big chest as he propped his chin up.

“do you love me too or what.” he frowned. “cause if not this is shitty and embarrassing—”

“no i do!” you giggled, pulling away and giving him a cheeky smile. “i do kats you know that… i love you. so much.”

he smiled and pecked your lips. “good, miss pretty.”

katsuki had heard the entire conversation you had with his son, your words seeping with such tenderness and care, and he almost passed the fuck out when he thought about how much of a blessing you were, something he’d be a fool not to snatch up and take as he nearly fucking proposed to you in the middle of the sanctuary like an idiot, not knowing at all how a person that pissed people off for a living was loved by a woman who was the definition of pure.

because how the fuck did an angry dunce like him, get lucky with an angel like you?

“oh my god that dumbass kid is climbin’ the fence again— oi!”

katsuki quickly kissed your cheek before flying to the other side of the sanctuary, you doubling over in laughter as you watched him fight and tug and pull, your student not budging at all whatsoever and the rest of the kids laughing at how red katsuki was getting in the face.

“miss pretty!” milo tugged at your overalls, and you looked down to see him holding up his open journal, a cute wobbly sketch of a koi fish on the page as he smiled big. “i drew it! do you like it?!”

“wow milo!” you gushed, crouching down to his level and taking the journal, examining his artwork. “this is beautiful my love! see? i knew you could do it!”

“thank youuu!” he responded sweetly, his little cheeks blushing as he looked at you like he had another thing he wanted to say.

you tilted your head. “do you wanna tell me something else?”

“yeaaahhh.” he dragged. “please love my dad… i know he’s mean but— but he doesn’t mean it!”

your eyes softened as milo looked down at his shoes.

“and love me too… because i want you to be my new mommy…”

you quickly blinked back tears as to not alarm milo, surprisingly successful at preventing them from slipping down your face.

“i do love your dad honey… and you. the both of you i love so so much.”

he beamed. “really?!”

you nodded, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “and i thought i was already your mommy milo!”

the little man gasped and flung his arms around your neck.

“YAAAYYY!” he yelled. “miss pretty is my mommy! i have a mommy now!”

ever since you came into katsuki’s life, his way of living materialized into something completely different.

because now instead of his house being plain and boring and organized from top to bottom without a single thing out of place— it was warm now… happy. and never went a day without smelling like cookies and vanilla as you and katsuki baked with milo any chance you could, set up more pillow forts and tents with starry ceilings, and slept with milo in his room as he snored content in his little bed, you sprawled directly on top of katsuki like he always had you as you both every day intended to leave after putting his son to rest, but ending up falling asleep on the floor each time.

the three of you were a little family.

and katsuki didn’t know why he hated messes so much in the first place.

because mess signified that something had been there, something sunny and tender, something that signified family as you peppered kisses over both your boys’ faces everyday and katsuki drowning you in his rough ones— your man squeezing you so tight all of the time and anywhere, as milo wasn’t just his son now but yours too as you took him to the park or to the aquarium on your days off, the three of you gently living as both of milo’s small hands were occupied now instead of just one.

katsuki’s life looked like it had been generously cherished and lived in for a change.

and katsuki bakugo loved messes.

so as long as they were from you.

taglist!! <33 (THANK YOU THANK YOU!):

@cupcaketeddybehr @soobiary @roachfun @waterfal-ling @saebaey @reneinii @luvvmae @cake-with-the-cream @pixie-dix @2ukika @cramelmacchiao @hy3phiren @umemiaa @wil10wthetree @jameinfrau @pancakeszs @drftnzume @k0z3me @k4zivy @dindjarins1ut @starrnai @tinyray-lovesfood @iloveoldermenn @dazqa @applepi25 @aria-chikage @blu3-l0v3r @rose-tinted-kalopsia @runfrme @unofficialsapphire @dee-writes-anime @megumisluciouslashes @peachyaeger @yourstru1y4ever

[etherealangell1]

ᴍʏ ʜᴇʀᴏ ᴀᴄᴀᴅᴇᴍɪᴀ

𑣲 ꜱʜᴏᴛᴀ ᴀɪᴢᴀᴡᴀ

⋆˚࿔🌕⋆˚࿔ Drabbles : ̗̀➛ d1 - d2 - d3 - d4 - d5 -

: ̗̀➛ Aizawa Headcannons ---- Drunk Aizawa canon

: ̗̀➛ Halloween silly ➸ (x fem!reader, oneshot, kissing, making out, explicit touching, little tiny bit of angst)

: ̗̀➛ Nothing now ➸ (fem!reader, oneshot, tension slow build, mainly fluff. Friends to lovers)

: ̗̀➛ My Little Dove ➸ (one-shot, x fem!reader, kiss scene and slow tension building. Mainly just fluff and confessions. )

: ̗̀➛ Was it love? (x fem!reader. Angst, that's pretty much it)

: ̗̀➛ While he has you ➸ ( Mute Reader!, female reader. Mentions of a past one night stand, some angst and distance, also a Lil kiss. Eventual fluff aswell. Yearning and longing. )

: ̗̀➛ Baby (WC: 3K - Soft fluff to angst. Tiniest kiss scene and honestly my LAZIEST work ever. I mean it this is horrible. Picture credits to the artist. Also not proofread and written over a span of time so some parts may be a little wonky)

: ̗̀➛ Apparently Perfect (Female Reader! WC: 6.8k. { Explicit content -- Small Age Gap, reassurance, Oral (F receiving), overstim, fluff to smut, cute romance. F! Breast insecurity)

: ̗̀➛ Somebody new ➸ CHAPTERS 》》》 One , Two , Three , Four .... ~~~~~ two people who are afraid of love for different reasons. Forced to live together, they slowly grow comfortable in each other’s presence, not through passion, but through time shared and unnoticed acts of care. { Slowburn, strangers to lovers, over time progression } **dead series, I might possibly continue it. Dont get your hopes up. Srry!!!**

: ̗̀➛ Love Fever (Female reader. Fluff!)

: ̗̀➛ Dreamy ➸ (one-shot, x fem!reader, kiss scene and slow tension building. Mainly just fluff. )

𑣲 ᴋᴀᴛꜱᴜᴋɪ ʙᴀᴋᴜɢᴏ

: ̗̀➛ Bakugo Headcannons

: ̗̀➛ [phone] ▪︎ pt 1 ➸ (x fem!reader, quirk using reader, aged up characters, short multi chapter ---) /// INACTIVE, DISCONTINUED srry ///

: ̗̀➛ Promiscuous girl ➸ Sexual Content, kissing, straddling, hickeys, physical intimacy, Suggestive Themes. Physical Intimacy, Minor Sexual Content (non-graphic) Romantic Tension -(Reader is kinda manipulative and luring but who doesn't love a girl who knows who she is and what she wants?)

WIP

ೃ⁀➷ ꜱʜᴏᴛᴏ ᴛᴏᴅᴏʀᴏᴋɪ

⋆˚࿔🌕⋆˚࿔ Drabbles : ̗̀➛ D1

[etherealangell1]

ᥫ᭡ DREAMY

Shota Aizawa x fem!reader

/ᐠ - ˕ -マ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

The sauna is lit in a warm yellow and orangish color. Surrounded by the distant spill of night beyond the open slats.

Outside, the countryside sleeps beneath a deep indigo sky, stars scattered generously, unbothered by cities' light pollution. Sadly, not by much, though.

Steam drapes the air in slow, shifting veils. It's dreamy.

You’re turned away from the entrance, unaware - or unconcerned - with the world behind you.

Your arms are folded atop one another, resting against the smooth stones lining the water’s edge, chin settled into the cradle of your forearms. Your hair is twisted into a neat bun, kept intentionally dry.

Your eyes closed. Breathing even. It's all so amazing.

The water was just hot enough to sting, but not enough to burn. The rocks beneath your elbows were smooth, probably manufactured to be this way. They are blocky rocks that outline the bath. It's pretty scenery when you look at the full picture.

Except for the gigantic wooden wall.

It’s the students' second year, a return visit to the Wild Wild Pussycats’ lodge. This time there’s no Vlad King, just you and Aizawa overseeing the chaos. You didn't get to come last year, and you wish you had.

Not only because everyone was ambushed and someone got kidnapped, but because you liked visiting new places with people you know.

Distant laughter echoed from the camp, students, probably. Mandalay’s crew always had energy to spare, even after a full day of training.

You didn’t turn to look. The water was too good, the silence too rare. A dragonfly skated across the surface, its wings catching the faint glow of the lanterns strung along the path.

You just felt so lazy right now. So calm, your eyes closed. You wondered what would happen if you fell asleep here.

Your body is submerged save for your shoulders and neck, heat sinking deep into muscle and bone. The water laps quietly, patient.

No one has seen you all day. You'd honestly like to keep it that way, just for today.

But quiet footsteps shift the air. The faintest creak of wood beneath careful weight. Someone has entered.

They are unnervingly silent. Anybody else wouldn't have heard them at all.

You don’t open your eyes, don’t move, but the presence lingers, yet saying nothing.

Aizawa steps inside the sauna the way he steps into most places.

Unannounced, untracked, presence registering only after it’s already there. Heat settles over him immediately. Steam is surrounding the entire area. It's almost eerie.

He stops.

You’re in the water.

He hadn’t expected that. He registers it distantly, that he hasn’t seen you all day, that a corner of his mind had noted the absence and dismissed it as nothing urgent. You’re capable. You always are. Still, the sight of you here stills him.

He stands there, unmoving, absorbing the sight: you, half submerged in golden lit water, skin flushed from heat, bare shoulders and back facing him. Your hair is still dry, twisted neatly in a very pretty way, as if you anticipated this moment. Planned it just to be looked at. Ridiculous thought.

He exhales, slow. His fingers flex once at his sides. Worry had prickled at him earlier when he hadn't heard from you all day. But he didn't think too much of it. He knew you were safe wherever you wandered off to.

You’re turned away, folded in on yourself, arms stacked neatly atop the stone rim, chin resting there.

Your eyes are closed.

You look like a mirage, silhouette bathed in the warm atmosphere. A painting dipped in lantern light. Steam rising and falling. Distant, briefly untouchable.

You look dreamy.

He should leave. He won’t.

Your lips part on a sigh, and you tilt your head more to lay flat on your arm. His gaze tracks the movement, lingering too long before flicking back up. The silence stretches, thick enough to carve. He should say something.

But you won't even acknowledge him. He knows you heard him, your perceptive in that way.

"You're alive," he says finally, voice rough. Not a question. It's not quite relief. He just wants to hear you, evaluate anything from you that will tell him what's up without him having to ask.

You only hum.

Now what.

There was a pause, long enough to be intentional. Then came the soft scrape of his steps drawing closer. You could hear the gentle drag of his towel as he moved, feel the shift in the air as he crouched beside you, just close enough that his shadow spilled across the water.

“You’ve been hard to find lately,” Aizawa’s voice sounded from behind you, low and even. Always with that familiar worn out edge, he always carried. It was distinctive and unique to his character. You liked it.

Your back straightened, your shoulder bones popping. Your shoulders tensed, but you didn’t turn.

You stared ahead, expression unreadable, breath slow. Your body felt tired, like breaths were tedious work you had to perform. You might've been just as worn out as him.

The sky danced across the water in fragmented reflections, but you weren't really looking at it. You weren’t really looking at anything.

“Maybe you’re not looking hard enough,” you said, voice dulled, lacking bite. The words weren’t meant to sting. Your voice was so shallow, but only because the heat made you too lazy to project your voice.

Aizawa exhaled sharply through his nose, something between a scoff and a sigh. The scent of cedar and damp earth clung to him. He’d been outside. Probably checking the perimeter. Always working.

"You missed dinner," he said, the slightest twitch in his jaw. The lantern light caught the scar under his eye, making it gleam like a crescent moon.

You flexed your toes underwater, watching the ripples distort your reflection. "Wasn’t hungry," you lied. The truth was simpler: you’d wanted this, the weightless silence, the way the heat turned your thoughts syrupy and slow. No students asking for advice, no mission reports, just the ache in your muscles dissolving like sugar in tea.

Just relaxation.

His gaze was tracing the curve of your shoulder, the dip of your spine where steam clung to damp skin.

Aizawa exhaled through his nose, slow and deliberate. His fingers flexed once against his knee. "You're avoiding the question," he muttered, voice gravelly with exhaustion, or maybe something else entirely. The lantern light caught the sharp angle of his jaw, shadowing the hollow beneath it.

"You didn't ask one. I can't read your thoughts, Eraser, " you said, smiling before shoving your face into your arms.

"Right," he mumbled. He wasnt so clear in his statements of what he was really asking. He couldnt bring himself to invade your space though. Possibly cross a boundary or shove his presence onto you.

He was still considering just leaving you to continue doing your thing. Talk tomorrow maybe, whatever you feel like doing. He didnt care.

Well -- he used to not care.

You tilted your head, letting your lips curl into something teasing. "Did you miss me?" you asked playfully, finally lifting your head to peer up at him.

But turns out he was already staring, crouched on one of the rocks beside the bath, balanced effortlessly on the balls of his feet. He'd moved closer without you realizing, close enough that his knee nearly brushed your folded arms.

His dark eyes didn't waver, scanning your face like he was jotting down every detail of you. It was nerve-racking.

You couldn't handle his eyes. His eyes. Oh god.

You swallowed, embarrassment creeping uncomfortably into your chest.

You wanted to plant your head into your elbow fold again and wish him away. But this moment was already unfolding. He was right beside you, close enough that you could hear him breathe. Close enough that you could feel the weight of his attention, heavily intimate in the moment.

It gave you shivers because he didn't treat many like this. Nobody, really. It was rare and therefore heartwarming to you.

You were afraid to turn your head again, because lately Aizawa’s dark eyes had started pulling at something inside you. You couldnt name it. It was unknown and sudden.

The corner of his mouth twitched. "Annoyingly so," he admitted, quiet enough that the words almost sounded regretted as soon as he said it.

His thumb brushed absently over the scar under his eye, a nervous habit you'd cataloged months ago. "You weren't answering your phone."

"Mm, im sorry. I put it down hours ago" you hum. Voice soft and delicate, your eyes flicking over to him before closing.

The warmth made everything so lazyyyyy

Water sloshed as you turned fully toward him, the motion slow as honey. His gaze dropped to your collarbones where water made them shine, then jerked back up as you spoke: "You could join me." The words came out syrup thick.

Silence oncr again, stretching like taffy. He was thinking, obviously telling by his love of silence. Silence that continued until a distant explosion rocked the mountainside. Training exercise. Sounds like Bakugo. It's 9:32 p.m. Past that kids bedtime.

Aizawa's shoulders tensed automatically, but his eyes never left yours.

"Later," he rasped, and the word tasted like a promise. You watched his shadow ripple across the water as he stood, suddenly very aware of how empty the space beside you felt.

Another explosion, closer this time. His sigh was almost lost beneath the sound of students screaming, joy or terror, hard to tell. "Duty calls," you murmured, lips curving when he shot you a look that said this is your job too.

The wooden slats groaned under his weight as he turned to leave, but he paused when your fingers brushed his wrist, lightning quick, barely there. His pulse jumped against your fingertips. "Bring snacks," you said, sinking back into the water until it kissed your chin.

He rolled his eyes, but still murmered a "ok" before walking off, hands deep in his pockets.

The distant explosion cuts through the quiet of the countryside. Bakugo, of course, had managed to wander again, drawn by the mountains, the training grounds, or sheer impatience.

Aizawa’s eyes snap to the sound once he reaches the area. He doesn’t hesitate. “Bakugo,” he calls, voice low but clipped, carrying with an authority that brooks no argument.

The blond appears a moment later, crouched atop a boulder, chest heaving from exertion. He glares, defiance brimming, hands fisted. “What!?”

“Outside alone at this hour. Not acceptable,” Aizawa says, rubbing his temple ready to walk away. He's seen this fiery face too many times today. Each word carries weight. “Come in. Now.”

Bakugo opens his mouth, probably to argue, but the sharp the tilt of his dark eyes are enough. He doesn’t need to finish the sentence. The boy’s scowl falters. He hops down, boots crunching against gravel, retreating toward the lodge.

“You’re lucky I don’t ground you for the next week,” Aizawa adds without raising his voice. Bakugo grunts, mutters something under his breath, and vanishes into the students' housing.

With the immediate chaos contained, Aizawa lets himself exhale, the tension in his shoulders loosening fractionally.

He checks the perimeter mechanically, eyes scanning the treeline, hands brushing along the fence, ears catching every faint noise. Mind not fully present. Part of him is still in the sauna, replaying the sight of you in the warm water, the lazy tilt of your head, the careless perfection of your being.

He’s irritated with himself, for staying too long, for letting his gaze linger, for thinking about you in a way he doesn’t allow himself normally. He clenches and unclenches his fists.

This feeling isn’t just worry as duty anymore. Not the professional edge of concern that comes with chaperoning second years. This is… different. He can’t name it neatly, and he doesn’t try.

He notices a small pantry of snacks he knows you like, he grabs one without thinking. Not just because you asked, because it’s him finding a way back to you. A tether to something he knows is fragile, fleeting, worth protecting.

You. His relationship to you.

He returns to the sauna quietly, still unnervingly silent, carrying the snack wrapped neatly in his hand. The steam swirls, curling around his dark frame.

You are asleep, or at least slumped forward, limbs loose, shoulders resting against the water’s edge.

He doesn’t hesitate when he quickens his pace.

You could drown. His brows furrow when he imagines how tired you must be, yet wont just go to bed.

He kneels beside you, placing the snack carefully on the stone rim within reach. One hand nudges your shoulder gently. “Hey,” he murmurs low enough to cut through the haze of sleep.

Your eyelids flutter. You groan softly, disoriented.

“Careless,” he says quietly, a faint sigh escaping him. “Don’t do this again Y/n.”

The words aren’t harsh. Scolding yes. But concern wrapped in exhaustion, authority, and something quieter he refuses to name.

You blink at him, still hazy, just catching sight of the snack and the shadowed seriousness in his eyes. The steam curls between you golden and intimate, and he watches, unblinking, as you gather yourself.

The scar under his eye catches the lantern light again, and you realize with a slow, sinking clarity that he hasn’t blinked since you woke. His gaze is fixed, unreadable, but his jaw is tight enough that you can see the muscle jump.

Your fingers twitch against the warm stone, nails scraping lightly against its surface.

Aizawa hesitates, his fingers hovering just above the water’s surface. Then, wordlessly, he dips his hands in, hissing sharply through his teeth as the heat sears his skin.

You smile, lazy and slow. "You’re getting in?" you ask, hopeful, voice thick with sleep and something softer.

His gaze flicks to yours, dark and unreadable. "Mmm, maybe," he says, but seeing your smile helps set his mind.

Aizawa stands abruptly, toweling off his hands with rough, quick motions. His knees pop from crouching too long, but he doesn’t acknowledge it, just jerks his chin toward the changing rooms. "Don’t drown while I’m gone," he mutters, already turning away.

You don’t bother hiding your smirk. "Wouldn’t dream of it," you murmur, sinking deeper into the water until your lips brush the surface. The steam curls between your words, lazy and warm.

He pauses mid step, shoulders stiffening like he’s debating whether to turn back. But he doesn’t. Just exhales sharply - almost a laugh, if Aizawa ever laughed - and disappears into the dim hallway.

You watch the empty space where he stood a moment too long, listening to the faint creak of floorboards under his weight. Even now, he moves like a shadow. The thought makes your stomach tighten.

The changing room door clicks shut. You imagine him there, peeling off his damp layers, the way his scarred skin would gleam under the low light. The way his hands would hesitate at the waistband of his trunks, just for a second, because this isn’t routine.

To relax in a sauna at midnight, not when there's things to do tomorrow.

You press your forehead to the warm stone and grin.

A rustle of fabric. A hissed curse, probably stubbing his toe. You bite your lip to keep from laughing. The man could take down villains without breaking a sweat, but navigating a cramped changing room in the dark? Apparently his one weakness.

When he finally emerges, you don’t turn. Don’t need to. His shadow falls across the water first, long and lean, distorted by the ripples. Then his voice, dry as ever: "Move over."

You shift just enough to make room, he lowers himself in. The water sloshes, scalding against his thighs, and he grits his teeth. "Christ," he mutters, gripping the edge of the pool. "How are you not boiled alive?"

"Takes practice," you say, watching the way his muscles tense as he adjusts.

Right. He recalls just how lazy you are, and how you probably have done this many times.

The trunks sit low on his hips, clinging to the sharp angles of his frame. You trace the scars along his ribs with your eyes. He catches you looking but doesn’t comment, just leans back until the water laps at his collarbones.

You watch his throat move as he swallows.

Then, without looking at you: "You’re staring."

"Mm." You tilt your head, unrepentant. "Problem?"

He exhales through his nose. His fingers flex against the stone. "No."

Another pause. The night hums around you, cicadas, distant laughter, the occasional pop of heated wood. You nudge his foot underwater.

Aizawa watches the ripples, then you. His gaze lingers on the curve of your shoulder, the way your hair clings to your neck. When he speaks again, his voice is rougher than before. "You should eat."

He nods toward the forgotten snack.

"Later," you say, echoing his earlier promise.

The steam curls around you both, golden and close.

“You do that often,” he says after a while.

You hum again, noncommittal. “Do what.”

“Disappear.” His voice is quiet. Not accusing. Just… factual. Like he’s naming a weather pattern. “You go quiet. No phone. No trace. And then you reappear like nothing happened.” His fingers trail absently along the water’s surface, sending tiny ripples outward.

The water laps softly between you.

You tilt your head, cheek resting against the warm stone. “I come back.”

“That’s not the part that bothers me.” His eyes flick to yours, dark and unreadable.

You hold his gaze, unflinching. The heat makes your skin prickle, or maybe it’s the weight of his attention. “Then what does?”

Aizawa exhales, long and slow. His shoulders sink deeper into the water. “You don’t tell anyone.”

He continues, voice low. “Not even me.”

The words hang there, suspended in the humid air. You watch a droplet slide down his temple, tracing the sharp line of his jaw before disappearing into the water.

“Would it help?” you ask softly.

He doesn’t answer immediately. His fingers flex against the stone, knuckles whitening for a second before relaxing. “I don’t know.”

It’s the honesty that catches you off guard. Aizawa isn’t a man who admits uncertainty.

Your fingers curl slightly against the edge of the bath. You don’t look at him. If you do, you might say too much.

“You don’t need to keep tabs on me,” you say lightly. Too lightly. “I’m not one of your students.”

“I know,” he answers.

You shift, water sloshing gently as you turn to face him fully. His eyes track the movement, lingering on the way your collarbones rise above the surface. “I don’t do it to worry you,” you say.

“I know.” His voice is rough.

The cicadas hum outside, their song weaving through the silence. You reach for the forgotten snack, peeling the wrapper. The scent of roasted seaweed fills the space between you.

Aizawa watches your hands, the careful way you break it in in half. You offer him a piece without a word.

He takes it. His fingers brush yours, the contact lingers.

“Next time,” you say, popping the other half into your mouth, “I’ll leave a note.”

He scoffs, but there’s no real bite to it. “No you wont.”

“You’re right.” You grin, licking salt from your thumb. “But it’s the thought that counts.”

Aizawa rolls his eyes, but something in his posture eases. He leans back, tilting his head to stare at the sky. Steam curls around him, softening his edges.

You watch the way his throat moves as he swallows, the way his lashes cast shadows on his cheeks.

“You’re staring again,” he mutters, not opening his eyes.

“Mm.” You sink lower, until the water kisses your chin. “Problem?”

His lips twitch. “No.”

Aizawa’s hand drifts closer underwater, his pinky brushing yours. You don’t pull away.

The night stretches on, golden and slow.

The water rippled as your toes skimmed his ankle bone. Aizawa's eyelids lowered fractionally, tracking the movement beneath the surface like a predator assessing prey. You grinned, all teeth, and hooked your foot around his calf, tugging just hard enough to upset his balance.

For one glorious second, his shoulders dipped beneath the water, droplets catching in his lashes as he jerked forward. His hands shot out, palms slapping against the stone rim to steady himself. When he glared, the heat in his gaze had nothing to do with the sauna.

"Problem?" you asked sweetly, kicking gently to drift backward.

Aizawa exhaled through his nose. Water sluiced down his chest as he straightened, "Dangerous, Y/n," he muttered, but his fingers flexed against the stone, not in irritation.

You hummed, trailing your fingertips along the water's surface. "For you, yes."

His shadow loomed over you before you registered him moving. One hand caged yours against the edge, you brought your knees up to bracket his hips beneath the water.

Heat radiated from his skin, or maybe that was just your blood rushing south. "Your pushing your luck," he repeated, voice gravel rough.

"Oh?" You arched into him, relishing the way his breath hitched. "Show me."

For a heartbeat, neither of you moved. Cicadas screamed outside. Somewhere distant, a student shrieked - Kaminari, probably, discovering that yes, electricity and water do mix.

Then Aizawa's mouth slowly inched close enough to land into yours, all teeth and desperation once the hesitence disappeared, your compliance a nice yes for his risky act. The salt-tang of seaweed still clinging to his lips.

You stopped in place for a moment. Just barely registering what was happening. Then you allowed your fingers to twist in his hair.

His hands slid down to grip your waist, hauling you flush against him. Water sloshed over the rim, soaking the towel he'd discarded earlier. Neither of you cared.

When he finally pulled back, your lungs burned. His lips glistened, pupils blown wide. "That," he rasped, "was your one free pass."

You laughed, breathless. "Generous."

He nipped your earlobe in retaliation, sending sparks down your spine. "Shut up."

The snack wrapper floated forgotten nearby, bobbing like a tiny boat in the aftermath of your recklessness. Aizawa's fingers traced idle patterns along your hipbone underwater, each brush igniting fresh shivers. You pressed your forehead to his collarbone, inhaling cedar and chlorine and him.

"You're still staring," he murmured, thumbing the curve of your shoulder.

"Mm." You kissed the scar above his eyebrow "Problem?"

His chest vibrated with something too quiet to be a laugh. "No."

He held you against him, his body leaned against the edge of the pool to hold your weight. His chin topping your crown after you laid your head in the crook of his neck.

You closed your eyes.

Somewhere, a bird sang.

[etherealangell1]

ᥫ᭡ LOVE FEVER

Shota Aizawa x fem! Reader

Fluff! Established long time friendship, doting Aizawa.

/ᐠ - ˕ -マ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

You don’t remember calling him.

Later, he’ll tell you your voice sounded wrong. Not panicked. Not dramatic. Just… small. Like you were speaking through cotton and heat.

You’re on the couch where he’s seen you a thousand times. Legs tucked wrong. Blanket half on, half kicked off. Your breathing stutters, sharp little huffs between shallow breaths, like your body forgot the rhythm.

“Hey,” he says, already kneeling.

"You look worse than I do," you croaked, voice scraped raw from fever. The words came out as more of a wheeze than anything intelligible.

Your skin is burning. Fever hot. When he presses the back of his hand to your forehead, you make a faint sound, something between a whimper and a sigh, and try to turn your head away. Utterly defeated in the sight of this wonderful man.

Shameful Y/n.

Aizawa blinked at you, slow and unimpressed. "That’s not possible," he said flatly. His gaze flicked over your face, lingering on the sweat damp hair sticking to your forehead, the way your hands trembled where they clutched the blanket. "You’re burning up."

You would’ve shrugged if moving didn’t feel like lifting concrete. Instead, you let out a miserable, involuntary whine as another wave of heat rolled through you. The sound was embarrassingly pathetic, the kind of noise you’d never make in front of anyone else. But this was Aizawa. He’d seen worse.

You’ve been friends forever. Long enough that he doesn’t ask permission anymore when he decides to act.

He slips his capture scarf off, sets it aside, then gently but firmly gathers you up so you don’t slump sideways.

You protest weakly, a confused noise.

“You’re okay,” he says, low and steady. “Just gonna help you.”

Toddler level fever. That’s what it feels like. Your head lolls. Your words tangle. Every sensation is either too much or not enough.

Aizawa exhaled sharply through his nose, the way he always did when he was forcibly reminded that other humans required basic maintenance. That didn't mean he was annoyed with you. It would be stupid to judge you for falling ill.

He just hates inconveniences, for him and you. He's sure you had plans for today.

He didn't though, so he would stay here and watch over you. It brought him some rare comfort, knowing he was the one that you called in a state like this.

He was the one that could hoist you up off the couch to your bedroom, and keep you safe in this vulnerable state.

"Don't - " you started, then coughed, throat seizing painfully. "Don't you have class?"

He shot you a look that clearly said 'don't be ridiculous' and vanished into your kitchen. The clatter of cabinets and running water filtered through your dorm, punctuated by the occasional thud, he wasn’t known for his gentle touch.

But you've received it from him. And a tiny, itty bitty part of you wasnt so angry that you were sick. Well thats until it gets worse...

He gets you water in a cat shaped mug. You forget how to drink it.

Aizawa sighs, not annoyed, just resigned in the way of someone who has done this before. He supports your head, brings the glass to your lips.

“Small sips,” he instructs. “C’mon.”

You obey, because you trust him entirely. Even now, fever-drunk and half gone, your body still recognizes his voice as something safe.

When you cough and make another distressed little sound, he sets the glass down immediately.

You let your head fall back against the pillow, focusing on breathing through the furnace in your chest.

You were becoming more incoherent by the passing second.

The sight made something twist in your chest. Aizawa perched on the edge of your bed with the same stance he used for rooftop surveillance, his absolute favorite thing in the world.

He does everything without commentary. Cold cloth to your forehead. Thermometer. Medication crushed and mixed because you absolutely will not swallow pills like this. He hums under his breath while he works, barely audible, something old and tuneless he picked up years ago and never stopped.

"You got a tank top on under there?" he said, not looking at you.

Your heavy hoodie was starting to feel suffocating, and he could definitely tell by the heavy breaths and whines you let escape.

You made a noise that was half-protest, half-defeat. "I can -"

"You can't even sit up without whimpering," he interrupted, voice flat. "Don’t waste my time."

You surrendered, letting him peel the sweat soaked hoodie away from your skin with clinical detachment.

But when he lifted you by your back with his strong arm, he seemed a lot closer rather than detached. You let your head wobble as he helped you out of your hoodie. Arms up, then you were free.

The cool wet cloth he placed on your chest made you gasp, your muscles unlocking in increments.

Aizawa worked in silence, his fingers calloused but careful as he wiped away the worst of the fever sweat. You closed your eyes, focusing on the rhythmic press of the cloth, the way his breathing evened out as his hands roamed you.

"You’re terrible at this," you muttered, just to break the quiet. He wasnt, in fact, every touch he made against your hot skin made you shiver. And your heart squeezing every time he looked into your eyes with such care, despite his brash comments.

The comments and tone was just a face. He was actually being very comforting right now.

You were reminding yourself to hold back how bad this fever was getting. Hold back any tears.

Letting a fever get the best of you felt embarrassing

His answering hum was noncommittal. "Mm. Next time, don’t get sick."

The fever spiked sharply then, like a knife twisting beneath your ribs.

You gasped, it sounded more like a defeated moan though. Your fingers digging into the sheets as your vision whited out for a terrifying second.

Aizawa’s hand paused mid swipe across your collarbone, his grip tightening imperceptibly on the washcloth. When you managed to blink back into focus, his face was closer than before, his dark eyes scanning yours with an intensity that made your already racing pulse stutter.

“You’re getting worse,” he stated, voice low and rough. It wasn’t a question.

"Thank you, captain obvious," you mumbled. Your voice hushed and depleting as your breaths became quick and shallow. Words becoming lost the more you tried. Your body was suffering.

You wanted to argue, to prove you weren’t some helpless child, but another violent shudder wracked your body, stealing your voice. The whimper that escaped you was pathetic, but Aizawa didn’t scoff or roll his eyes.

Instead, he dropped the cloth into the bowl with a quiet splash and reached for the hem of your tank top.

“Up,” he ordered, hands already sliding beneath the fabric before you could protest.

His hands were under your shirt. And somehow it ended up being so respectful.

The cool air against your overheated skin was a relief, but the vulnerability of being half naked under his steady gaze made your breath hitch, in a flustered way that didnt help with your agonizing temperature.

His fingers grazed your ribs as he pulled the damp fabric up - letting your skin see some cold air, and for a delirious moment, you swore they lingered, just a second too long, before he tossed it aside.

“Stop trying to fight it,” he muttered, "You’ll give yourself a headache."

You choked out a weak laugh, but it dissolved into a cough that burned like acid.

Aizawa’s free hand came up instinctively, cupping the back of your neck to steady you as you doubled over. His palm was warm against your sweat slick skin, his thumb brushing absent circles at the base of your skull.

The gesture was so gentle, so uncharacteristically tender, that your throat tightened with something other than sickness. You wanted to open your eyes more and make eye contact, see how he was viewing you right now. But you were becoming very weak.

The fact that you were practically missing this rare Aizawa moment hurt worse than the sickness.

You slumped against him, too exhausted to care about the way your forehead pressed into his shoulder. Or how at some point he had come to sit on the bed next to you instead of the floor.

His signature scent was familiar. Bringing some welcomed warmth to your heart as you relaxed in his presence. You felt his breath catch, his body going unnaturally still beneath yours. Then, carefully, his arm slid around your back, pulling you closer until your cheek was nestled against the crook of his neck.

“Sleep,” he said, the word a rumble against your temple. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

You wanted to ask why, why he’d canceled his classes, why he was holding you like this, why his heartbeat sounded just as unsteady as yours, but the fever dragged you under before you could form the words.

You woke to the sensation of fingers carding through your hair, slow and methodical, the way one might soothe a restless animal. The fever hadn’t broken, you could still feel it simmering under your skin, but the world felt less fractured now, less like you were drowning in your own body.

Aizawa’s hand stilled the moment you stirred, his other arm still a solid weight around your waist.

His fingers resumed their movement through your hair, slower this time, fingertips grazing your scalp in a way that made your breath catch. You kept your eyes closed, pretending sleep hadn’t released you yet, unwilling to break whatever fragile peace this was. The room smelled faintly an herbal tea Aizawa must’ve brewed while you were out, something bitter and medicinal he’d forced down your throat earlier.

He knows your awake though.

"Y/n, you were only asleep for 30 minutes. Go back to sleep." He grumbled, his voice etched with exhaustion. You wouldnt be surprised if he was about to fall asleep right here and now. But your in the way.

Are yall even close enough for that? You hoped so. Something you'd never admit out loud, a more recent type of thought when it came down to him.

Your eyelids fluttered open despite his order, finding Aizawa’s face inches from yours.

He hadn’t slept in a while. You could tell by the way his shoulders slumped just slightly, the kind of exhaustion that came from hours of endurance, not physical labor. But knowing him, probably both.

His fingers tightened imperceptibly in your hair before he exhaled through his nose, a sound that wasn’t quite frustration but something closer to resignation.

"You too then?" You mumbled. Voice soft and delicate, your barely attempted to lift your chin to say it to his face. Under his gaze.

Aizawa's gaze didn't waver, but something flickered in his eyes, something tired and fond and painfully human. "Don't start," he warned, but the words lacked their usual edge. His thumb brushed your temple where sweat had gathered again, wiping it away with a roughness that shouldn't have felt so tender.

The silence stretched, broken only by your uneven breathing and the distant hum of your dorm's faulty AC unit. You wanted to tease him about staying, about the way his fingers absently caressed your scalp, but your thoughts moved like molasses.

Instead, you let your fingers curl weakly into the fabric of his shirt.

"You're staring," he muttered, shifting just enough that the dim light caught the shadows under his eyes. You hadn't realized you were.

"Sorry," you murmured, though you weren't.

Aizawa exhaled sharply, almost a laugh. "Liar." His hand slid from your hair to cradle the back of your skull, pressing your forehead against his collarbone again. "Close your eyes."

You obeyed, but not before catching the way his jaw clenched, like he was fighting something. The fever made it hard to parse, but you thought, maybe, it was the same thing that made your chest ache when his breath hitched as you nuzzled closer.

Somewhere in the haze, his fingers traced idle patterns down your spine, the touch light enough to be accidental. You shivered, and his hand stilled.

"Cold?"

You shook your head minutely, lips brushing his throat with the movement. His pulse jumped beneath your mouth.

Aizawa went rigid for half a second before his arm tightened around you, pulling you flush against him like he could press the fever out through sheer willpower. His voice, when it came, was rough with something unnamed. "Then sleep."

You wanted to ask, wanted to understand, but his fingers were in your hair again, and the world was soft at the edges, and it was enough, for now, to be held.

You didn't see this often in him. You wanted it all for yourself for as long as you could have it.

The room was too warm, but you pressed closer anyway, chasing the solid weight of his body against yours.

Aizawa let out a slow breath through his nose. He was calculating whether to push you away or pull you closer. In the end, he did neither, just adjusted the blanket over your shoulders.

“You're thinking so loudly,” he grumbled, thumb swiping absently over the hinge of your jaw. The callouses on his fingers caught against your skin, a sensation you’d memorized years ago during sparring sessions gone too long.

You wanted to laugh, but your throat was raw. Instead, you let your fingers curl tighter into his shirt. “Mm. What am I thinking then?” You rasped, half daring him to answer.

Aizawa’s gaze flicked down to yours, dark and unreadable. For a heartbeat, you thought he might actually say it, whatever it was that hovered between you in these quiet, stolen moments.

But then his expression shuttered, and he nudged your forehead with his knuckles from his free hand, a silent command to close your eyes. “Nothing useful,” he muttered.

The fever made you reckless. Or maybe it was the way his pulse jumped when your nose brushed his neck. “Mhm” you whispered, echoing him.

His exhale was almost a laugh, almost pained. The hand at your back slid up, fingers splaying between your shoulder blades like he was mapping the shape of you. “Sleep, dont be stubborn,” he said.

You could’ve fought it. Could’ve pressed until he cracked, until the careful distance he maintained finally splintered. But his palm was warm against your spine, and his breathing had slowed to match yours, and for the first time in hours, the ache in your bones felt manageable.

So you let your eyes fall shut, let your forehead rest against his collarbone, and pretended not to notice the way his lips brushed your hairline when he thought you couldn’t feel it.

Aizawa stayed perfectly still, his heartbeat steady beneath your cheek. Outside, the world moved on. Inside, he held you like something worth keeping.

Definitely worth it.

[andrewgarfieldlovr]

truly the best literature of our generation

[simpee9000]

Not Just Friends - M.List -

Childhood best friends turned into something more, at least with the label. Katsuki Bakugo, a fast-rising hero and fast-learning guy who is ever so slow in getting attached to and loving someone. Even three long years into a relationship, and your friends even forget you're even dating. Nothing happening, spare a few kisses.. like 3 kisses, during high school. Graduated and living together, and you guys have done absolutely nothing to further the relationship. Are you sure you're not just friends? CW: Smut, brief domestic violence discussion, virginity loss, aggressive flirting from creeps, gore with pro hero stuff (lmk if i missed any) Applies to all chapters regardless of it is in said chapter.

The Beginning blurb

Headcanons : just explains your relationship / his side of things more.

Prologue : 3.2k words (highly recommend reading this, fills some gaps)

Part 1 : 3.6k words

Part 2 : 3.4k words

Part 3 : 4.3k words

Part 4 : 3.8k words

Part 5 : 10k words

Part 6 : 5.4k words

Part 7 : 8.1k words

Part 8 : 2.6k words

Part 9 : 5.1k words

Part 10 : 3.1k words

Part 11 : 6.7k words

Part 12 : 2.2k words

Part 13 : 3..4k words Final Part

Thank you for all the support! It's not the best but I hope you all enjoyed!

Everything is also unedited and not reread

If you want a tag list, please comment or message/ask me <3 (I hit tag limit so idk what to do now)

Any and all post of mine relating to this story can be found in the first tag of each post: #not just friends katsuki

[hrrtshape-deactivated20250705]

the hardest pill to swallow . . if you don’t assume, it won’t work

this isn’t tough love. this isn’t a scolding. this is just the mechanics of reality. this isn’t about blame. it’s not your fault, but it is your responsibility (i saw this quote somewhere and i really liked it, anyway). reality is malleable, but only if you stop acting like you’re at its mercy. stop waiting for permission. stop refreshing the page, stop tapping the glass. it’s done. act accordingly.

consider your brain an old, glitchy computer, whirring in the corner of your psyche, choking on its own outdated code. your subconscious doesn’t know what’s real versus imagined, it only knows the instructions you give it. and if those instructions are “this isn’t happening, i don’t see it, i don’t believe it,” well, congratulations, the system registers that as the blueprint. and it prints that out. over and over. like a bureaucratic nightmare, a kafka novel of your own making.

this is not to say that doubt is failure, doubt is human, doubt is a thrum in the background of any great creation. but if doubt is the occasional rainstorm, belief is the structural integrity of the house. belief holds. belief carries. belief is the scaffolding between you and the impossible, and without it, you are just standing in an empty field, waiting for architecture to spontaneously occur.

there’s a reason schrodinger’s cat remains the most infuriating hypothetical in quantum mechanics, because the cat is both alive and dead until you open the box. the observer collapses the wave function. and in this case, you are the observer. if you don’t believe it, you keep the box shut. if you do believe it, the universe is already rearranging itself around your conviction.

this is not new-age drivel. this is not a vision board with a quote about perseverance peeling off in the humidity. this is physics. have you ever thought about someone, and then they text you five minutes later? that’s the speed at which reality moves when you don’t get in your own way. you didn’t sit there clutching your skull, willing them into existence, you just assumed, with ease, with god-tier nonchalance. and because you weren’t scrutinising the timeline like a detective with a corkboard and red string and bloodied eyes, the message came through. the only thing standing between you and everything you want is the way you react to its absence. the hand-wringing, the despair, the creeping doubt, it’s a full-time job, and it pays in absolutely nothing.

which brings me to my next point: trying. trying is the problem. trying implies effort, and effort implies resistance, and resistance is another way of saying “i don’t actually believe i have this.” and you know what people do when they have things? they stop worrying about whether they have them. a person in possession of an apple does not pace the room, clutching their chest, whimpering, “but do i really have it?” they just eat the apple.

and before you say, “but look at my reality, it’s contradicting me,” i will say this once, and you must etch it into your mind like scripture: reality is old news. what you are seeing is just a delayed projection of past assumptions. do not react to it. do not engage with it. it is a rerun of a show you no longer care about. the moment you stop feeding into the contradictions, they wither. the moment you accept that what you want is already done, reality will course-correct. until then, it is an echo chamber of your previous doubts. ignore it like it’s a tabloid headline about a scandal that never actually happened.

flip the switch. decide, assume, move forward. no more “manifesting,” no more “waiting.” you don’t wait for what’s already yours. you don’t question a chair’s ability to hold you up before sitting down. you don’t send a letter and then agonise over whether the mail system still exists. you assume. you know. and so it is.

and before the panic sets in, no, this does not mean you must be a perfect disciple of unwavering belief. doubt will creep in, as it always does. you will have moments of existential dread, of scrutinising, of muttering “but what if” into your hands at 2 a.m. this is fine. this is human. just don’t let it become the dominant narrative. there will be moments where you feel like you're nowhere, like your manifestations have abandoned you and you're left with nothing but the weight of your own effort. do not, under any circumstances, entertain this lie. i will personally resurrect the fear of god just to drill this into you: do not. what you do instead is cry a little, wipe your face, and then lock the fuck in, because i swear on everything, sometimes, all it takes is a stretch of nothing to summon an abundance of everything. let the doubt pass through like an intrusive thought you refuse to entertain, like a pigeon that landed in your cafe but is not, in fact, your problem.

maybe this reminds you of when the soviets tried to scientifically disprove intuition, only to realise they had unintentionally proved it instead. maybe this reminds you of every ghost story you’ve ever heard, how the only ones who see them are the ones who expect to.

anyways. it’s all already happening. your only job is to get out of the way.

[sheeezu-deactivated20250721]

Yes, this is a new account, I just made this. I don't care if people question the authenticity of my post, my experience as a shifter, or whatever I'm about to say.

I don't know how to use Tumblr, nor do I know how to make my post reach people who need it, nor would I be a narcissist and say "you're lucky if you found my post!" I don't mind if this reaches an audience or not, I'm glad to get everything off my chest.

Yes. I've shifted.

I have shifted realities, more times than I can count on my fingers, and that is for a very specific reason, which I'll explain later.

I'm writing this because I'm about to permashift, and no, I won't hear out any antishifters or people who don't like permashifting in general, I don't care about your opinion so don't waste my time.

Before I start, I'd like to say one thing:

I was irrational minded, I lacked belief in myself and shifting. Shifting often times felt like a chore more than a fun activity, and i have to admit, it became an unhealthy habit.

So? Why did I mention this?

Because I had been lurking around shifting communities and I realised everyone feels like this, a very (mentally) painful feeling where the lack of shifts starts acting as your biggest enemy, and the phrase:

"Shifting needs practice!"

Sounds like poison when it comes from an experienced shifter.

Though, is the phrase actually true?

No, not at all.

Shifting does not need practice!!

Here's why:

(BTW, I will explain my "method", no matter if I have time or not. Also, I don't call this reality "Current Reality", instead I call it Void reality, so don't get confused.)

The "practice" you're doing is only affecting your void reality (taking time out of your day, making you constantly think you're in your learning phase, so it doesn't exactly lead to your desired reality, does it?)

Of course, if you view it as a skill, it will in some way act like that, it'll become a skill for you, and you can never succeed on your first, second, third, hundredth try, because in your brain you have registered the fact that shifting is this grand, universal task, and that it is very difficult (because its common sense that you practice difficult things to get good at them)

Practice is a very humane and earthly act, if people have succeeded doing just practice, then good for then, they're right in their own way, but it didn't work for me, and in my opinion it's the worst way to view shifting, and often times it is demotivating, and you'll mess up you're entire journey.

Shifting is not a skill, shifting is a universal law.

I'll become more clear as I explain my journey:

My journey:

I found shifting from a random YouTube video 3 years ago. I might have only said cool and moved along.

A year later something traumatic happened in my life, which shook me so badly I needed an escape.

First of all, I chose astral projecting, but I realised I was too much of a coward to do so.

Then I came towards shifting, first DR was very typical, it was Hogwarts.

Having no knowledge whatsoever in the topics of spirituality, meditation, I went straight to methods, because they were like guides for me, I was very inexperienced, of course, and looked at other people and what they were doing for guidance.

Alice in wonderland method didn't do much, raven method was too uncomfortable (side note, all this raven method does is make you too focused on your void reality, cmon, in your DR are you laying down like a starfish?) And I was having terrible trouble with my intrusive thoughts (which made the floor disappear from under my feet, made the stairs for the stairs method too short to climb or straight up made them dissappear as well)

I didn't have any luck that year, no mini shifts, no lucid dreams, or sleep paralysis. And my DRs never remained constant. They always changed on a daily basis.

I was big on methods, I couldn't realize they never worked for me.

Although, this year of failure led me to finally figure out where I belonged.

A DR made out of scratch, which I spend much effort in putting the pieces of it together.

The DR, which was called "Home reality" really made me feel settled in my journey.

LOA, and the consciousness theory were the leading factors which made me shift.

And don't worry, it isn't what you're tired of being told, I didn't just apply any orthodox definition of LOA and succeeded.

Background to my first shift:

It was a particularly stressful day, I really missed my home.

I was studying at my college (I still am, but...) and I was dreading giving a chemistry test, I did not prepare. In my mind, one thing was constantly looping in my head.

The scenario of the chemistry teacher coming in, and taking the test, and the next day I get it handed back with a big fat zero.

But then I stopped and wondered, having already known about the consciousness theory, so according to it:

"I am constantly letting this thought run in my mind, and constantly letting this reality dictate what happens next."

Basically, I realized what was about to happen next was indirectly in my control, but with my line of thinking, I was letting this reality control it directly.

I stopped, like actually stopped thinking.

And with a blank mind I thought.

"I won't have to take any test today."

And went around telling my classmates this with a confident tone.

The teacher came in, said we'll instead do some practicals in lab.

So the test got cancelled.

Going home, I got excited, i felt powerful.

I decided to apply this to shifting.

Before shifting, I took a nap during the day, (if you're tired your body insists on sleeping, so your mind will get hazy and you will start acting lazy towards your goal)

And after living how I normally would, before bedtime, I listened to some songs, and look at a Pinterest board which reminded me of my home reality.

My method and what happened next:

First phase of shifting:

When I laid down on the bed to start shifting, I first got comfy (for me, if I feel sleepy for some reason, I laid on my back, I can't fall asleep in that position, but if I think ill stay awake until I reach a "detached state" then I sleep on my side, it's comfortable)

I obviously wasn't checking the time, but I spent about 10 minutes getting relaxed, all I do to relax is:

a) look at the blackness (closed eyes, looks like starry skies) and try to believe I'm looking at the milky way.

b) think about my home reality, just faces of my loved ones, and nostalgia inducing images.

c) Affirm, but don't focus entirely on affirming, usually in the back of my mind I'm repeating "I have shifted to my home reality" "I have shifted my senses to my home reality" "I have stopped sensing the void reality" "I am smelling, tasting, feeling, hearing and seeing my home reality" no other fancy affirmations required. (Now that I think about it, you need to affirm NOW because this method has two phases, one where you are shifting, and one where you have shifted, and you are in the 3D, where you are occupying your DR self, their thoughts, and memories, and popular method usually only have one phase, either you are shifting, or have shifted. So my point is if you affirm later and you'll be affirming when you're supposed to be in your DR, and obviously, your DR self won't be spouting out affirmations about shifting to a random reality for no reason.)

During this time, you'll feel tingly all over. It's a good sign.

And you'll feel a certain detachment, like you aren't exactly here, you have no idea what position you're lying in, and where your feet are. (Please, for the love of God do not start counting your feet or get freaked out that you can't feel your leg, you'll come back to the void reality.)

So you can start the next phase.

Middle phase (optional):

To prepare for the next and last phase, you can do this to get ready, or don't (First read the third phase)

This is all about connection to your DR.

Think about memories from your DR, focus on the faces of your loved ones, the way you act, talk, your mannerisms in your DR, or you can simply say affirmations like these one:

My name is ___.

I work as a ___.

My age is ___.

Don't try to imagine vividly or anything, lightly touch upon the basic details of your DR, the construction and foundation of any reality and the person, who has existed there for their entire life.

(That's you!)

Phase three:

Take a sudden, abrupt stop from your stream of thoughts. (Yes intrusive thoughts will still pop up but don't give any importance to them) when you're in a blank state of mind, not longer than 30 seconds, you need to build up to the last step of your shifting method, and journey.

a) start imagining hearing the voices of your loved ones or just any voice, calling your DR name, your nicknames, with different tones. (For example, i heard my name in an angry tone from my father when he was scolding me, I heard my name followed by a laughter when my S/O teased me.)

OK, for me, I started feeling intense, groundshaking symptoms at this moment. Sudden flashing of lights, extreme feeling of floating, and ofcourse, feeling tingliness so much that it felt like pins and needle on my entire body. (I did ignore the symptoms)

b) plan the rest of your day in your DR, which you will be spending.

AGAIN, PLEASE DON'T SAY IT LIKE THIS.

❌️When I reach my DR ❌️ I will have to go to that eye specialist for that appointment.

Instead: (and the more you personalize it, the better)

Ughhh, I have to go to that appointment- this day will suck.

(Don't mind my example, that was the only thing I could think of at the moment)

c) in this reality, you are constantly thinking of something, your thoughts are definitely what constructs this reality, and your current thoughts are affecting your subconscious. (By this point, your subconscious is grounded in your DR, so don't worry about that bastard.)

Now, you're going to start thinking, thoughts which are going on in your DR self's mind, start with one sentence, with which you'll be able to start consciously thinking like your DR self.

And think in the style, tone, and mood of your DR self, and keep the thoughts strictly related to your DR.

Thats it, but what happens afterwards? And what happened to me?

So for me, I started feeling weird while I was thinking.

And I remember I thought this:

"Ugh, I don't want eggs for breakfast."

(I'm not saying this is the key to shifting, at this point, I had covered various topics, including, weather, my upcoming work assignment, and praised my S/O for a good 5 minutes.)

And I started panting, like suddenly I was trying to catch my breath, the room felt bright, so I opened my eyes, and well, I was in my home reality :)

I was delirious for a few second, my S/O was looking at me worriedly, but surprisingly, it didn't even take me a minute to adjust, it felt all so natural and I wasn't scared.

I didn't even feel emotional, at all, and didn't hug my S/O with tears in my eyes, I straight up asked to be served breakfast, incase anyone was wondering.

So that's it.

Although i have much to say, I'm tired of writing, but I'm more than willing to answer each and every one of your questions, although I only have 7 hours left till I permashift, I'll remain mostly active till then.

And no, I'm not rereading this to fix my grammar, so just ask if anything confused you.

Ask away.

I'm still not sure if this'll reach anyone or not.

[dean045ae]

[ssirensoundss]

Waldo, you stupid fucking evil ghost/ spirit/ demon cunt, stay the FUCK out of my dreams or I’m gonna rage. This is the fifth offense where this stupid ass evil entity has showed up in my dreams and tried to do some unholy voodoo or possession shit on me in the last year. Every few months I forget about him until he randomly pops up again and tries to paralyzed me IN MY OWN HOME and I’ve had ENOUGH. FUCK YOU WALDO MY DREAMS ARE SUPPOSED TO BE A HAPPY PLACE. Anyways I think I’m going to book a witch or something to cleanse me so drop recs if you have any.

(I don’t actually know why his name is Waldo because you can’t see or hear him, but I’m pretty sure in the first or second dream I had of him I wanted to give him a goofy ah name because he was actually starting to freak me the fuck out.)

GO FOLLOW MY MAIN ACCOUNT @rachel-rants