𝜗𝜚 you’re keigo’s physician, coming over to check on him while he’s in rut
• keigo takami x f!reader
cw ~ rutting!hawks, avian specialist!physician!bird nerd!reader, reader wears glasses (stereotypical nerd? i wear glasses so it’s okay), smut;; handjob, painful erection, ballplay?, feral talk from kei, excessive precum + keigo cums a lot, facial ?, reader gets almost intoxicated off pheromones, so i guess mild dubcon, most likely inaccurate things ab wing anatomy though that parts not focused on.. (am i getting better at this)
wc 4.4k (i genuinely don’t know how that happened)
You breathed deeply before grabbing the keys and unlocking the door—rushing yourself in and swiftly closing it behind you.
“Takami?” you called out. You automatically made the mistake of breathing in too quickly, getting hit hard by the strong musky air that filled this entire house.
The warmth was what bothered you, but you were familiar with this scent. Not with how especially potent it was today—but it wasn’t new. Though you’d been warned about this years ago, and told to get a mask to protect yourself from the damn near drugs this man produced. You’ve been fine, though. How bad could things get? You’d get a little dizzy after too long, but you could deal.
You walked toward the coffee table, putting down your bag and looked over to the hallway to see your giant, shirtless patient.
“Ah. Trying to scare me?” You grinned at him as he stared at you blankly, before taking heavy steps to sit on the couch.
“Not even gonna smile for me?” You fake pouted. “Is it that bad?”
He looked at you, eyes piercing through yours, before sighing. “Y’don’t even know.” he rasped.
“Actually, I do, very much. And why are all the windows shut? You know I told you the fresh air is good.”
“The city smells like shit.”
“If any normal civilian walked in here, they’d tell you this house smells like shit.”
“Smells like me.” he huffed the correction.
“It smells like sex.” You giggled, slipping off your white jacket and walking over to hang it. “Come on. Let me open one window. You know this isn’t very good for me either.”
“…You’re bothered?” he muttered, lifting his head.
“Oh, no. It just makes me sort of drowsy. Y’know, your pheromones are meant to be attracting another… half-human… half-bird… partner. I’m just me. You’re suffocating, almost.”
He looked at you for a long while, before sending a large feather to open a window behind him. You scowled at his wings as they spread, the state of them a horrible sight. “You’re a mess,” you groaned, quickly walking up to him and taking a closer look. “Ugh. My babies...”
You saw his head flick in your direction, most likely glaring.
“Don’t look at me like that.” you murmured. “Yeah. I’ll be here for a while. You’re wrecked.” You turned back to the table, searching through your bag and grabbing the thermometer and flashlight.
You put the thermometer in his mouth and grabbed his face as you shined the light in his dark eyes. “Pupils heavily dilated…” you looked down at the thermometer. 41°C. Which would take a human to the emergency room, but it’s around average for him during a rut. Still, very hot. You could see the glow on his skin from how he’d been sweating.
You took the tools back, taking out your notebook to write the information down, leaving it open on the table. “Can you stand up? Stretch them out for me?” you asked sweetly, your hands folded at your front.
He gave you another silent stare before he got up. He seemed to have grown about three inches taller again. He groaned, before obeying. His wings, as usual—despite being a mess, were still beautiful. Large enough to fill this whole living room, if he stretched properly. But he’s tense—he’s sensitive.
“Does it hurt?” you asked, getting closer and looking at the feathers closest to his back from the front.
“Aches.” he said.
“Yeah, cause you love cramping them to your back all the damn time,” you murmured, receiving a mean glare from him as a response. You looked at his bare chest, getting closer as you saw how defined his muscles had become. His entire body shifted during this time of year, trying to give him all the strength he’d need to bury himself in someone and breed them, of course, without a single chance for them not to be full of his seed.
That’s… vulgar, but unavoidably true. You’ve dealt with him like this for so long that nothing is embarrassing, or shocking. You really take everything scientifically now, knowing you’re here to care for him, and track his behaviors. Nothing more.
So, of course, as you told him to breathe deeply while you listened to his heartbeat, you couldn’t help looking down at the huge print in his sweatpants. You could see the entire outline of his cock, especially his swollen tip—that you were actually shocked to see wasn’t leaking as it usually would be. You noticed his growth down there, too. Just a bit longer, a lot thicker.
Again, some things you can’t ignore, you’ve grown to see as normal. That’s just something else to write down.
“Your heartbeat is… uneven. Irregular,” you mumbled, looking up at him expecting an answer. His heartbeat usually keeps a quickened, but constant pace when he’s like this.
He shook his head, putting it down toward you but keeping his eyes closed. “You…” he breathed.
“Me?”
“…Just… smell good..” he finished, followed by another heavy breath and a twitch from his wings.
You raised your brows, chuckling as you put the stethoscope away. “Impressive, that you can smell anything through your aroma in here.”
He lazily hummed in response, eyes opening quickly as he suddenly felt your hand on his chest.
“Sit down, and turn a little so I can see your back.” you said, turning and grabbing a small bottle of oil. He did so in silence.
You sat next to him, or… behind him, sort of—looking over his wings. Like his chest, his back muscles had gotten more defined as it had to adjust to the new weight of his wings.
“Have you been eating well?” you asked as you popped the bottle open.
He simply grunts in response as he shrugs his shoulders.
“Come on, what does that mean?” you groaned. Rut must be especially bad this time. “Have you eaten today?”
“No.”
“Takami.” you paused, as if he could see the expression on your face. “You have to eat after this. You’re so frustrating—your body has gained… like, fifteen pounds of pure muscle and you’re not bothering to eat? Then you get all groggy.” He stayed silent as you ranted to him about his own health.
You huffed before pouring a generous amount of oil into your hand, and balancing the bottle on your thigh, as you reached for the base of his wings. Old feathers were tangled between the growth of his new ones, his pin feathers especially matted back here.
As soon as the moisture touched him, he flinched—posture fixing from the cool sensation. He’d relax though, as you slowly worked through his feathers.
Shlick. The familiar sound filled the room as you massaged the oil into his rough coverts. You hummed, this process being so familiar it was comforting at this point.
As you’d reach his primaries on his right wing, he’d occasionally grunt or hum. Which was nice to hear, him getting more comfortable. Keigo deals with a lot when he’s like this, and of course this isn’t something that heals him—but it is a relief. Quite literally a weight lifted off his shoulders, which feels good to do for him.
You collected the old feathers you plucked out, placing them on the coffee table to later put away for inspection. You took the oil again, coating your hands and reaching the end of his left wing. Shlick as you firmly dragged the serum down a long feather. Inspecting it closer, you caught a crumbled old feather that was stuck just underneath. You let him go, reaching for the tweezers again.
Though, you realized that as you stopped touching his wings… that sound didn’t stop.
Shlick… Shlick… Shlick.
Each interval taking a few seconds before it came back again, just as loud—even wetter as it continued.
You almost thought you were going insane, that your hands were still moving on him or something—you literally looked at your arms to make sure—then looked down to see the muscle in Keigo’s shoulder blade moving. It was slight at first, and then got more apparent, along with his elbow slightly trembling as well.
You then remembered the way he was grunting and breathing earlier—you thought it was from the massage. You looked over his wings, and saw him enjoying a…different massage.
The waistband of his pants stretched down a bit, and his hand wrapped around his thick, throbbing cock—as he stroked himself with a hard grip. Every stroke up had a bead of pre-cum forming at his tip, and dripping down with his hand. His dick almost had a red tint to it with how swollen he was. It looked like it hurt.
“T…Takami…” you spoke softly after sitting back.
He didn’t stop, or slow down—you didn’t even catch a twitch in his feathers.
You weren’t… uncomfortable. Not really, honestly the main thing going through your mind now was the fact that you underestimated how he was doing today.
You have seen his cock before. A few times, the ache would get bad for him and you’d have to check and make sure it was just his hyper-arousal rather than something concerning. You’ve also caught him pleasuring himself before. The first time, it was enough to shake your professional persona, but it was easy to get over.
Keigo doesn’t get anything to really… deal with himself. He feels it’s a little odd to have women coming to deal with him when he’s like this—not only is it an weird feeling for the feral side of his mind, fucking someone who wasn’t his mate—but it just… wouldn’t… work.
Keigo’s uncontrollable during this time. He needs a partner. A mate. Someone he can call his woman, outside of his rut and as it happens. Someone he can have those long conversations with about how he’s going to need the help. How he’s going to need to fuck, and breed, and keep doing it until he the burning under his skin fades away—which will take longer than anyone expects.
That conversation about how it’ll be exhausting, how he could scare them—how he could hurt them—all of that.
You got that conversation too before you started working as his physician, and sure it… concerned you a little, but then after meeting him any worry about how he’d be during that time faded. You weren’t even nervous when you walked in during his first rut with you—also the first day where he really didn’t seem like himself—his body completely changed, bigger and tougher and really looking like a predator.
It’s because that bird-brained half of him had gotten comfortable with you. That side of him assigned you as someone who cares for him, makes him feel better, makes him fly better. You’re sweet and you’re understanding and you take your time with him. So, he could hardly get scary with you. He knew better, both sides of him.
You wouldn’t know it, maybe not even he did, but some part of him put that ‘mate’ title onto you.
With how you treated him so well, and the fact that you were the only person he saw during rut—he almost had no other choice. His mind needed something to cling to, and that became you.
Again, unbeknownst to you, you’d also make his ruts worse. He was seeing his mate almost every day and he couldn’t take her? Claim her? It was torture, just as it is now.
So, you’re here, sitting behind him as he’s desperately touching himself. What makes it different this time is that he’s doing it now, while you’re here. He’s doing this, and he knows you’re here, and he knows you know and he’s not stopping.
As mentioned before, you’ve seen him get boners while you worked. You’ve heard him say some feral lewd things to you and kept it pushing. You’ve walked in his home, hearing him loudly deal with himself in another room—but all those times there felt like there was a sort of barrier that didn’t make things weird.
There’s literally no barrier here. You hardly even knew what to say—what to do. Walk out? Well, that would make him instinctively try to chase you.
“Takami…” you spoke a little louder as you got up slowly. He still didn’t react. As you moved the bottle of oil onto the coffee table though, his wings twitched as he moved and sat back on the couch, now completely exposed to you and seemingly not caring as he kept stroking himself.
Now, you couldn’t look away from his cock as it faced you. Swollen wouldn’t cut it. He was completely engorged, a vein that went down from his tip pulsing with each strong pump. Strong wouldn’t cut it either, and your eyes widened as you saw the muscles in his arm deepen every time he went back down—just choking the thick base of his dick. You breathed deeply before you spoke again.
“K… Keigo…” you murmured, his name almost unfamiliar on your tongue. “I… I’m gonna be honest, I don’t… I—I feel like…” the words wouldn’t come to you. Every option of a sentence felt wrong.
He actually moaned then, and you watched his muscles tensed as he gripped himself impossibly harder, almost squeezing the precum out of him as it trickled down his inches.
“Hurts,” he grumbled, opening his eyes to look at you for a second before throwing his head back onto the couch. “Fucking hurts.”
“Yeah,” you breathed. “I know…”
The room went silent and felt hot, you started to wonder if his pheromones were getting to you now. All you could hear was both of your heavy breaths along with him stroking the sloppy mess of his shaft. His eyes were closed, his brows furrowed, every now and then gritting his teeth.
You swallowed, trying to do what you came to do. You’re meant to care for him.
“I… uhm, I have some suppressants here, Keigo, if it’s this bad for you. It could help with the… swelling—”
“No,” he rasped. “No drugs.”
“It’ll help you,” you argued, taking a small step toward him. “You’re… holding yourself too hard, you can hurt yourself like that, I’ll get—”
“Won’t work.” he cut you off, gripping his dick again as if just to concern you more. As he dragged his hand down to the base, he lifted his head and opened his eyes to look at you. “Need to breed.”
“…I know you do. You’re in pain. I can help it, I can make you feel better,” you insisted, feeling bad for sort of… lying to him. You knew those suppressants stopped working for him years ago. When he was a teen, they used to completely block out ruts. Eventually, they just turned into numbing pills for him, which kept the burning and the animalistic thoughts, and just made it impossible for him to get any relief. They also put him to sleep, which… sure, that’s something, until he wakes up.
He still didn’t respond to you. His hips twitched into his hands, and he started to groan more—and louder.
But then, he slowed down a bit, lazily lifting his head and staring at you. His gaze was intimidating, intentionally like he wanted to scare you. Well, he didn’t—as you were used to this—but he was trying.
“Make… make me feel better?” he asked roughly, repeating your words to him.
“Yes,” you said softly, thinking you were getting to him. “I’m here to do that, Takami. You can trust me.”
He seemed to try to keep his eyes on you, but they rolled back as he stroked himself again. Another moment of silence as he tended to his ache, before his gaze snapped back to yours.
“Then… do it,” he breathed. “Come. Touch me. Help me.” his voice cracked near the end, and you heard a small whine as his face contorted while his tip kept self lubricating.
You completely froze, breath hitching. Not knowing what to do at all. You did literally just say you would help him. And the way he’s doing it to himself is damn near scary.
But… What? A handjob?
You watched him as you couldn’t speak. Your patient, completely at the mercy of his biology. Your patient who got like this so many times around you, completely feral and desperate, and never crossing a line—and now he’s whining for it.
What line would this truly cross, though? You take care of him. You assist him with his issues that come with being half bird, and… this technically counts as one of them. You’re the only person in the world who sees him when he’s like this—who helps him.
You weren’t going to just let him suffer with this, not when he directly asked you.
You took a slow breath, adjusting your glasses with a steady hand. “…Okay..” you spoke softly.
You took a few steps, standing between his legs before kneeling down in front of him. Your hands were still greasy from the oil, but it wasn’t like it would do him any bad. He’s also already soaked in his own slick.
One of your hands finally wrapped around his cock, stretching your fingers wider than you expected. It was almost like he didn’t even feel your hands—he only reacted when he saw you touching him—his wings flinching closer to his back before he had to force them to relax again. His eyes were locked on yours.
He hesitated, before letting himself go and resting his hands on his thighs. You took your other hand, stacking it above the other.
“Grip… grip it tighter,” he rasped. You listened, looking up at him for approval but then he shut his eyes hard. “Tighter than that.”
He’d tell you this about two more times until you huffed against his length. “I’m.. going to hurt you...” you mumbled.
He opened his eyes, brows furrowing in frustration as he put his hand over yours and showed you exactly how he needed you to hold him. Just as you said, his hand hurt against yours and you couldn’t imagine that pressure on him feeling good—but, nonetheless…You held him that same way, getting a deep groan in response as his legs spread wider.
Your hands hesitated before they started moving up and down his length. Both following each other, before you started twisting them around him rhythmically.
He moaned, hips bucking into you and individual feathers twitching off his wings.
“Stop,” he suddenly grumbled, and you hovered before stopping. He sort of nodded his head as a signal for you to move, so you took your hands off of him.
A whine came from deep in his chest by the loss of contact. He grabs his waistband, tugging it down his legs, his lower half now bare. Your eyes automatically snapped toward his balls. Just as swollen as his cock, tightened up close and twitching as he grunted for you to continue.
You breathed, getting closer as your hands held him. You started stroking him, before his hand shot over both of yours again and crushed them under his grip. Again, completely unbelievable how this felt good to him, but you listened. You got a whimper in response, the muscles in his thighs shuddering.
You were sort of grateful by how empty your mind was right now. His pheromones were definitely doing something. Is this what the effect was supposed to be? Make someone’s mind blank, just willing to do whatever he needs them to? Fascinating.
Your eyes kept flicking toward the tight, swelling base of his length. It almost bothered you from your clinical view, how tight his balls were and the way they lightly pulsed with each stroke.
You didn’t want to speak, the words would have been awkward coming out of your mouth. Oh, can I touch your balls? You simply let your bottom hand drift every now and then, letting his pre just slightly get lower and lower to lubricate all of him, while you watched his reactions.
Then, you’d let your hand linger, your thumb rubbing against the skin between them before sliding back up. After a few more times, you fully moved your hand down, cupping them gently. They were hot and heavy, and you tried to stable your shaking fingers as you put just a little pressure on them.
“Ohhh, oh my god…” he moaned, his hips jerking up into you.
You almost smiled, so satisfied that he was feeling good. Your thumb and the pads of your fingers slowly kneaded into his throbbing sack. You found a rhythm, stroking him firmly and tending to his balls.
“Hurts… fucking hurts so b—aaad.” his words were slurred between whines, his hands gripping to the couch. You held him impossibly tighter, making him sob out a moan that had your hands hesitating against him. He sounded like he was in excruciating pain, honestly. “Keep… keep goin’… shit, hands feel s’fucking good…”
He placed his hand on top of yours again, this time thankfully not crushing your fingers under his. “Fuck… fuck, spit on me.”
“W—What?” you spoke quickly, hands stuttering against him again.
“Spit on it. Need your spit.” his gaze pierced into yours.
You frowned, looking away to think...
Well, actually…
If he needed it…
You lapped your tongue across the roof of your mouth, gathering spit and letting it dribble from your lips onto his tip.
“Oh my god, I need your cunt,” he whined.
“…Takami…” you muttered, your voice barely even coming out. You dragged your spit over his dick, watching him twitch as you did.
“Need to st—streetchh, mmmgh, stretch you out and… and use that cunt…”
“Not me,” you corrected quietly. “You don’t wanna do that to me.”
“I do, I fucking do—I need you,” he cried, now squirming under your touch. From the way his balls kept twitching in your palm, you could tell he was close. “Can’t… can’t cum if it’s not in your pussy. Wasting my seed in those fucking hands…”
You watched as his whole bottom half was literally tensing up from the way he was holding back his orgasm. He was very serious.
I mean, this goes back to the severe lack of relief he gets during his ruts. He jerks off when it gets bad, but that feral side of his mind very much hates wasting his sperm on anything but someone’s cunt.
“Waste?” you repeated quietly, making sure to keep that heavy pressure on his length, and your fingers massaging his balls. “Keigo… it’s… it’s not a waste.”
He could only groan deeply in response, the muscles in his thighs twitching. You knew the words he wanted to hear, and the words he needed to hear.
“You’re… using me right now,” you looked at him as you spoke, your glasses fogging with how you’d started panting (along with how you’ve been sweating for a while now.) “Using my hands. They’re… making you feel good… y-you’re… claiming them.” you gave him a firm squeeze at the base of his cock.
“Aaah, shit, making those hands all mine… gonna fucking paint them,” he whimpered. You knew those words would do him good. That’s exactly what he needs now. He wants to fill someone up, and claim them as his. Mark them—mark his territory.
“P—…Paint me then,” your wet hands sped up into a frantic pace over his length. “Paint my skin and cum for me.”
He couldn’t hold back for another second. His hips gave an uncontrollable, violent buck into your palms—his wings stretching out behind him, as his tip shot his cum everywhere. The second rope hit directly onto your glasses lens, you could almost hear the heavy splat against your face.
The strong scent hit you even harder than that, almost like honey right from the comb. A wave of bittersweet, animal musk instantly coated the back of your throat. It was like you could taste it on your tongue.
Oh, wait. That’s because you were.
Fuck, when it hit your glasses you gasped and opened your mouth in shock just as more splurted out of him again. A thick, extremely warm jet shot straight past your lips, hitting the roof of your mouth. With a gooey texture, and a deep pheromone sweetness that you could feel go straight to your brain. It was almost hard to swallow. Because of course you swallowed.
The whole scene was extremely sloppy, and messy. Your hands hovered over your glasses as you heard him moan and completely empty himself in front of you.
When it got quiet, you slipped your glasses off of your face, looking at him.
A mess, as expected. His own seed was splattered over his chest and the couch, and your hands, and your glasses—and just a sliver remained on your top lip. Without thinking, you licked it off. Then you met his eyes.
Low lidded, until he looked toward your glasses, and your nervous face. He groaned long, his hand suddenly sliding down his torso, shuddering—and you watched as his limp cock lifted back to its hardened state. The same as it was when he first started touching himself. Possibly harder, actually.
“Haah…” you let out a breath, surprised by how quickly that happened. You knew he could get boners back quickly, but… hardly even fifteen seconds had passed.
He simply looked in your eyes as you watched his flesh engorge, his veins fat and pulsing down the shaft again.
Your hand rested on your own chest, feeling your slowing heartbeat. Your lids were low, and now without the distraction of trying to make him finish, you realized just how out of it you were.
Realizing how hot this room was, the way you were covered in sweat. More importantly, realizing the aching pulse you felt between your legs.
It was intense, and you could only sit back and try to process what the fuck just happened. What was happening.
Your hand went over your mouth, trying to cover the way you were panting. You couldn’t control the whimper that came after that.
Keigo suddenly growled, making your eyes snap to him. He was taking slow, deep breaths and staring at you with big eyes.
“Mmmh… You smell so fucking sweet,” he grumbled. “Need to claim that wet cunt.”
Your thighs clenched together hard, the sudden friction only making it impossible to ignore the throbbing in your pussy. You were completely vulnerable to him now.
Well, you’re the one who decided to help him in the first place.
You’re the only one who can, so…
You should probably do your job.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. i’m sort of obsessed with this concept… might write more with it… anyway thankyou for reading! all interactions are so very much appreciated :)) also, happy happy pride month!! 🤍🪽
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 exercise 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.
note I wrote this when I had the flu, so grammar might be a little off.
"Baby. I said to sit on my face. Not hover. Sit." Keigo huffed, attempting fruitlessly to tug you down, your hands tightly gripping the headboard, peering down at him.
This was so unfair; you were forcing him to make eye contact with your messy pussy, which was practically begging him to kiss her and drive her crazy, and here you were, refusing to let him relieve you.
"But what if it—" You whined, hands shifting on the wood as he gripped your thighs tighter.
"Then I'll die a happy man." He deadpanned, sitting up to give a teasingly slow lick across your slit. "Babe, c'mon, I can just lift you if I'm uncomfortable."
"Are you sure?" You mumbled, pressing your forehead against your arms, staring down at him, catching the gleam as he kept his eyes trained on your pussy like a starved man.
You could swear you could see him almost drooling.
"Yes," he huffed, tugging firmly on your hips till you were just an inch above his face; he could feel the heat radiating from you as he licked his lips. "More than sure."
He anchored his arms around your thighs, holding you against his mouth as his buttery soft tongue swept circles around your clit, nipping gently as he moaned up into your pussy.
"Kei—" You whimpered, gasping out as his tongue slipped between your folds, teasing your entrance, eyes fluttering with a roll of your hips. "Fuck, baby, right there."
Keigo practically purred up into you, pulling back to latch himself to your clit—gripping your thighs tighter as he began to make out with the bundle of nerves, rolling his wet tongue around at a maddening pace as your thighs squeezed his head tight.
"Fuckfuckfuck, s'good, s'good don't stop." You whined, a hand tugging on his hair, rolling hips furiously against his tongue.
His tongue only paused its torture once a deafening mewl escaped you, just before your shuddering torso leaned against the headboard, his jaw falling open in shock as the rush of your orgasm hit him.
andy's notes: ahhhh i've missed y'all!! getting back into the swing of things (work was hell this week) and hope you like this particular bit of filth while i crack into prompts
content warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, not free of spoilers just by character names alone lol, pregnancy kink, panty kink, oral fixation, brat taming, oral m!receiving, cnc, throat fucking, scent kink, slightly yandere behavior with feathers, size kink
kirishima has the nastiest pregnancy kink, no one can convince me otherwise, so he's delighted when he finds out you have one, too. but when you're trying for a baby, your everyday life becomes horny hell because he insists on treating you like you're already pregnant. when you want to do something around the house, he tells you to "think of the baby," wide grin on his face when you flush and squirm your legs together. shows you maternity clothing ads of all the things he can't wait to buy you, patting your tummy. "you're gonna look so good in this sundress when your bumps start to fill out, honey." it gets so bad that literally the mere swipe of his thumb across your lower belly makes your pussy clench. (you get a positive pregnancy test two weeks later)
tenko puts on a pair of your silk panties because he has "nothing of his own left to wear" but he's actually been thinking about how the material would hug his balls ever since he pulled them off you days ago. the silk clings to his dick, dragging over the shaft with a feather-like caress. he groans and ruts his hips into his palm. pre-cum darkens the silk. arousal unspools in his belly and his cock twitches, aching at the fact that your cunt rested here, right where his balls now hang. your pretty pussy lips dragged over this fabric too, leaving your juices on the gusset. he rolls into the mattress, humping your pretty pink sheets. he hears whimpering and whining and realizes it's him drooling out your name into the pillow as he cums harder than he ever has
when you're done being a mouthy little brat, shinsou loves to cup your jaw and sink two fingers into your mouth, the cold metal bands of his rings clinking gently against your teeth as your cheeks hollow, sucking and humming around his digits like the greedy little whore you are. "look at me," he says, tipping your head back and holding your gaze. "keep your eyes on me while i keep your mouth full.''
hizashi loves when you take charge, when you tie him to a chair and stuff your panties in his mouth while giving him the sloppiest head of his life. he ruts his hips up into the delicious hot suction of your mouth, but you hold him down and pull away with a plop. you smear spit and pre-cum over your lips with the head of his dick, smirking when it twitches. you do this for hours, until his dick is flushed dark, engorged and aching, balls drawn up so tight against his body your mere breath against them is torture. when you finally let him cum, he explodes down your throat and onto your lips, a creamy gloss that you lick away after
the first time you broach aizawa about cnc you don't miss the way his jaw clicks shut like he's swallowing down every thought. "you're sure?" is all he asks and then you get a questionnaire in your email a few days later regarding hard limits. cut to a month later, he's fisting your hair and bullying his cock down your throat. "break eye contact and i'll paddle your ass raw." you're already slobbering all over his shaft, drool slipping down your chin and neck. your eyes burn with tears and mascara and you know you look like a fucked-out mess, but your body is tingling, flying. "you love to be used like this, don't you?" aizawa fucks even deeper into your mouth, rocking into the curved concave of your throat. "nothing more than daddy's little cumdump?"
keigo gave you one of his feathers for a totally normal reason, he swears - not because he wants to keep an eye on his attractive personal assistant on your off time. it backfires, though, because you know all about his feathers' capabilities. the first time you stroke the feather keigo thinks he imagined it. but no, the more he interacts with you, the more he memorizes your scent, the swollen bud of your lower lip. when he feels you kiss his offering, it nearly brings him to his knees. but he scents you next, the musky sweetness of what can only be your arousal. when he lands on your window sill and sees the feather slipping between your thighs, you merely smile and ask him what took him so long to get there
shouto "doesn't have a size kink" todoroki hearing you whine "it won't fit" when he slots the head of his cock against your pussy. he's never really paid attention to how much smaller you are than him, how much his body overwhelms yours. he'll have to work hard to make sure you're ready for him. he rubs your swollen clit with his thumb, the palm of his hand hot on your belly. your pussy jumps and flutters around the thick head of his dick, already flushed red and weeping. he taps your belly button, knowing that's where he'll be soon. "i'll make it fit."
izuku’s easy—it doesn’t take much to get him keyed up, especially when it comes to you. there’d been a shift in the air that morning, and yet he still headed to work, where he helped to apprehend villains alongside other heroes. he only pushed himself to clean up more on his own so he could stop popping so many random boners. even thinking about all might wouldn’t make him go soft.
so, when you decided to surprise him during your lunch break with a hot bag of his favorite takeout, he shut the office door behind you and immediately pulled you into a kiss. izuku swears it isn’t his fault—his dick is partially to blame—and before you know it, you’re perched on the edge of his desk with your hands wrapped around his cock and two thick fingers buried deep inside you.
“uh huh, that’s perfect,” izuku swallows a loud moan and chews on his lower lip, doing his best to keep quiet despite the very public predicament you’re both in. “mmngh, squeeze me a little tighter—yeah, baby.”
a subtle adjustment in your grip and placement of your fingers makes all the difference, and izuku’s lips round around a moan. it’s loud, even when it’s only halfway out of his mouth—you move fast, pressing a hand to his cheek as you kiss him hard.
he shifts, back arching off of the rolling chair with a squeak! he hates having to be quiet, especially when he’s pulling apart at the seams like this. heady, slippery squelches fill the spaces between your bodies where the moans can’t; glossy slick spills onto the papers beneath your ass as izuku maintains a sloppy rhythm, doing his best to keep you satisfied.
“w-we can’t make any noise, ‘zuku. we’re in your office, remember?”
a gooey string of saliva connects your lips to his when you pull away, and izuku finds himself going cross-eyed as he follows it to your mouth. you’re talking to him, breathily whispering something that he should probably listen to, but he’s too caught up in the way your thumb hits the sweet spot on the underside of his cock with every upward motion of your fist. oh, and then there’s the way he can taste the smeared lip gloss at the corners of his mouth in conjunction with the minty gum you were just chewing.
your sweetness turns sour with a light but deliberate slap to his freckled cheek, and it certainly gets his attention. izuku’s looking at you with wide green eyes, shocked not by the roughness but by how much he wants you to do it again.
“i’m sorry,” you say, grinding your hips on his fingers, “izu, are you hearing me? as much as i want you right now, i don’t want you to get fired and blacklisted—”
the word blacklisted bounces around in his head, but at no point does it actually land. “i jus’ wanna make you cum,” he says, feeling his cheek grow hotter under your palm, “i need to—ugh, it’s all that matters to me right now.”
izuku says it with enough fervor to catch you off guard, but it’s his fingers that really make the small speech on your tongue disintegrate. thick and strong, both digits pump into you without missing a beat—you inhale, feeling like the air’s escaping your lungs, and he pushes deeper, until he strikes gold.
“izuku!” you’re the one getting loud now, but with the way he’s hitting your sweet spot like a bullseye, it can’t be helped. “i don’t wanna get it all over your desk . . wait, the papers—right there, ohmygod.”
hearts swell in his pupils as he over-analyzes your reactions. your fist on his cock is much slower now, because of the major distractions, but it doesn’t matter, not when he could cum just from seeing you like this. your nice blouse is a little disheveled, but that’s nothing compared to the shredded pantyhose and soaked underwear he hastily tugged to the side.
had you not insisted on making him feel good too, izuku would’ve put you on your hands and knees on his desk and had his way with you, with the skirt still on. “let me make you cum first, baby. g-god, i wanna watch you fall apart on my fingers.”
you nod, biting down onto your fist. exhilarating euphoria is hurtling at you fast, and everything fizzles into static when it finally hits you, knocking the world off its axis. izuku’s fingers slow as he watches you ride the high, pussy squeezing him too tightly to pull out or away.
a thin sheen of sweat on your forehead catches the light once you come back to yourself, mind hazy with insatiable desire. izuku bites back both a groan and a whimper when you slide off the desk, leaving a glistening trail of cum shining on the wood. “what’re you gonna do to me?” he asks, feeling himself throb when you seat yourself on his bare lap, “‘m sorry, but i won’t last long en—”
in lieu of a verbal response, both of your hands envelop his cock and start to move smoothly. up and down, gently twisting from side to side—izuku’s head drops back, hanging off the edge of the chair. a litany of moans flows out of his mouth, and your eyes follow the bob of his adam’s apple in his throat.
“oh, you have no idea how good you look right now, ‘zuku. i’ve never seen someone look this perfect just from a little—”
“keep talking,” izuku suddenly gasps, and you can feel his cock thickening in your hands, “tell me everything. whatever it is, don’t stop.”
he’s gotten so desperate it’s cute. like always, it never takes too long to get him like this, all hot and heavy and vocal. izuku might be shy sometimes, but even so, he’ll always tell you what he wants and how he wants it.
“yeah, you’re doing so good. i love to sit here and just take care of you, my sweet boy. god, it’s such a treat to love you.”
“oh fuck,” izuku’s chest heaves as it works to breathe, and his body abruptly straightens, allowing the viridescent green of his eyes to meet your own. “tell me you’re mine, baby,” he begs, voice breaking like he’s on the verge of sobbing, “p-please, i can’t get there without it—”
“you know i’m all yours, izuku. you’re all i want.”
with that, he cums hard, letting out a series of whiny moans of your name and desperate gasps for breath that are only silenced when you press a cum-stained hand over his mouth. between you, his cock is still shooting white ribbons of cum, all over his undershirt and onto the front of your blouse. you only notice the mess when he tugs his cock back and his eyes widen at the sight, a mix of guilt and arousal seeping into his expression.
“don’t touch it,” he catches your hands at the last second before you can investigate and get more on the fabric, “kick my pants over here, there’s a napkin you can—shit.”
izuku just watches in awe, jaw dropped, as you tilt your head down and lick the cum off of your skin, all while looking directly into his eyes. as much as it embarrasses him and makes him want to avert his eyes, he can’t—you’ve got him under some kind of spell, and he’s definitely going to cum again just from seeing this. wait, did something more leak out of his cock just now?
“gimme a kiss,” he sighs, closing his eyes as he tastes himself on your tongue. it’s bittersweet, mixed with the mint gum from earlier, and he pulls you into a hug, the cold takeout forgotten on the other side of the desk.
BAKUGO KATSUKI + torturing you
he’s generous—but only if you tell him exactly what you want, and in excruciating detail, much to your impatience and embarrassment.
“i’d keep that attitude problem in check if i were you,” katsuki smirks, seeming proud of himself as he looks at you through the mirror, “i could do this all fuckin’ night, babe.”
an ultra-hot mixture of frustration and humiliation simmers in your cheeks when you push yourself to stare back at him, stubbornly holding your ground. he’ll end up breaking you down, but it can’t hurt to be a brat for a small while—who knows, it might piss him off enough to fuck you like he hates you.
“oh, i could too,” you hiss out in reply, biting back the moan that nearly slips out of you as you feel the head of his cock grazing along your inner thighs, “you’re so greedy, aren’t you? drawing it out like you haven’t been making eyes at me all day.”
“you say that like you weren’t doing the same, if not worse,” katsuki’s tip lightly nudges against your soaked pussy, and he has the audacity to act as though he’s pushing it in, only to pull back less than a second later. “any chance you’ll stop being a fucking brat and use your words instead of grabbing my ass at every turn?”
you scoff, but the sound of disdain fizzles into a gasping breath, and he knows he’s got you right where he wants you. looking into the mirror, you see his chin tilted downward as he teases you, each movement more agonizing than what came before. “yeah, you just like being annoying, don’t you? lose the sass or i’ll fuck it out of you.”
“really? you’re not just saying that to sound all dominant?” at your sarcasm, his crimson eyes dart from his hands to your face. he just stares at your reflection crossly, half-turned on and half-pissed that your snark is getting to him. “not sure what to say, huh? if you’d stopped teasing me earlier, maybe you could’ve shut me up—”
in an instant, katsuki’s looming over you, sculptured chest pressed flush against your back. a hand snakes beneath your chin and angles it so that you can look at him in the mirror when he talks, his voice shifting to a low, commanding rumble. “oh, i’ll shut you up. you’re going to sit here and watch me wreck you.”
your hand threads into his soft hair, and you tug hard, enjoying the way his adam’s apple bobs with a barely held-back moan. “so make it fit, katsuki.”
rough palms navigate the planes of your back as katsuki positions himself behind you, lining up his aching cock with your hole. fuck, as much as he hates to admit it, he’s been dying for this—it’s evident in the groan of relief that escapes him when he sinks into your cunt, sliding in easily. his eyes crinkle at the corners as he fully notices just how wet and ready you’d been to take all seven inches of him; you’re wrapped around his cock and pulsing, too tight and velvety for him to handle.
“gonna move yet?” you taunt him, chin propped up on a fist while you watch him in the mirror. he’s got his lower lip flat between his teeth, and he practically spits it out with a huff, glaring at you.
“i thought i would’ve fuckin’ taught you to be a little more patient by now,” and katsuki goes from zero to a hundred in a matter of seconds, his veins singing with adrenaline. he sounds genuinely irritated now, but you could’ve probably gleamed that from the harsh smacks of his hips into your ass. “can’t ever listen, huh? all i was askin’ for was for you to—shit—to tell me what you wanted . . you knew i’d give it to you, like i always do, and yet you chose to mouth off instead.”
you weren’t prepared to feel his tip french kissing your cervix with each and every powerful thrust of his hips; it makes you squeal and try to run away, but to no avail. katsuki’s grip on your waist is bruising and leaves no room for any more resistance, especially after so much pettiness. “w-wait,” you stutter, pushing a pathetic hand between your body and his to curb the intensity, “‘m not ready yet—”
“keep crying,” he snaps, closing his fingers around your wrist. without missing a beat, katsuki tosses your hand to the side and keeps going, eyes burning into yours through the glass. “isn’t this what you wanted? seems to me like you should shut up and savor it, sweetheart.”
it’s cruel and merciless. just the way he’s being rough tells you you’ll be sore all over by tomorrow, but you simply can’t find it in yourself to ask him to stop, not when it’s starting to feel like heaven.
a breathless mewl of his name tears out of your throat, and the cracking of your voice is like music to katsuki’s ears. earthquake-like shudders rock your entire body, and he can’t help but coo at you, swiping two fingers through the mess spilling along your skin.
“go ahead and look at yourself, girl,” sticky fingertips press past your parted lips and you start to suck, eyes rolling back at the taste of yourself. “yeah, who’s fucking you like this? tell me whose cock you’re going dumb on.”
you whimper sweetly, keening just as he expected you to. “yours, katsuki. ‘m all yours.”
laden with muscle and taut with fatigue, his chest heaves as he drags in huffs of air. he’s flushed from head to toe and grinning, undeniably proud of his handiwork. you must be drunk on him now, your easy admissions of being his a far cry from your attitude earlier. “keep your arch—ngh, you got it. shit, that’s my girl. taking it like a fuckin’ champ.”
as katsuki watches himself fuck you, no less primal than animals on a safari, amusement strokes through his body. why can’t you just tell him what you want to begin with? maybe the little arguments are part of your fun, he suspects. but, if you want him to be rough and mean, all you have to do is simply ask.
KIRISHIMA EIJIROU + #munch
“if you don’t just sit down and use me, i’m gonna red riot—”
“eijirou!” you whine, embarrassment working its way into your tone, “i’m really not sure about this. can’t i just lay on my back instead of risking breaking your neck or something?”
with a breezy laugh, eijirou shakes his head and lets his palms comfortingly circle your hips to keep you in place. since he’d suggested it in a rush during the ritual of undressing and positioning, you didn’t think too far into it until you found yourself hovering above his face. even with all of his insistence, you are unwilling to break your boyfriend’s neck or nose by sitting on his face—what an embarrassing explanation to deliver to the doctors in the emergency room!
“if it’s absolutely necessary, i’ll lift you up, okay? please, just sit down,” his ruby red eyes are wide and pleading; not even your nervous glare deters him. with a toothy smile, he adds, “c’mon, baby. you’re the one who’ll be in control anyway.”
you almost don’t notice the way he’s tugging you down, closing the gap between your soaked cunt and his mouth. eijirou tries not to get too excited—it might make you think he’s suffocating when he goes quiet—even though his feet are kicking happily at the end of the couch. thankfully, you’re facing away from the lower half of his body, so you also can’t see his dick trying to push out of his sweats.
“ei, oh my god.” the very first slurp of his eager mouth against your pussy takes your breath away and makes you squirm, rocking your hips forward and back. eijirou’s watching your every movement and sorting them by category for his spank bank, all while letting out low, incomprehensible groans.
“oh, this is—it feels so good,” and it does, much more than anything he’s made you feel before. before long, you’re more comfortable on his face and scantly riding his tongue, quickly growing drunk on the way he uses it. “eiji, y-you can’t stop.”
“baby,” he mumbles wetly, before raising you up to stare into your lidded eyes from between your thighs. a red flush has made its way across his cheeks and nearly matches the dyed shade of his hair, but he looks cute like this. “‘m all yours,” gravelly and devoted, eijirou’s voice reaches your pussy before your ears and makes it all the more messy, “you’re the boss now, babe. ride me, choke me, i don’t care. i only wanna keep tasting ya.”
swallowing a whimper, you settle back onto his face and unsurely plant your palms down on the couch for support. you’re a breathless mess, shaking on his tongue as you ride it to get off—eijirou just slurps and slurps, drinking you in without any care in the world. he loves to spoil you, even if it means making you do a little bit of work instead of just laying back. maybe you’ll cum so hard you only ever want to sit on his face again, and then he’ll never ever have any bad days if this is what he can come home to.
“eiji, you’re getting all messy,” you mewl, shameless eyes sweeping over the sticky wetness coating his face. you can see it glinting on his cheeks and even his forehead; he just moans out something like i know, baby and makes a show of winking before diving back in to lap you up like a creampuff. “hah, you—you’re so sloppy, fuck.”
in the moment that you’re trembling, positioning yourself to ride his tongue like it’s the first time you’ve ever had it, eijirou chooses to let his playful streak bubble to the surface. very lightly, his teeth nibble at your swollen clit and this sends shocks of electricity racing up and down your spine like an active power line.
earthquake-like tremors rock your entire body as you roll your hips, focusing on the stars streaking across your vision and the building pressure in your lower body. “ei, ‘m gonna cum pretty soon,” you squeal, digging a hand into his hair while your thighs unconsciously squeeze around both sides of his head. “h-holy shit . . cumming, ‘m cumming eiji!”
eijirou’s absolutely got the best seat in the house. your pinched expression melts into one of pure, unadulterated euphoria as you gush all over his mouth and completely forget about your worries about suffocating him. he helps you grind your hips harder when you chase the high, freefalling over the edge until the sensitivity eventually sets in.
“mmm, that’s it, sweetheart,” lapping at your sobbing folds with renewed vigor, eijirou holds you in place when you try to squirm away, complaining about it’s too much, when in reality is isn’t enough. he could devour you for hours, and you want to be done after five minutes. “you deserve all this and more, don’t you think? can’t you just sit here while i get my fill of this pretty cunt? i’m just not done yet.”
KAMINARI DENKI + too greedy
if you were good house guests and even better friends, you probably wouldn’t be pinned under denki and working your hips along his cock in a bed that isn’t even yours! this isn’t a hotel, it’s hanta’s flat, and you’re defiling the place by being split open like a pomegranate while your friend is off on a grocery run (at least, that’s how hanta had described the whole incident involving some other friends—he walked into his living room after returning from a run to two people going at it doggy style on the carpet).
but it’s okay, right? it’s not like you’d been waiting for hanta to leave so you could have sex; it just happened naturally, stemming from an innocent cuddle session on the bed while you scrolled through instagram. this is different from the incident because you’re in your own guest room and denki set towels down in case of emergency.
“a-again, i’m gonna cum again,” you wail brokenly, manicured nails digging into his biceps for purchase against the sweeping euphoria, “denki, oh my god—”
“lemme feel it, c’mon. hah, don’t hold back, ‘kay? let it allll out—be a good girl.”
oh, and you do. all it takes are his filthy words in your ears to spark your high and send you right off the edge. denki swallows, feeling lightheaded, but drool still spills past the corners of his lips and runs down his chin in gooey trails.
“aw, sweets,” his chuckle dissolves into a ragged breath, and he tries not to sound too disappointed when he tells you, “looks like you pushed me out.”
denki’s exhausted, covered in sweat, and pink in the cheeks. between your thighs, he’s fumbling with his dick—which is probably purple with overstimulation by now—and trying to push it back inside of you, but to no avail. though you’re leaning back on the pillows and trying to catch your breath, you notice his lower lip wobbling just the slightest bit.
“i’ve got it, denki. there’s no need to cry, i’ll—”
“i’m not crying,” he corrects you immediately, but he sounds like he’s about to start when you grab his cock. your hands are soft and oh so warm as you handle him with care, loosely stroking his length to keep him hard. inch by inch, he watches himself disappear inside you, unable to stop letting out embarrassing noises that you just giggle at.
“on your back. i-i’ll take care of you for a little while.”
changing positions really shows you how sensitive he is, the way he’s barely holding onto his composure by a thread. all of the movement on the mattress makes the wiry bedframe squeak, high pitched and a little unsettling. there’s probably no chance of it breaking, but if it did . . to say the least, hanta would never let you stay over again.
“goddamn. look at ya, you’re so sexy.” you roll your eyes as you sort yourself out on his cock, flattening your palms against his chest for stability. clearly, a moment of respite has allowed him to regain tons of energy again; he squeezes the fat of your ass and whistles lowly, a nasty grin forming on his lips as he does so. “maybe you ride my face after this.”
“shut uppp, i liked you better when you couldn’t talk.”
denki scoffs, pretending to be affronted. “heyyy, that was rude. i don’t see a problem with catching a—nghh, shit . . o-okay, shutting up now.”
a creamy mixture of his mess and yours drips from your sloppy cunt, puddling all over his pelvic bone. he should definitely wipe it away with the nearby towel to prevent so much as a single drop from spilling onto the bed, but his quirk is going a little haywire and zapping his brain like he’s got a defibrillator pressed to his forehead. tiny yellow sparks fly off of the ends of his hair, harmless and faintly tingly against your skin.
“that good, huh?” you smirk, starting to ride his cock, and denki reaches for your bouncing tits with stars in his eyes. a bunch of slutty, debauched thoughts suddenly fly through his head and out of his mouth before he can control it.
“s-so soft. ooh, can i cum inside?” his golden eyes follow the glossy fluids pouring down your inner thighs, a clear hunger shining in them. despite the fogginess that’s set into every corner of his body, he can still form one coherent thought that trumps the others: more more more. he whines your name, nearly choking on it, and strokes his thumbs over your nipples eagerly. “please, can i fill you up?”
you suck in a shallow breath, mentally deciding that this is the final round. splotches of dried and drying cum are smeared across every inch of your naked body, with the most of it being between your legs. at some point, you’ll have to stop and clean up, preferably before hanta gets home. “just one more time,” then you smirk, leaning in close to see him explode. “ngh, fuck a baby into me, denki. flip me over and make me yours, won’t you?”
with a drawn out moan, he does as you ask and slots himself on top of your body, as if he’s trying to melt into you. he’s trembling, unsure of where to put himself in this moment, so he presses his forehead against yours and shuts his eyes. “t-this is supposed to be the best position for makin’ babies. oh, oh fuck, you’re so tight on my—haah, ‘m cumming.”
denki collapses on top of you, sparking and spasming in your arms. he’s still running his mouth, babbling out incoherent praises and whining your name so loudly his throat will be hoarse by the time he’s coming down.
“nobody’s answering their fucking phone!” a voice rings through the thin, shoddy wooden door and sounds both angry and flustered. “i came over here to ask for help with all the groceries and then the door was wide open. i’m never trusting you two alone in my apartment again.”
wheezing against your chest, denki takes it upon himself to speak out . . even though he’s just fried the hell out of his brain. “dude, hanta, it’s not that serious—”
“easy for you to say!” on the other side of the door, hanta blanches, feeling nauseous and awkward, “i had the misfortune of seeing you short circuit outside of battle.”
TAKAMI KEIGO + gets extremely pussydrunk
maybe it’s your smile, or the way your eyes light up with mirth when you touch him innocently. keigo thinks it may even be more than one thing—he’s just hopelessly in love with you and unable to find fault in anything you do. by the time you’re sitting down on his cock right after having sucked his soul out, a switch flips in his brain and everything completely shuts off.
all that matters is you; your presence commands his attention and silences his thoughts, even the ones that stress him out so badly his feathers start to itch. what will he eat for lunch tomorrow? can he finish the assignments dumped on him by the time they’re due? none of that matters now, not when you’re grabbing his chin and pulling him into a hot kiss.
“ugh, fuck – you drive me so crazy,” keigo mumbles as your lips crush against his own, effectively silencing anything else he had to say. and then, with his face in your hands, you start to bounce on his lap, fucking your hips down onto his cock at a pace that is astonishingly fast . . for you.
your lips part to let out a faint moan into his mouth, and he eagerly swallows it, making a similar noise once your tongue finally slides against his. wet and warm, it carries the bittersweet taste of his previous orgasm, the one that actually made you choke—keigo had cum so damn hard you could barely hold all of it in your mouth, and it just kept coming until it spilled down your chin in milky streams.
on either side of his body, vermillion feathers flail like flags in the wind, unrestrained in any way. you’re setting your clammy palms upon his shoulders to hold yourself up against the unstoppable barrage of his cock, the tight squeeze as you work it deeper.
“s-so good,” you babble dumbly, barely able to hear anything over the sound of your heartbeat, “ooh, kei! i love you, i love your cock—”
nodding furiously, keigo takes measures into his own hands—literally. trembling palms circle your waist, and once he gets a stable hold on your squirming body, he starts to move you up and down. he hisses impatiently, but continues to properly warm you up for what’s about to happen.
one particular stroke makes your back arch, akin to the shape of a banana, and keigo immediately knows what this means. he emits a low, breathy chuckle and pulls your hips down again, particular in the way he does so. “found it, babygirl.”
“right there,” you gasp sharply, and it feels like the air is being continuously punched out of your lungs when he moves you in a purposeful rhythm. it’s efficient and a lot less sloppy than what you had executed, hitting directly into your sweet spot every single time.
keigo draws in a breath, relocating one of his hands to your lower tummy and firmly pressing down. the pressure makes you tighter, and makes him go deeper—shockwaves resonate through both bodies. “yeah? right there, angel? you feel me here?”
collapsing into him allows you to tuck your face into his neck and breathe in his personal medley of natural scent and high quality cologne, which has faded over the course of the day. your arms are draped over his back now, fingertips brushing lightly against the downy fluff at the sensitive base of his wings, where feathers coalesce into skin.
your teeth are chattering and tears are starting to overflow past your eyes, “ah, kei, ‘s like i can feel you all over. i think – i think ‘m pretty close now.”
keigo grunts, applying more pressure; it’s enough to make you squeal with what sounds like delight. arousal burns through your body and pools hot and heavy in your gut, much like magma before a volcanic eruption. because his wings constantly show off his true emotions around you—especially in more vulnerable situations such as this one—the pinions at the apexes of each individual wing start to wiggle.
if he wasn’t being fucked to death—or using you to fuck him—he’d probably be a little more embarrassed about the blatant display of joy. a smile or laugh is one thing, but his feathers wiggling back and forth is another. without even the smallest shred of concentration, stopping the movement is impossible.
“make a mess for me,” molten gold eyes meet your own, crinkling at the sides as the inflection of desperation pushes through the words, “shit, i need to see you cum—” keigo cuts himself off with a hoarse groan, struggling to move your hips over his lap as the full-body tremors set in. “ngh, angel. be a good—goddamn, s-so tight—a good girl and cum all over this cock, ‘kay? you have to go first, it has to be you. i can’t, fuck, hold it much longer. just lookin’ at you makes me want to—!”
a feeble squeal cuts through the air like a knife through butter and you are temporarily frozen in place when you cum. sweat gleams along your skin, shimmering around your knitted brows, and your parted lips are sticky with a mixture of spit and drool. keigo wishes he could just see you cum like this again and again, going stiff on his cock—then the rush hits you like a freight train.
you start to cry as cum spurts out of you in copious streams, wetting the entirety of his pelvis. there’s so much all at once, and the spasming clenches of your cunt around him are enough to send his high crashing down over him like a tsunami wave. keigo’s wings instinctually wrap around you in a snug hold when he spills inside you, moaning your name until his voice breaks. his balls don’t feel quite as heavy any more, now that he’s filled you up with everything he had to give.
“relax, baby,” keigo coos, thumbing tears away from your cheeks. stars and spirals flash across his vision and he’s slurring his words, but the comfort feels better when he’s dazed like this. then he looks down, and his jaw audibly drops open. “wow! we . . made a mess, didn’t we?”
sharp and urgent, your nails dig half moons into his bare shoulders the second he starts trying to move. “not yet, kei. can’t you just stay inside me?”
keigo wants to make a pregnancy joke, but fortunately, he refrains. however, you see the idea pass through his mind—his flushed cheeks darken ever so slightly, and he smooths out an almost smile, fighting against its tug on his lips. “whattt? can’t a chef taste what was made with his recipe?”
warm embarrassment licks at the tips of your ears, but you try not to avert your eyes. “that makes no sense, keigo.”
his fingertips doodle obscure shapes into your skin, his touch featherlight. keigo hums meaningfully, allowing his hand to move just a centimeter closer to your ass. “all i’m saying is bend over or lay back with your legs open.”
as tantalizing as his suggestion sounds, your pussy still throbs with soreness. “kei,” you sigh out his name like you’re actually tired, “i don’t – i think i’m way too sensitive for that.”
the thing is, keigo doesn’t actually care if you end up cumming too hard or too fast, or if you cry from overstimulation. he intends to devour you not only for your pleasure, but for his own—he needs this in order to feel satiated. “please, angel? i think i’ll die if i’m not between your thighs in the next two minutes.”
you bite your lip, feeling hot and heavy all over. he feels you tighten around his cock and knows he’s successfully convinced you; he unintentionally matches you by twitching once or twice against your cervix. “fine, kei,” you relent, giving in as if you could’ve ever refused, “but only if you’ll let me mess with your wings while you eat it.”
*•̩̩͙✩˚A/N:Okay guys here’s part two! You ask and you shall receive or whatever. Anyways I’m half asleep already so you better enjoy cause I forced myself to stay awake. Yeahh enjoy babes xx
Shoto Todoroki — “You Want Me to Leave?”
You didn’t usually mess with Shoto.
Not because you couldn’t — he was your boyfriend, not a porcelain doll — but because he was usually the one leaving you flustered with his bluntness, quiet observations, and tendency to walk around shirtless after morning showers like it was no big deal.
But today? You were going to get him back.
The apartment was quiet, filled with soft sunlight. Shoto was sitting on the edge of the bed, one socked foot on the ground, the other resting across his knee as he scrolled through messages from the agency. His white-and-red hair was still slightly tousled from his post-shower routine, and the edge of a smile played at his lips as he absentmindedly read through the group chat he barely replied to.
You stood in front of the dresser, digging for comfy clothes, clad in just his oversized shirt and a pair of shorts that were hidden by the hem.
It was the perfect setup.
You turned, keeping your tone even. “Sho? Can you step out for a second? I’m gonna change.”
He didn’t even look up. “I don’t mind.”
You blinked. “I know, but I do. Just for now. Please?”
That got his attention.
His phone lowered slowly. His two-toned eyes flicked to your face, then down to your outfit, and back up again with clear confusion.
“…You want me to leave the room?”
You nodded, biting your lip to keep a straight face. “Just while I change.”
His brows furrowed slightly. “But… I’ve seen you change a hundred times.”
You shrugged. “Still. I want privacy.”
There was a beat of silence.
Shoto blinked. Once.
Then again.
“…Are you mad at me?”
You had to fight every urge to not crack right then. “No! I just… want to change alone.”
Now he looked genuinely concerned. “Did I do something?”
“No. It’s not about you.”
“Then why—”
You sighed dramatically. “Sho, just please step out for a second.”
He stood slowly, frowning, clearly puzzled. “If you’re upset, I’d rather talk about it.”
“I’m not.”
“You’ve never been shy before. You’ve literally sat on my lap while in nothing but a thong.”
“Well, maybe I changed.”
A beat.
“You’re lying.”
You froze, staring at him with mock offense. “What?”
He tilted his head just slightly, watching you like a puzzle he was trying to solve. “You’re messing with me.”
He smiled faintly, proud of himself for catching on. “You forget I live with you.”
“So you’re not going to fall for it?”
“I didn’t say that.” He raised an eyebrow, voice smooth. “I just want to know why you felt the need to prank me. I’ve been very good today.”
“You left wet towels on the bathroom floor.”
“…That was a strategic oversight.”
You giggled, but he stepped closer, tilting his head with curiosity.
“Was it payback for when I accidentally walked in on you last week?”
“You didn’t even flinch. You just said ‘nice’ and walked out.”
“It was nice,” he said, deadpan.
You laughed, cheeks heating.
He stopped in front of you now, arms resting gently on either side of your waist, his touch warm even through the shirt.
“You’re really cute when you lie,” he murmured. “But not very convincing.”
“I had you going for a second.”
“Two seconds. Maybe.”
His thumbs traced slow, absent-minded circles at your hips. “But… for the record…”
You looked up, caught off guard by the faint blush rising to his ears.
“If you ever did want me to leave… I’d probably just wait outside the door. Quietly. Staring at the floor.”
You blinked. “That’s… weirdly adorable.”
“I don’t like the idea of you hiding from me.”
“It wouldn’t be hiding.”
“It would feel like it.”
You softened. “Sho…”
“I know it’s stupid,” he added quickly, letting out a quiet breath. “But I like knowing I can be close to you. That you trust me. That you want me there.”
Your hand found his cheek gently, brushing his bangs aside.
“I do,” you said. “I always do.”
“Then don’t prank me again,” he mumbled, almost pouty now. “You looked serious. I thought I messed up.”
You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him close. “I’m sorry.”
He hummed. “You can make it up to me.”
“Oh? How?”
He leaned down, his mouth brushing your ear.
“Let me help you change.”
Your face burned. “Shoto—!”
He smiled, just a little smug now. “What? It’s the least you can do.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m yours.”
“Fine. But I pick the music this time.”
He nodded, leading you toward the closet. “As long as it’s not the glitter song.”
“Sho—”
“No glitter song.”
Enji Todoroki — “You want me to… what?”
The hum of fire from the kitchen had faded.
That meant he’d finished dinner.
You stretched on the couch, glancing at the clock. It was already late, and Enji was sticking to his off-duty promise — no agency calls, no patrols, just one quiet evening together. He had cooked for you (like always), showered (like always), and now he was probably in the bedroom, folding towels unnecessarily (like always).
He was still Endeavor — sharp, structured, proud — but the man who lived in your home wasn’t the firestorm on TV. With you, he was quieter. Slower. Awkward, sometimes. Like he wasn’t used to being wanted for anything soft.
That’s why tonight felt like the perfect time to mess with him just a little.
You padded into the bedroom, towel slung around your shoulders, robe tight around your waist. He was at the edge of the bed, reading glasses pushed up on his nose, quietly browsing his tablet. Shirtless, of course — his skin still warm from the shower, hair damp and pushed back.
You stood by the closet, holding a change of clothes in your hand, pretending to look thoughtful.
“Hey, babe?”
His head tilted toward you, one thick brow lifting in silent acknowledgment. He didn’t speak — just waited. That’s how Enji was. No wasted words unless necessary.
“I’m gonna change now,” you said lightly, facing him, playing it casual. “Can you, um… step out for a sec?”
He blinked.
“…Why?”
There it was — the first crack. You bit back a smile.
“I just need to change,” you repeated, hiding your grin behind your voice. “Alone.”
He didn’t move. His jaw flexed, and you could see the gears turning in that sharp, structured brain of his. He wasn’t the type to jump to conclusions, but he was the type to assume he’d messed up.
A long silence. He stared at you, unreadable. And then, finally:
“I’ve seen you naked. Multiple times.”
You turned slightly away, shrugging like it was no big deal. “Yeah, but still. I don’t know. Could you just… wait outside for a minute?”
Now he looked genuinely puzzled. His frown deepened, not out of annoyance, but confusion — as if he were running the scenario through his brain and couldn’t find the logic in it.
“You’re uncomfortable changing in front of me now?” he asked slowly. “…Did something happen?”
You almost broke.
“No! I mean, nothing bad.” You waved your hand, trying to be breezy. “I just… feel like it. I don’t know.”
Enji’s gaze dropped to the floor for a moment, jaw flexing. You could see his brain working overtime. And it was adorable.
“…If I’ve done something to upset you,” he said, voice quieter, “you can tell me. You don’t have to—”
“Oh my god, Enji—no,” you interrupted quickly, walking over to put your hand on his arm. “I’m not upset. I swear. Just… could you step out for a sec?”
Now he was really confused. Like, genuinely stuck.
He looked at the door. Then back at you. Then at the bed. Then back at the closet.
“…You’re not… testing me, are you?” he asked, clearly suspicious now.
You laughed — you had to. “Testing you? What?”
“You’ve never asked me to leave before. I don’t understand.”
That was true. Enji was normally the one who’d politely look away or give you space — until the relationship deepened and boundaries blurred. But now that you were well past that stage, this sudden request threw him completely off balance.
He stepped back slightly. “If this is some kind of… relationship boundary reset, I’ll respect it. I just don’t—” He broke off again. “Are you mad at me?”
That did it. You absolutely couldn’t keep it together anymore. You burst into laughter, doubling over a bit, and Enji looked even more alarmed.
“I’m pranking you, you dummy!”
He blinked.
“You… what?”
“I’m pranking you,” you repeated through laughter. “It’s a trend — telling your husband to leave so you can change, even though it makes no sense. I wanted to see what you’d do.”
He just stared at you.
For a very long time.
“…You’re joking.”
“I just said it’s a prank!”
Enji exhaled, half-relieved and half-exasperated. “You’re playing games now?”
“I had to! You’re so serious all the time.” You grabbed his hand, eyes still sparkling. “You were about to spiral.”
“I was not about to spiral.”
“You were definitely spiraling. You thought I was mad at you!”
He grunted and looked away, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. You caught the faintest pink at the tops of his ears.
“…You caught me off guard,” he muttered. “That’s all.”
You grinned, still holding his hand. “You really thought I didn’t want you in the room anymore?”
“I wasn’t sure,” he admitted, eyes softening slightly. “You’ve never asked me that. It felt… abrupt.”
That was his way of saying it unsettled him. Which, okay, made you feel a tiny bit bad. But he also looked so flushed and confused that you couldn’t help but tease him more.
“Aww, poor flamey,” you said, bumping his hip. “Didn’t know what to do with himself.”
Enji gave you a flat look, but you saw the amused twitch in his mouth. You knew that look.
“I could’ve just taken my shirt off right in front of you and ended the prank,” he said casually.
You blinked. “You wouldn’t.”
He leaned a little closer.
“Wouldn’t I?”
Your stomach fluttered — which was not part of the plan. “Enji…”
“I’m still confused,” he continued smoothly. “But I think I know one way to get over it.”
You raised a brow. “Which is?”
“Take your shirt off and make it up to me.”
You stared at him.
He stared right back, face completely serious.
“…That’s not how pranks work, babe.”
He hummed. “You’ve pranked me. That means I win the next move.”
You narrowed your eyes. “You’re making that up.”
Enji took a slow step closer. “Am I?”
You backed up — just slightly — laughing. “Oh, you’re so full of it!”
“You said I’m too serious,” he said, voice low and amused. “Maybe I should start pranking you back.”
“You wouldn’t survive the chaos.”
“I think I’d manage.”
You watched him with warmth in your chest. He really was trying, even now — adapting to your energy, playing along, letting himself soften for you.
“You’re kind of adorable when you’re confused, you know that?” you said softly, pulling him in by the collar of his shirt.
He sighed, resting his forehead gently against yours. “I hate how much that worked on me.”
“You love it.”
“…Maybe.”
Silence fell again — but this time, it was warm, content. His arms wrapped around your waist, and you leaned into the heat of him. The earlier awkwardness had melted into something tender, familiar.
You buried your face into his chest.
“Still love me, even if I prank you sometimes?” you asked
He held you tighter.
“Always.”
Aizawa Shouta — “You Want Me to Leave? …Why?”
Living with Aizawa was kind of like living with a grumpy cat that secretly loved you.
He never said “I love you” first, never really smiled unless you were half asleep on his chest or struggling to button your coat in the morning. But he’d fix your collar for you, wordlessly. He’d bring coffee without asking. He’d drag himself out of bed at 3am just to warm up the house because you kicked off the blanket in your sleep and now your toes were cold.
Subtle. Careful. Quiet.
So naturally… he was the perfect target for a harmless little prank.
You were in the bedroom, fresh out of the shower in your robe, rifling through the dresser for clean clothes while Aizawa sat on the bed reading some training reports for his class. His hair was loose — his “I’m off the clock, don’t ask me to move” look — and his posture was relaxed, shoulders slouched, one hand resting absently on his thigh.
Perfect.
You cleared your throat. “Hey, babe?”
He didn’t look up. “Hm?”
“…Can you leave the room for a sec? I’m gonna change.”
There was a pause.
He turned a page, deadpan. “Why?”
You shrugged casually, not looking at him. “Just want to change in private.”
His face was deadpan.
“…We’re married,” he said slowly.
You held back your grin. “Still.”
Another long pause. He blinked once.
“You’re shy now?”
You shrugged. “Just not feeling it right now.”
He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms, clearly trying to process the situation.
“We’ve literally showered together.”
You spun around with mock-seriousness. “Shouta.”
“Yes?”
“Could you please leave?” you asked with dramatic politeness.
He looked up now, slowly.
“…Are we fighting?”
You held back a grin. “Nope.”
“Did I do something?”
“Not that I can think of.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, and he closed the file in his lap.
“I’ve seen you change a hundred times. You’ve changed in front of me without realizing it.”
You gave a shrug and didn’t meet his eyes. “I just want to be alone while I do it this time.”
The silence stretched.
“…Did Hizashi put you up to this?”
Your lips twitched. “No.”
“Do I need to remind you,” he said, voice low and dry, “that I’ve stitched you into your hero costume while you were half-naked in lingerie because we were late to patrol because of how hard of sex we had the night before?”
You snorted.
“I’ve bandaged your ribs. Rubbed medicine on your back. You fall asleep next to me without undergarments.”
“This is a prank.”
“I’m serious.”
“You’re lying.” He didn’t even blink. “I’ve interrogated villains more convincing than this.”
You bit your cheek to stop yourself from laughing.
Aizawa stood, stretching with a quiet sigh. “Alright, fine.”
You blinked. “Wait—what?”
“I’ll go.”
Now you were thrown. “Seriously?”
He strolled toward the door. “If you’re gonna play games, I’ll go nap on the couch. Let me know when the dramatics are over.”
“No! Wait—Shouta!”
You caught his sleeve as he passed and burst out laughing, tugging him back.
He didn’t resist, but his unimpressed look spoke volumes.
“You’re the worst liar alive,” he said. “You can’t even keep a straight face.”
“I didn’t think you’d actually get up!”
“You pushed it too far.” He raised a brow. “Telling me to leave our room. Like I’m some random guy you barely tolerate.”
You grinned. “You tolerate me.”
“I more than tolerate you,” he muttered under his breath.
You paused.
“…What was that?”
“Nothing.”
You leaned into him. “Say it again.”
He exhaled sharply. “You heard me.”
“No, I need you to say it like you mean it.”
He deadpanned, “You’re annoying.”
You kissed his cheek. “I know. But you love it.”
He grunted, grabbing your waist and pulling you in lazily. “You’re lucky I like difficult women.”
“I thought you didn’t like anyone?”
“You’re the exception.”
Your heart skipped a little at the easy way he said it — so casually, so Aizawa.
You looked up at him and grinned. “So you weren’t mad?”
“I wasn’t mad. I was considering revenge.”
“Revenge?!”
“Hm.” He tugged your robe loose at the collar with a finger. “Something along the lines of making sure you ask me to leave next time. Loudly. Desperately.”
Your breath hitched. “Shouta.”
He shrugged, eyes half-lidded. “You started it.”
You narrowed your eyes. “That’s not fair.”
“It’s completely fair.”
“You play dirty.”
“You like it.”
Damn him.
You turned away quickly, trying to hide your smile — but he reached past you for your clothes from the dresser.
“I’ve seen you wear this shirt three days in a row.”
“It’s comfy.”
“It’s mine.”
You smirked. “So? I like it.”
He handed it to you. “Then keep it.”
You blinked. “What?”
He met your eyes. “It’s yours. You wear it more than I do anyway.”
A pause.
“…You’re giving me your favorite shirt?”
“It’s just a shirt.”
“To you that’s practically a marriage proposal.”
He rolled his eyes but stepped closer, brushing a damp strand of hair behind your ear. “Do you want a real one?”
You blinked. “Wait—what?”
“I’m kidding,” he said flatly — but the flicker in his gaze said maybe he wasn’t.
Your breath caught. “Say it again.”
“No.”
“Shouta—”
“Don’t prank me again,” he muttered. “You’ll give me a complex.”
You grinned, heart fluttering.
“Okay,” you whispered. “Deal.”
Keigo Takami — “You want me to leave? Excuse you?”
Living with Hawks was… exhausting. In a good way.
He was a human golden retriever with wings — constantly hovering, teasing, touching, kissing. If he wasn’t flying off for hero work, he was lounging around shirtless, plucking feathers from his wings with a grin and flicking them at you like darts. He was affectionate to a fault, smug on a normal day, and just a little too proud of himself when he made you flustered.
A thought sparked in your head, mischievous and immediate. You glanced at Keigo, who was distracted checking his phone — probably looking at memes or celebrity hero gossip. Now was your moment.
He was lounging on your shared bed when you stepped out of the bathroom, hair damp, towel slung around your shoulders, and robe pulled tight. You padded over to the closet, pretending not to notice the way his eyes followed your every move.
His wings twitched lazily behind him.
“You’re lucky I’m tired,” he mumbled, “or I’d be over there helping you out of that robe.”
You rolled your eyes. “You’re always tired.”
“Yeah, but I’m never too tired for you, baby.”
“Mmhm. Can you do me a favor, actually?”
“Anything,” he said, spreading his arms dramatically. “Want me to fly to the moon? Steal Endeavor’s stash of instant ramen? Fight crime shirtless?”
You snorted. “No, just… can you leave the room for a minute?”
His smile froze. “…What?”
“I’m gonna change.”
The silence was immediate.
His brows rose, golden eyes blinking in confusion. “You… want me to leave? So you can change?”
“Yeah.”
You were biting the inside of your cheek now, doing everything in your power not to lose it.
His wings twitched. “You want me… the man you have licked frosting off of his goddamned dick, to leave. So you can change.”
“…Babe.”
You looked at him innocently.
He sat up slowly. “Is this a test? Did I miss a date? Did I say something dumb while I was half-asleep again?”
“Nope.”
“You’re… actually kicking me out of the room?” His wings flared slightly. “Do you have a secret boyfriend you’re changing for? Is that it? Did a villian put you up to this?!”
You cracked. A laugh bubbled out before you could stop it, and his eyes narrowed instantly.
Keigo stared at you like you had just told him he was being drafted into the military. He pointed to the couch. “This couch. That I bought. In the apartment where I pay the rent. Where we sleep next to each other. Naked, might I add.”
Keigo threw his head back and groaned, pacing away from you like he was physically in pain.
"This is a test," he muttered. "You're testing me.
You're trying to kill me. Oh my god."
You turned away just enough to grab your shirt from the basket and hold it to your chest.
"Could you? Just for a sec?"
He froze. "You're serious."
You shrugged.
Suddenly, he was kneeling in front of you with one hand over his heart and the other stretched dramatically into the air.
"Oh, cruel temptress!" he wailed. "You wound me!"
You lost it. Burst out laughing, hiding your face in the clean laundry pile.
"I've been exiled," he continued, standing up and spinning in a circle like a tragic Broadway character. "Banished from the bedroom I so lovingly vacuumed crumbs out of last night.
Tossed aside like a common pervert."
"Kei-stop-" you gasped between laughs.
"No! I'll go!" he declared, already walking backwards toward the hallway with his wings flaring slightly. "'ll stand outside the door like a chaste fool and wait for the sound of a zipper like some kind of shameful husband-in-waiting”
"We're not married," you reminded him, still giggling.
"Oh, but I could be!" he shouted, dramatically flopping onto the bed behind you. "If only I hadn't betrayed your trust by looking at you!"
He peeked up at you from the covers, grinning.
You snorted and tossed a balled-up sock at him.
"You're such a menace."
"Admit it," he said, voice low and cocky now. "You wanted me to react like this."
“Ah-ha.” He pointed at you, grinning. “There it is. You’re messing with me.”
“I almost had you.”
“You had me worried we were breaking up!”
You rolled your eyes, walking over and pushing his shoulder gently. “You’re so dramatic.”
“I am dramatic. But only when I care.” He caught your wrist, tugging you gently between his legs. “You can’t just say stuff like that. You change in front of me all the time. You literally walked around naked last week with your ass-cheeks hanging out while eating ice cream. You said clothes were a ‘societal burden.’”
You rolled your eyes. “You are the worst.”
“Correction,” he said, walking over and kissing your forehead with zero warning. “I’m the worst best husband.”
He wasn’t your husband — yet. But he loved using the title, and you never had the heart to stop him.
He stepped closer. “The room where I’ve seen you change so many times I could recite a time-lapse of your entire wardrobe evolution.”
You cleared your throat, still playing it cool. “Yes.”
You gave him a wide-eyed, innocent smile. “Exactly.”
You smirked. “I wanted to see how fast you’d crumble.”
Keigo leaned back, folding his arms behind his head. “Joke’s on you. I always crumble for you.”
That actually got you a little flustered. He smirked, clearly noticing.
You tugged on your clean shirt and turned to him, arms crossed. “Alright, drama king. You can stay.”
He rolled over to you in half a second, pulling you into his lap. “Only because I passed the test, right?”
“You absolutely failed the test,” you laughed.
“Nah. I redefined the test,” he said smugly. “And then I got extra credit.”
You rolled your eyes but didn’t move away from him. His hands were warm on your waist, and he kissed the side of your neck gently — less playful now, more genuine.
“I like watching you change,” he murmured. “Not just because you’re hot — which, duh — but because it reminds me I get to see all the parts of you nobody else does.”
Your heart fluttered a little at that. He could be bold and ridiculous, sure — but this was Keigo at his most real.
“I didn’t mean to mess with you too hard,” you said softly.
He smiled, brushing your hair behind your ear. “Mess with me all you want, baby bird. I can take it.”
“…Husband,” you teased quietly, nudging his chest.
His whole body stilled for a second — and then a smirk broke across his lips.
Keigo Takami had a habit of noticing things he shouldn’t.
He noticed how a villain’s shoulders tensed a second before they struck. He noticed how reporters angled their cameras to catch his wingspan. He noticed when an intern whispered something under their breath that was meant to sound like admiration but felt more like envy.
And lately - he noticed you.
You’d started at his agency six months ago, just another efficient face among the endless rotation of staff and sidekicks. Organized. Sharp. You always had your clipboard ready before he even asked for it, files alphabetized.
Then he started realizing small things.
The way your skirts hugged the back of your thighs when you reached for a folder. The faint scent of your perfume when you leaned past his chair to hand him paperwork. The sound of your voice when you said, “Takami‑san, you have that board meeting in ten minutes,” soft and polite.
You never used his hero name unless the cameras were around. He liked that. He liked it too much.
It was supposed to stay a passing thought. A professional appreciation.
But he started timing his landings after patrols so he’d pass your desk first. Started noticing when you wore something new. Started catching himself wondering what it’d take to make you blush. Make you moan.
And he’d shake his head at himself like - get it together, birdbrain, before dragging himself into another meeting.
____________
The office after hours was quiet.
He came back long after sunset, wings rustling from patrol, uniform half‑zipped. His body was buzzing from too much adrenaline and not enough rest. He pushed the door open and stopped dead.
You were at your desk. Hair pulled up messily. Your blouse rolled at the sleeves. Stacks of files around you, a pencil tucked behind your ear.
He shoved his hands into his pockets, one brow cocked. “Didn’t know we were runnin’ a 24‑hour agency now.”
You glanced up, smiling faintly. “Just catching up. Needed the distraction.”
His grin deepened. “Distraction, huh? That’s my line.”
You laughed softly. “Guess it’s contagious.”
He watched you for a moment longer than he should’ve. The sound of papers shuffling, the faint whir of the AC - everything else faded out. There was something about the curve of your back under the lamplight that made his chest ache with something dangerously close to curiosity.
“Y’know.” He said, stepping closer. “You don’t have to stay late to impress me.”
“I’m not trying to impress you, Takami‑san.”
He smirked. “Yeah? Shame.”
You rolled your eyes, looking back down at the page. “Some of us like being productive.”
He laughed quietly, moving closer. “And some of us like staring at the prettiest thing in the room.”
That earned him a look over your shoulder, half amusement. “You say that to all your assistants?”
“Only the ones who make my coffee just right.”
“Mhm.” You stood, gathering your papers. “I’m starting to understand why your PR manager has migraines.”
“Ouch.” He clutched his chest. “You wound me.”
You smiled again - one of those real ones this time, small and soft around the corners. “Maybe you deserve it.”
He stepped closer, low enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him. “Maybe.”
The air shifted.
You hadn’t realized how close he’d gotten until you could see the faint gold in his irises, the small scar under his eye. His wings rustled faintly behind him, feathers brushing against your arm as if by accident.
You swallowed. “You’re still in uniform.”
“Mm.” He hummed, eyes flicking down your figure. “So are you. I like this skirt…it’s my favorite one you wear.”
Your pulse jumped. “You’re my boss.”
“Only till five." He said. Then, quieter, “And it’s way past that.”
You should’ve laughed it off. Should’ve teased him. But instead, you tilted your head slightly, met his eyes, and said, “Unless you have something better than paperwork, I should probably finish this.”
Keigo’s grin turned smug. Dangerous.
“Oh, I’ve got something better.”
____________
The elevator to his apartment was quiet, other than the soft rustle of feathers as his wings folded close to his back. His place was exactly what you expected. Modern, warm, too clean for someone who never stayed still.
“Drink?” He asked.
“Sure.”
He poured something amber into two glasses, and you took yours, eyes scanning the skyline through the window. He leaned against the counter, studying you with that lazy half‑smile.
“You’re quiet.” You said finally. “Not like usual.”
“Mm. Too tired to talk circles.”
“So you actually can stop running your mouth.”
He grinned. “Don’t tell anyone. It’d ruin my image.”
You took a sip, smirking. “You have an image?”
He stepped closer. “Guess you haven’t been paying attention, sweetheart.”
That nickname made your pulse skip. You tried not to show it, bringing your glass back to your lips to hide the twitch of a smile.
He stepped in closer, setting his drink on the edge of the table, his fingers brushing yours for just a second too long. You felt it - that little static pull - and you knew he did too, because he didn’t look away.
You nodded toward the city lights glowing beyond the balcony glass. “Nice view.”
He hummed. “Yeah, it is.”
And he wasn’t looking at the skyline when he said it.
You laughed under your breath, taking another sip “Smooth.”
“Not tryin’ to be.” He leaned a little closer, just enough that you could smell the faint, sharp cologne he wore - something clean under the warmth of musk.
“You always this wound up after work?”
“Only when I’m covering for you and still somehow stuck managing your recruits.”
“Hey." He grinned. “I have full confidence in your ability to juggle everything I throw at you.”
“Oh, I can juggle.” You tipped your drink toward him. “But if you’re trying to butter me up just so I won’t yell at you in the morning meeting…”
“You yell at me every morning meeting.”
“You deserve it.”
He licked his bottom lip, slow. “What else do I deserve?”
The air got heavier between you, thicker than before - less playful. He was still smiling, still all warmth, but there was something else in the way his eyes dropped down your body, lingered on the hem of your skirt.
Your skin prickled. You reached out, fingers brushing the edge of his shirt. “…Is it wrong that I wanna sleep with my boss?”
His smile curved. “Not if your boss is already thinking about it.”
You scoffed, cheeks hot. But, you leaned in.
And when he kissed you - slow, teasing, a little smug - it felt exactly like him. Warm. Smooth. Effortless. The kind of trouble you didn’t even want to avoid.
But it didn’t stay soft.
His hand slid along your waist, thumb brushing just beneath the hem of your blouse like he was testing boundaries he already knew you’d let him cross. You didn’t hesitate - tilting your chin up, kissing him back harder, your fingers curling into the fabric at his chest, nails grazing muscle.
Keigo groaned low in his throat, pulled back just enough to look at you with a crooked grin. “You kiss all your bosses like this?”
You rolled your eyes, breath shallow. “Only the ones who fly.”
He laughed, then he reached down, fingers brushing your glass and set both aside on the table behind you with a quiet clink.
Before you could blink, his hands slid to your thighs. And then he was lifting you, strong hands gripping the backs of your thighs as your skirt rode up, your legs wrapping around his waist like they’d been waiting to. You gasped, arms tightening around his shoulders, and he didn’t hesitate - walking you toward the bedroom like he already knew the route blind.
The kiss deepened with every step, turned messier, hotter. His mouth moved like he wanted to taste every sound you made, like he’d been holding back for weeks and couldn’t anymore. You nipped at his lower lip. He bit yours in return.
“Fuck." He muttered against your mouth. “You’re killin’ me.”
His grip tightened, wings twitching behind him with each step like he was holding himself back from launching. You could feel his heat through your clothes, the hard press of him between your legs as he walked - your hips instinctively grinding once, teasing, and he groaned again.
Your back hit the sheets, heart hammering. For a second, you were too stunned to move. Because it was him.
Keigo Takami.
Hawks. The Pro Hero.
Your boss.
The same man whose calls you transferred. Whose calendar you managed with color-coded tabs. The one you sat across from in endless meetings, nodding while he ignored his recruit applications to flirt with you mid-email. The same one who used to wink at you during press briefings while you took notes.
And now? His mouth was on yours. His hands were on your thighs. And your body was burning.
Your heart pounded faster. You didn’t even notice the way your brows pinched, how your breath caught.
“You’re thinkin’ too hard." He murmured, nosing along your jaw. “You always think this hard when you’re about to fuck someone?”
You scoffed, blinking out of the daze. “You always this cocky before you’ve even taken off your pants?”
“Ah.” He grinned, leaning up on his forearms to look at you. “There she is.”
You reached between you, fingers going to the buttons of your blouse. Your hands were shaking, but you played it off, undoing the top one, then the next, letting him watch.
“If I’m gonna lose my job…" You said, voice steady, “I’m at least gonna enjoy it.”
He laughed again, and it was warm - low as he kissed you, catching your lip between his, deepening it until you were breathless.
Then -
Rip.
Your eyes widened as he tore your blouse open, buttons flying somewhere across the room.
“Takami!”
“I’ll buy you a new one." He muttered against your skin, already kissing down your chest, the heat of his mouth leaving you gasping. “Buy you ten.”
Then he slid down the bed, kissing as he went - slow, deliberate, teasing.
Down your ribs. Down your stomach. His thumbs hooked the waistband of your skirt.
You lifted your hips for him without a word. Then you jolted when his teeth grazed the inside of your leg, your breath stuttering out of you. His tongue followed the same path, warm and slow, licking a stripe just high enough to make your thighs twitch.
“You know how fucking hard it is…" He said between kisses, “…trying to focus when you walk into my office in these little skirts?”
Your fingers tangled in his hair instantly - tugging, rough. He groaned, mouth still moving, kissing over the sensitive skin until you were squirming. Your heels dug into his back, your legs tightening around him, and one of his feathers tickled against your shin.
You gasped quietly.
“Sorry." He said with no remorse at all, glancing up with his mouth still against your thigh. “They have a mind of their own.”
“Mm.” You rocked your hips forward, chasing friction. “Then tell them to behave.”
“I’m busy." He grinned. “Worshipping my very hot assistant.”
And then he licked another slow, deliberate stripe, right along your folds.
Your eyes rolled back. Your back arched. And you forgot entirely about the fact that he was your boss.
He doesn’t stop.
Not even when you squirm - thighs twitching, hips lifting slightly, toes curling against the sheets like your body’s trying to run from the pleasure. His arms hook under your knees, dragging you closer, rough palms spreading your thighs wider like he owns the right to. And when he groans against your cunt, it’s low and deep, a sound that vibrates straight into your core, like you’re the only thing in the world he gives a damn about.
“Hold still, sweetheart.” His voice is muffled against your skin, thick with heat.
His mouth seals over your clit, tongue working in those same slow, unrelenting circles - tight, practiced, maddening - like he’s tracing his initials into your insides. Every flick feels wetter than the last. Messier. Hungrier. And he moans into it - into you - like he can’t help himself.
It shudders through you.
Your hands grip his hair, your back arching, chest heaving like you can’t get enough air.
“K-Keigo - oh my….fuck -”
Your moans splinter apart, tumbling from your mouth while your thighs start to clamp around his head - desperate, trembling. He groans like he likes that too, like he wants more of it, and the sound is obscene.
His whole body is warm.
His skin. His breath. His mouth. The quiet rustle of feathers behind him, twitching every time you whine. His wings twitch when your hips rock against his face.
It spreads.
Heat, thick and low, curling up from the base of your spine and blooming outward. You can’t tell where you end and he begins - it’s just tongue and lips and pressure - so perfect it feels cruel.
“Shit….shit, Keigo.”
He hums again, like he’s satisfied. Like he knew you were close.
But he pulls back at the last second.
Your whole body jolts - your orgasm teetering right at the edge, breath caught in your throat.
“Mm-mm.” He presses a kiss to your inner thigh, tongue darting out to taste the skin there. “Not yet, pretty thing.”
You whimper, one hand clawing at his hair. “Keigo, please -”
“You’ll come when I say so.” He smirks, voice a low hum against your leg. “Don't you want to be a good little assistant and do what I say when I say?”
He dips back down - mouth hot, tongue insistent, circling your clit again with just enough pressure to make you cry out, arching so hard your spine curves off the bed. You’re right there - dizzy, clenching, grinding against his mouth like it’s instinct.
And then he stops again. Just enough to make you whine.
“Keigo…please, please, please…”
“Alright, fine. Go on, sweetheart." He mutters, voice muffled, lips brushing your clit. “Come for me. Come all over my tongue.”
You don’t even get the chance to answer.
It hits fast, harder than you expect - your thighs squeezing tight around his head, your body seizing up as your orgasm rips through you. You pant his name, nails raking down his scalp, your hips grinding helplessly against his face as he groans into you like he never wants to come up for air.
He licks it all up - every drop of slick, every broken sound you make - slow and greedy, like he's memorizing the taste of you.
When you finally go limp, thigh muscles twitching, he pulls back slowly, reluctantly. His lips are pink, glistening. His chest rises and falls in deep, uneven breaths.
He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then tilts his head, grinning, cocky.
“Still thinkin’ about agency rules?” He asks, voice hoarse but teasing.
You can barely breathe, let alone glare. So you just shake your head.
“Good.” He leans forward, kissing the inside of your knee.
He rises, smooth and effortless, standing at the foot of the bed as he strips. First the belt. Then the shirt. Then the pants, slow and deliberate.
You watch him with half lidded eyes - your body still humming, legs weak, mouth parted.
He’s all muscle and lean heat, every line of him graceful but solid. His wings stretch and fold behind him as he crawls onto the bed, lips brushing yours. You taste yourself on his tongue. You moan into his mouth.
Then you tug him down to you, roll him onto his back. He lets you - lets you climb over him, straddle him, bare thighs bracketing his hips.
“Takin’ control, huh?” He says.
You shrug. "Maybe I want a turn being boss."
He groans softly, hands sliding up your thighs like instinct, palms rough and reverent.
“Good, it's hot when you boss me around.” His voice is hoarse, but still light. “Gonna write that into your next performance review.”
You laugh and reach down, fingers wrapping around the base of his cock. He’s already hard and twitching for you, thick and dragging heat along your palm.
“Better give me five stars." You murmur, watching his face as you drag the head of his cock through your slick folds - once, twice, deliberately slow.
The wet sound of it makes him suck in a breath, hips jolting up just a little like he can’t help it.
“Fuck.” He breathes, teeth gritting.
You smirk, rolling your hips forward so the head catches at your entrance, but you don’t sink down yet. Not fully. You hold there, pressed against him, grinding just enough to make him twitch again.
“What’s wrong?” You tease. “You looked so smug a second ago.”
His hands flex against your thighs, but he doesn’t force it - lets you take your time, lets you draw it out. But his jaw’s tight now, his abs tense, breath shallow.
“You tryin’ to kill me?” He mutters, voice strained.
“No." You say, blinking all innocent as you finally start to sink down - inch by slow inch. “Just wanna watch you squirm.”
And god, he does.
His head tips back, lips parting as you take him in. The stretch is deep, hot, your thighs shaking already as your body adjusts to the thickness of him. He feels impossibly big from this angle, pushing into you slow and steady, filling you so deep your vision blurs for a second.
He groans low. “Holy shit. Look at you…” His hands grip your hips, tight now, like he’s holding back from flipping you right there.
You bottom out slowly, thighs trembling as you seat yourself fully - your body hugging him tight, pulsing around him.
After a moment, you shift your weight - grinding your hips in a slow circle once you're fully seated, and it draws a groan out of Keigo that sounds like it’s been pulled from the center of his chest.
“Fuck." He mutters, his fingers digging into your thighs. “You feel so good.”
You start to move, slow at first. A slow rock. A grind. The slick sound of it fills the room, punctuated by the soft creak of the bed and the shallow catch of his breath. His hands slide up your waist again, thumbs stroking over your skin.
“That’s it." He murmurs, breath hot. “Just like that, baby. Ride me.”
You move again, a little harder this time, the wet slide of him inside you hitting deeper with every grind. His head tips back, exposing his throat, and the city light through the window casts over his whole body. His chest rises and falls fast now, sweat glinting off his collarbones, his wings twitching behind him like they’re too overwhelmed to stay still.
“You okay?” You murmur, teasing, your hands planted on his chest for balance as you roll your hips again, harder now - sharp enough to make his breath catch.
“Okay?” He laughs, but it’s strained. “I’m fuckin’ great. I’m-” He cuts himself off with a groan as you slam down a little faster, a little rougher. “God, you’re somethin’ else…”
You grin, grinding down again, feeling the head of his cock drag against that spongy spot inside you. You clench around him just to hear the choked sound he makes - and god, it’s worth it.
You bounce harder - louder now, messier, slick and wet and echoing in the dark. His hands slide to your hips, but he doesn’t take control - not yet. He just lets you use him, eyes locked on the place where your bodies meet like it’s his new religion.
“Look at you…” He breathes. “Dripping all over my cock. Fuckin’ made for it.”
You moan, grinding down against him, chasing friction where his skin is hot between your thighs. His thumb brushes your clit again, teasing, circling, and you stutter - pace faltering for a second as the heat builds faster.
"There it is." He pants, smirking.
You can only manage a choked moan. Then you reach out, dragging your nails gently along the base of his wing - just to feel him jolt.
He hisses through his teeth, hips bucking up into you without warning, a curse catching in his throat.
“Shit. Baby, don’t…”
“Don’t what?” You hum, doing it again. “This?”
“Fuck.” He groans, one hand slamming against the mattress for control.
And that’s when it happens.
He loses it a little - hips starting to move beneath you, fucking up into you now, harder and rougher. The bed shudders under the rhythm, his wings flaring out wide behind him as he grips your hips like he can’t take it anymore.
“You wanna tease?” He huffs, voice wrecked. “Alright, sweetheart. Your turn to squirm.”
He sits up without warning, mouth crashing to yours, one arm banding around your back as the other grabs your ass, holding you flush against him as he drives up into you.
You cry out into his mouth, nails clawing into his shoulders as he grinds into you deep.
The angle hits different now - deeper, sharper - dizzying. You roll your hips to meet his thrusts and he groans like it’s killing him.
“You gonna come for me again?” He whispers against your lips, his voice hot and cocky and almost gentle. “My pretty little assistant gonna paint my cock white?”
You whimper, nodding, your movements getting sloppier now, more desperate. That coil in your gut tightens again - too fast, too much - and he feels it. Feels you start to clamp down on him, walls fluttering, thighs shaking.
It crashes over you hot and blinding. He moans right through it, watching your face as your whole body clenches around him, hips grinding down as you ride it out with his name broken and breathless on your tongue.
He follows you a second later, his head falling forward into your neck, hips stuttering as he groans through gritted teeth. Hot and deep and full. His whole body tight, then shaking, then softening.
You both stay like that for a long moment - breathing hard, skin damp, limbs tangled.
His forehead pressed against your shoulder, arms still around your waist.
“That's promotion worthy.” He mumbles eventually, lips brushing your collarbone.
You laugh weakly. “Good, I could use the raise."
"I'll give you anything you want."
You stay there for a while - sprawled across his chest, flushed and slick, heart still beating hard against his. His arms are loose around you now, fingertips drawing lazy circles down your spine. His cock is still inside you, twitching slightly, warm and deep.
Neither of you speaks.
Until he shifts.
Keigo curls an arm around your waist and rolls, flipping you underneath him in one smooth motion. Then he lifts his weight up onto his knees, rolls his hips once, slow and thick, and your body jolts from the inside out.
“Still with me, pretty girl?” He murmurs.“Or did I fuck you too dumb already?”
You try to answer, but it comes out like a gasp - your hips tilting up into his on instinct as he starts to move again. A slow, steady rhythm. Deep. Smooth.
His eyes never leave your face.
“You’re so beautiful.” He groans, one hand running up the outside of your thigh. “So fuckin’ sweet like this.”
You shiver when his fingers hook under your knee, and then he lifts your leg again, drapes it over his shoulder, leans down and kisses your calf so gently it feels like a tease.
Then his mouth opens and he sucks a little mark into your skin, just under the bend of your knee, his tongue warm and slow.
You moan and he smiles against your skin.
“That’s it.” He pulls back enough to look at you, eyes heavy. “Give me those little sounds. I need ’em.”
He shifts his weight and grabs your other thigh now, firm and possessive, and throws your other leg up to join the first, fully folding you in half beneath him.
Your breath catches. You can feel everything. The stretch. The depth. The burn.
Keigo groans. “Fuck, baby…this angle.” He huffs, cock dragging along your walls. “You’re squeezin’ me so tight. Feels too fuckin’ good…”
His hands press down against the backs of your thighs, holding them in place, keeping you folded. He’s over you now, panting, eyes dark and hungry as he starts to thrust harder. The rhythm picks up again - thick, slick, loud. Skin meeting skin. The wet sound of your cunt sucking him in, over and over.
And your little noises come back fast. Those whimpers. Those soft cries. The hitched little gasps that escape every time his cock slams deep, bottoming out right against that spot that makes your eyes roll.
“That’s my girl.” He doesn’t smirk this time - he just watches you with a raw kind of awe. “Been thinkin’ about this since the moment I saw you walk into my office.”
He’s not teasing now. He means it.
“My perfect little assistant." He murmurs, thrusting harder. “Knew you’d feel like this. Knew you’d look like this. Cryin’ on my cock.”
You whine, louder, and his head drops, mouth open against the inside of your thigh as he grinds into you, eyes flicking up to watch your face.
“Come on, baby.” He licks his lips. “Just one more.”
You don’t even hear yourself when you come again. It tears through you hard - hotter than the last, sharper. You clamp down around him, thighs shaking where they’re still braced over his shoulders, and everything goes white at the edges. You see stars.
Your mouth falls open but no sound comes out at first. Just a broken breath. A gasp. Your hands claw at the sheets, head tipped back against the pillow.
And he follows fast.
Keigo drops his weight into the thrust, buries himself as deep as you’ll take him - and groans into the curve of your neck, low in his throat. His hips stutter, and he doesn’t try to pull out.
He just comes inside you again. Thick, full, and deep.
You twitch under him - overstimulated, hips jerking away - and he groans at the feel of it. His cock still pulsing, still buried inside you, twitching with every tiny movement.
"Sorry, baby.” He mutters against your skin.
You flinch again.
He smirks, just a little. Can’t help it. “Too much?”
You nod, barely.
And that’s when he finally pulls out. Slow. Gentle. Careful not to press too hard as your body tenses again at the sensitivity.
He looks down for a second - at the mess between your thighs, at his pearly cum leaking out of your folds and it hits him all at once.
Maybe I should’ve worn a condom.
Yeah.
Probably.
He’ll worry about it later.
Keigo eases off the bed and pads into the bathroom. He comes back a moment later with a warm washcloth and kneels beside you.
“Hey,” He murmurs softly, brushing your thigh. “Lemme clean you up, yeah?”
You hum in response, barely coherent, and he’s already wiping between your legs, slow and careful.
When he’s done, he tosses the cloth into a laundry basket and leans over to his dresser, pulling out the first clean shirt he can find. Faded, soft, way too big.
He slides it over your head gently, guiding your arms through the sleeves.
“There we go." He whispers, smoothing the hem down over your stomach.
"Thanks." You murmur, voice quiet and hoarse.
“’Course.”
Then he grabs a pair of his sweats - gray, loose - and crouches again, lifting your hips and tugging them on for you, adjusting the waistband so it sits snug on your hips.
He kisses you once. Then again. Slower the second time, warm and full.
And then he finally stands, dragging on a pair of boxers without ceremony. Wings stretching once behind him, then settling.
You watch him as he climbs into bed, settles behind you, and pulls you against his chest like it’s instinct.
No hesitation. No space between. Just warmth.
Chest against your back, lips pressing into your shoulder as his arm wraps around your waist, pulling you in.
“You good?” He whispers.
You nod once, curled into him.
His thumb brushes your hip. And that’s it.
He exhales, then smirks.
Yeah, his assistant is too good to him.
____________
It’s a slow afternoon at the agency. Paperwork mostly. PR check-ins. A minor debrief about some clean-up operation. Boring, quiet stuff.
Keigo’s sitting at his desk, feet kicked up. His fingers tap against his tablet screen as he scrolls through his calendar, mostly zoning out - until he sees something that makes him blink.
MEDITATION - 4:30 p.m.
He stares at it.
No other notes. No meeting room. No details.
Just Meditation.
His eyes narrow slightly. Then he taps out of it, drags hismself from the chair, and heads out of his office.
You’re at your desk, typing something. He leans against the doorframe. Arms crossed. Head tilted.
“Hey.”
You glance up, cool and polite. “Takami-san.”
“Quick question." He says, lifting his tablet and wiggling it slightly. “What’s this meditation session on my calendar?”
You blink. Then smile. Small, sly. “Scheduled stress relief.”
He pauses. Still leaning there, watching you. “Stress relief?”
You nod once. Then - slow, deliberate - you cross your legs under the desk, and then uncross them again. And in the motion, he catches the flash of lace between your thighs.
Lacy black panties. Under that pencil skirt.
Keigo goes still.
Then he grins.
“Oh." He says softly, licking his bottom lip like it’s a reflex. “Right. Yeah. That kind of meditation.”
You glance back at your screen like you’ve already moved on. “Thought it’d help with your performance.”
“Oh, it does.” He pushes off the doorframe, stepping in closer now, lowering his voice. “Might need a few extra sessions, though.”
“I can make room in your schedule.”
He hums, eyes flicking briefly down your body.
“Perfect." He says. “Make sure it’s on my calendar tomorrow too.”
You nod once. “Recurring appointment?”
“Every damn day." He says, already smirking as he backs toward his office door, wings flaring just a little for show. “Gotta stay centered, right?”
“Right." You echo.
And he’s still smiling when he closes the door behind him - knowing full well he’s not getting anything done for the rest of the day.
