vali

[bfbkg]

22+47 (6.8k)

— bakugou katsuki x f!reader

synopsis: trusted with finding his heartbroken friend in a sex club, bakugou finds you instead.

warnings: nsfw, heavy exhibitionism, oral (f receiving), fondling, grinding, kissing, mentions of oral (m receiving), public sex, everyone’s naked, everyone’s horny, they’re in a sex club, in my head this is set in germany, still somewhat cute because i am bfbkg

an: tumblr has me on a mature ban which is funny because this is very mature. let’s see if anyone gets this on their dash or if it’s in the tags xoxoxo

bakugou katsuki has stupid friends that make stupid choices.

“stop fuckin’ lookin’ at me like that.” 

“what? you gotta get more confident man, you look good. everyone’s gonna be naked in there,” kirishima chuckles, staring down his blonde friend even though they’ve seen each other naked more than they can count. changing rooms, missions abroad with one hotel room, even an undercover situation where they had to bathe outside in a river. kirishima’s voice turns to a whisper, clutching his clothing to his chest, “don’t turn around there’s naked people behind you.”

“fuck off,” bakugou grunts stepping in unison with kirishima in the queue to slide his clothing across the cloakroom desk. “i’m gonna kill sparky once we find him.”

“arm.” the attendant demands, this bored looking guy who’s probably seen more testicles this one night than bakugou has seen his own.

“for what?” bakugou spits and it only comes out rude because he’s nervous. he’s already had his phone snatched away at the door, which explains why kaminari hasn’t been replying to their texts and now he’s standing with his dick out before a clothed man.

“cloakroom number. you’ve got no pockets.”

bakugou blinks as kirishima chuckles, handing over his clothes and holding out the inside of his muscled arm. bakugou does the same, frowning when he gets a red stamp on his left wrist.

22.

“can’t believe you’ve been to this shithole before,” bakugou grunts. he can’t stop fixing his hair, rubbing his nose, then adjusting his dick. there’s no clothes to fiddle with or pockets to stuff his hands into.

he’s following kirishima down this smoky purple led lit hallway and he can hear bustles of conversation and slow jazz getting louder with every step.

“denks took me once last summer. it was fun, everyone’s so friendly and it’s definitely not a shithole. if anything it’s pretty freeing, very clean. nothing to hide.”

he’s got no clue what that’s supposed to mean, not until he follows behind kirishima through these red velvet curtains and analyses the scene before him.

there’s a minty smell in the air, a thick layer of smoke so you can only make out details of someone once they’re beside you. the room is coated in that same pale purple light with people everywhere. multiple body shapes, genders and the only accessories being earrings. 

bakugou’s never had nudity before him at this amount. he knows his friends have taken part in threesomes, a few foursomes but bakugou’s only ever been intimate with two people in his life. sex has never been a focus, not when he was so busy with saving the world… and his drunk friend who’s somewhere wallowing about his ex girlfriend.

“some people have their fuckin’ underwear on. i coulda kept mine!” bakugou whispers in his red headed friend’s ear even nudging him in annoyance.

it’s intimating. there’s women lounging in sofas, legs crossed, legs spread. arms cuddling another in conversation. two women are making out against the wall, her fingers snaking down her stomach and stuffing into the others pussy. 

bakugou’s eyes widen, swings around so his back is facing them.

only to be facing a woman straddling a man’s lap, kissing down his neck, wrist flicking between their bodies. he looks to the bar and there’s three men talking, one with his hand on the others lower back pinging at his underwear band. then the third pops a pill in his mouth and swallows it down with an orange liquid. the men giggle, a palm on a chest, a leg between another, a tongue in an ear and—

kirishima shrugs and bakugou can tell he’s not fazed by anything. in fact, he’s interested. looking at the lean man against the wall, swishing a drink by the stem of his glass. he chews down on his bottom lip once he locks eyes with him.

“okay, let’s split up, he last said he was at the back? incase he’s moved, you stay at the front.” kirishima orders, seemingly now in a rush to get everything sorted. 

bakugou eyes the man who’s staring down his friend. then the man looks at him, gaze slinking down his body, his cock. winks. bakugou’s eyes go to golf balls.

“you’re gonna leave me?”

kirishima laughs, already ducking out of the conversation, “i’m sure you’ll be safe, bro. you’ll get hit on a few times just say whatever you usually say.”

“how the fuck are you gonna find me again?”

“this place isn’t that big. i’ll check upstairs.”

“there’s a fuckin’ upstairs?” bakugou mumbles to himself once kirishima disappears within the purple haze. 

bakugou knows he could be paranoid but he can feel people staring at him. it’s unlike the usual stare he gets as a hero, fans impressed with his quirk, who have been following him for years and are excited to see him in the flesh. instead the stares he’s getting now, as he wanders through this faux house gathering are charged.

people are eying him like fresh meat, as if they can feel that this is his first time being naked in a public space. his anxiety smells good, only brewing arousal in these people.

a man ogles his arms like they’re chunks of chocolate. a woman stares straight at his cock and smiles when it twitches. he’s about to beg a security guard who stands in a suit at the door for his jacket until he remembers why he’s here.

to find his stupid fuckin’ friend who’s drunk himself in a sad stupor. nobody else here seems to be on that wave. chatting like they’re at a casual houseparty but lacking all their clothes.

bakugou circles one room, ignoring the whispers of two women sitting cross legged on the carpet. one is leaning on her hand behind her back, breasts out and perked.

“hey handsome,” she says and bakugou can only bring himself to nod.

he scatters into the next room. people making out on a sofa. a group of five are playing spin the bottle around the table. a woman with blonde hair is in heaven, moaning with her head flung back as everyone watches on. a few men touch themselves to it but pull away when another man springs from under the table, wiping his mouth. 

“fuck, i’ve been wanting to do that!”

“spin the goddamn bottle, i wanna try!”

one of the guys notices him looking, “oi! wanna play? i think you're my friend’s type.”

bakugou doesn’t even bother to reply, glancing away with the snap of his head. one step forward and he bumps into a body.

soft and shorter than him. skin on skin, his hand brushing against a breast as he stabilises himself and clutches on your arm so you don’t fall in the process.

bakugou has to blink a few times to get his vision straight. just so he can be sure what he’s seeing is correct.

bakugou’s not sure what word to describe you but the first word that comes to mind is glittery. you’ve got a light glitter across your perfect chest, your arms, your— he stops once he sees a tuft of hair below your stomach. heat rises to his cheeks faster than ever before and he knows, he fucking feels the rush of blood to his cock.

you’re so fucking pretty.

“you’ve got glitter on me,” is the first thing he says but makes no move to wipe it off. instead he looks at that spot where your neck meets your shoulder, how smooth it looks. then, the plain gold hooped earrings in your ears and your shiny watery eyes. nothing about you is symmetrical, not the shape of your eyebrows or your breasts. your lips are luscious, clearly moisturised and he wonders if you’ve kissed anyone tonight. 

bakugou katsuki has never met anyone naked for the first time. especially not the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid his eyes on. nothing could have prepared him for this. nothing kirishima prepped him about in the car, definitely nothing in his hero education.

you giggle, butter smooth, hands at your waist and your head cocked to the side like you’re analysing.

“gives something for people to remember me by,” you grin, your teeth are not perfect but your smile is so insanely adorable. bakugou steps forward. “it’s also a hack for any married men. their wives get to find out what they’re doing in the evenings.”

bakugou’s brows rise. “that’s smart.”

“yeah, it happens more than you think.”

bakugou inhales. it’s a little shaky when he takes in your citrus perfume and the mint that feels like it’s being pumped in the air. you must be able to tell how on edge he is right now, overwhelmed and even more so now with your presence. he’s grateful you don’t look past his adonis belt, because then you’d understand exactly how he’s feeling.

“can i touch you? you’re so built. i’ve never seen anyone who looks like you,” you murmur, transfixed by his body. your eyes dart across his pectorals, his brown nipples and then his abdomen. bakugou can’t distinguish whether it’s interest in a biological way or sexually. especially when you stare at the soft tissue pink scar right in the centre of his chest. 

bakugou swallows a gulp of his spit. he’s supposed to be finding… they must be pumping pheromones in the air because somehow he’s willing to get on his knees in front of everyone and stuff his head between your legs.

“fuck,” he sniffs abruptly, “y-yeah, you can.”

the little “yay!” that tumbles through you surprises him, creates a whole new folder in his head of how you’re endearing. right beside how sexy you look.

you flatten both your palms on his pectorals first, causing bakugou to inhale sharply. his chest is falling and rising hastily just from that, from you being fucking pretty and naked and interested in him. you squeeze, lips in an o shape in shock.

“they’re softer than i thought. wow, you’re beautiful,” you say with a smile, thumbs brushing over his nipples. bakugou is forced to grip a bookshelf beside him. “you must be in the gym everyday.”

“n-not exactly,” he manages as your finger strokes the smooth scar on his chest, then the two darker brown fleshy scars at his side. they don’t hurt him anymore, haven’t hurt him for years but somehow you touching them so inquisitively has sparks flying through them. “i’m a…”

does he say his job? can you guess?

“you don’t have to tell me now if you don’t want to. maybe later.”

you draw your fingers across his eight pack, a finger dipping in every curve. he feels firm, hard, undoubtedly strong. like consistency, persistence and pain was needed to look like this. he doesn’t notice you press your thighs together but he does notice how you bite your lip when you finally gaze down at his cock.

leaking, red and prominent against his lower stomach.

“even your dick is pretty. where the hell are you from?” you laugh, “i’m surprised nobody has snatched you up yet.”

he wouldn’t want anyone to talk to him but you.

“i think you’re pretty, too.” 

bakugou cringes as soon as the words leave his mouth. how childish running around the sandpit to not catch cooties did that sound? 

but again, to his surprise, you coo at him. your hands still haven’t left his body, pressing down on his sides, up to squeeze his shoulders. bakugou feels like he’s on fire, raging from unburied tension. he grits his teeth because he thinks he could come from you just touching his upper body, staring at him with your little smile.

“that’s so cute. thank you,” you reply honestly and bakugou gives a soldier like nod, “is this your first time here? you’ve got the first time nerves.”

“‘m not nervous,” but all the blood from his head is rushing right down to his crotch. you're massaging his shoulders now and bakugou is sure he’s about to loose stability in his knees.

“okay,” you don’t argue, “but it’s your first time?”

he wants to say he’s not a fucking virgin but he knows that’s not what you mean and it does feel like his first time all over again. definitely reminiscent of his first time watching pornography back in his room as a teen. over interested, horny but refusing to touch himself yet. 

“yeah. my friends are here somewhere.”

it’s as if you’re magnetic, unable to take your hands off him. now they’re on his biceps, squeezing every couple seconds like you’re checking he’s still there.

“oh i know what that’s like. my first time here, i found my friend sucking this guy off less than half an hour in. she wasn’t even on anything.”

bakugou blinks, standing there dumbly like a mannequin that needs to be clothed. his cock aches.

“are you on anythin’?” 

you shake your head, “no! my usual guy who i get stuff from isn’t here today, so just a few shots earlier.”

usual guy. this isn’t the place for him to feel jealous, it’s not, but he wonders if there’s anything you’d like him to give you. anything. 

two girls and a guy walk past you and him, first acknowledging you with a little wave and giving him those same hungry eyes as everyone before. with his attention away from you, he realises how many people aren’t only staring at him but you. were people getting off on you touching him? there's a girl and guy on the sofa clearly talking about you, did they want you too? one of the men around the spin the bottle round table has an envious look in his eye and bakugou wasn’t sure if it was towards him or you. he shifts his body so that guy wouldn’t be able to see you.

“what’s your name?” bakugou asks. though he eyes your wrist.

a red stamped 47.

“yn,” bakugou’s not sure if you’re telling the truth. “you can touch me too if you want. i’d like it if you did.”

he didn’t come here to talk to women, he didn’t come here to fondle women, even if they’d like him to do so. kirishima has probably found kaminari right? they’re both grown ass men and kirishima has been here before. it’s fine.

you can sense the carousel of revolving thoughts in his head. so slowly, as if he’s a sensitive kitten that will run away at any loud noise, you remove your hands from his body and wrap them around his wrists. you drag his hands half an inch away from your chest. “it’s okay, i promise.”

there’s the space for him to decline, your grip loose so he can pull away. but he wants too, he just probably shouldn’t be.

“f-fuck,” he whispers, pressing his hands on your clavicle. you’re real, alive and letting him touch you. “if i touch you anymore, i will come and i can’t fuckin’ come like this.”

you frown playfully, a little laugh, “why not?”

bakugou stills, “what d’you mean? shit’s embarrassing, i need you to come first—,”

your hands are back on his wrists, sliding his palms down to the fat of your breasts. his hands are massive, able to grab both in a single hand. you exhale softly as if you just took a hit of endorphins. 

“what’s your name?”

“katsuki.” 

he doesn’t even have in him to lie.

“nothing is embarrassing here, katsuki. maybe if you fall flat on your face. that still applies.”

he squeezes your breasts, tender incase he hurts you. it only makes you step in closer to him, your arms wrapping around his neck. “you’ve got such warm hands.”

bakugou’s thankful you’re cautious to not press your body into his cock. “i’ve never seen a woman like you.”

your eyes are fluttered shut once he starts to massage, glitter from your body transferring onto his palms. it’s all over his body too, like you both are born from the same star.

“i wanna take you home and squeeze you. you’re so adorable.” you whine, opening your eyes to give him a pout.

he doesn’t get this reaction from women, usually he’s the one in charge throwing them on a bed, kissing them first. he’s definitely never been called adorable or cute but you’ve got him tied around your finger, pressing for more attention.

“you guys look gorgeous together, by the way,” a rather pretty man says in passing and your smile beams.

“thank you, honey!”

then your attention is back on bakugou like you knew he was crumbling without you. 

“you can pinch them if you want.” you offer, taking your fingers through the hair on his nape. 

bakugou looks at his hands on your breasts. his hands are ugly he thinks. always too sweaty, scarred all over though he always keeps his nails clean and cut. they drown your body, your flesh spilling between each of his fingers.

“you’re so…,” he’s out of words to describe how angelic you are, rolling your perked nipple with the pad of his thumb. you’re so reactive, bubbles of light delighted exhales. when he pinches your left bud you moan and bakugou is forced to squeeze the base of his cock.

you laugh at the flush of red in his cheeks, his jaw sharp as he grits down. he’s taking heavy controlled breaths, looking up at the ceiling to calm himself down.

this man, katsuki, is stupidly gorgeous. walking around this event like he’s so unaware of himself. it’s what drew you to him. you’ve figured out pretty quickly that he’s ridden with anxiety, pent up with arousal and is so determined to not release.

“i’m sorry, katsuki. it’s not because of me is it?” your hand flies to your mouth, but the giggles spill out. 

he should be embarrassed at your laugh at his clear inability to control himself over your naked body and touching your breasts. about to nut in a room full of people over some half-baked fondling. but he isn’t, it feels like you’re both in this together.

“‘course it’s ’cause of you. i just need to—,” he runs his hand up and down his shaft twice, before letting go. he blinks at you, your pointed nipples, your confident smirk. he wonders how you'd smell if he dipped between your legs. “i’m good now.”

as good as he can be in this situation. he’s fucked.

you give him an understanding nod, biting down your smile. “if you want, we can sit down. talk a little?”

you’re like a fairy. not those dainty petite ones out of those fairytales but a real, glowing one with your palm out for him to take. you almost feel like a figment of his imagination, like he’s suffering from object permanence if he isn’t touching you. he can’t tell if you’re laughing at him just a little bit, he’s not sure if he cares. he’s out of his depth here, getting whiplash with his limits adjusting by the second. 

there’s no chance he’s having sex with anyone in public. he’d do anything you ask him to and you don’t even have to say please.

bakugou slides his palm into your smaller one and allows himself to gaze down your back as you drag him away somewhere. your back is smooth, curved and he imagines kissing down your spine. your ass, he glances away, then he looks back. two round globes that ripple with every step you make. he wants to see his fingers gripping your flesh, how it shakes when he slaps a cheek.

he glances at your face to find you smirking at the fact he was so clearly checking you out.

“s-sorry, it’s—,”

“you can look at me, katsuki. we’re all naked here.”

you stop him in front of an empty maroon leather sofa though there’s still other people in the room. a group of four playing a card game on a blanket. a compulsory couple making out on another sofa, always someone making out somewhere. he should be used to it now but beside that couple there’s a man with a man and a woman kneeling on the floor licking his dick.

bakugou rips his eyes away from the scene when you drop yourself into the sofa, sitting sideways with your legs curled. you perch your arm on the back of the sofa, head resting in your palm. you tap the space beside you.

“sit, gorgeous.”

he does because he can see your pussy when he stands. was there a shine there? is it because of him? bakugou flops down, apologising abruptly when the weight of him causes your side of the sofa to bounce.

“it’s okay, you’re a big guy after all,” you say, snuggling up close to him. your hand is back on his chest but he notices your eyes widen.

“what?” 

your finger swipes at the precome that’s brushed at his abs from how slouched he’s sitting. you’re quick, eager, like you’ve been caught with your fingers in the peanut butter jar.

bakugou’s never been so hard in his life, his head is a bulging red though the colour dimmed down under the purple lights. he flings his head back on the chair but his hand finds your thigh. squeezes.

“you’re killin’ me. i didn’t expect this when i came here. i was supposed to be in and out.”

“that’s honest. you didn’t expect to be turned on in a room full of naked people.” there’s a moan in the background, a couple. “or you didn’t expect to find me?”

bakugou opens his eyes to look at you, you’re clearly more presentable than he is right now. his eyes are watery, pupils blown out like just taken something and he already looks like he’s been run through tonight. fucked in all types of ways. his lips are parted, staring at your smiling ones.

“you. i don’t even know what to say to you.”

he doesn’t know what’s appropriate in this context. with people fucking and sucking all around him, how honest can he be?

a gasp gets stuck in bakugou’s windpipe when your hand cradles his cheek, thumb brushing the blushed apple right under his eye. the movement presses your breasts together, has bakugou once again wondering how the hell you’re real right now.

“tell me what you’re thinking. your first thought.”

he feels as if he’s about to start salivating. he can see every one of your eyelashes, curled up and batting against your cheeks with every blink. your eyes are caring, looking at him softly like you know he needs to be looked after here, a little push of confidence. bakugou’s never been treated like this in his life.

“i wanna eat you out. feel you come on my tongue. so fuckin’ bad, i feel like i’m going insane.” 

he notices your thighs press together now, how your body shivers, how you snuggle closer to him with your breasts against his bicep.

“hearing you say that is going to make me drip onto this sofa.” your voice is like silk, weaving in one ear and out the other. 

bakugou’s hand slides from your thigh to your ass, pinching you roughly, arousal uncontrolled. 

“i was thinkin’ how the fuck is everyone able to just fuck in public here and now i’m close to beggin’ you to let me. just a taste.” he can barely pronounce a consonant, all his words slurring together, drunk on everything you are. 

“you sure you want to? you don’t have to,” but you’re just taunting him. you can see how much he wants to, if not in his eyes but in his raging cock slapped against his chest. you stretch a bare leg across his lap and this large, beautiful man moans for you. 

this is probably your favourite type. hot and ready after some touching. wanting to please you just from the sight of you alone. definitely helps that he’s built like a god and looks as if he can back up whatever he puts down.

“please let me,” he groans and you watch as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, “i’ll do it here, let me do it here for you.”

you don't say a word, laying back on the sofa and slowly opening your legs. 

bakugou feels like he’s about to shut down. your shine catches the light, gloss covering your lips, trickling down to between your ass. you’re pretty everywhere and he can smell how much you need a release. his heart raps against his chest like he just finished a sprint and he grabs the base of his cock whilst gritting his teeth.

“fuck, sorry. i’m tryin’ so hard not to bust. i fuckin’ can’t.” he’s blubbering away, unable to take his eyes from between your legs. you’re so fucking pretty. “so perfect. where the fuck have you been all my life?”

you’re laughing again, propping up your head at the arm rest as bakugou adjusts his body to have his head between your thighs. you ruffle his hair, tugging it lightly before letting go.

“you’re so adorable. i knew you’d be good for me.”

that has bakugou dragging his eyes away from your pussy to your face. “i’m good for you?”

he isn’t the submissive one in sex, in his life. he takes control of everything, he’s the one telling others where to go and what to do and… here he isn’t. here he’s waiting for your next word and there’s a couple people watching it happen. fuck, more people are in the room now. sitting on other sofas, staring at him staring at you like you created the stars in the sky.

“yes katsuki, so good. you said you wanted me, have a taste.”

the permission has him purring like a new shiny engine, both his thumbs spreading you apart and bakugou feels rewarded. thick sweetness pouring from your hole and he’s quick to lap it up so it doesn’t get on the sofa. he can’t waste any of you, how disrespectful that would be. your exhales are bubbling with every lick bakugou makes, firstly careful like he’s testing the waters before he dives in.

he grips your thighs like a man starved, the first piece of meat he’s seen in days. then he starts to rock his face into you. messy like nobody taught the man any manners. licks stripes across you so everything’s contained, moans sending vibrations through you because you taste even better than he could imagine. a sweet tang, that has him rolling his eyes to the back of his head. 

bakugou is so consumed by you, by taste, scent and sight, that he forgets about his own hard cock and the crowd that has formed. 

“can i touch you—,” it’s another voice, one said to your katsuki but he’s busy.

“don’t touch him,” you bite, grinding your hips up into his mouth, back arching when he suctions his plush lips over your clit, “fuck, katsuki! you’re doing so well, baby. you’re going to make me come.”

bakugou’s too engrossed, focused on your sounds and words to guide him, to ensure he’s doing the best he can. but you notice, you notice the jealous eyes, the aroused ones, even the curious ones in the corner. there’s even word spreading round to other rooms of what’s happening, of this sexy newcomer that has his head between your thighs. 

“she’s so hot, she’s never let me do that.”

“who is he… who are they? d’you think they’d want me as a third?”

“i’m getting hard again just watching this.”

everything here is lewd, this is a protected place for your wildest fantasies to come true. the attention only encourages your orgasm, the teary red eyes of this stranger dragging you to the edge.

“need you to come on my face,” he grunts like a raging beast, lifting up on his knees to push yours by your head. 

he needs a better position, one to get right inside of you, have your orgasm stretch as long as possible. 

you mewl at the burn in your thighs, but it’s welcomed as his wet prodding tongue circles your clit again and again before sucking harshly. he’s created his own rhythm. a paw clutches at your breast as he grunts, ruby eyes staring at you for a reaction.

“we’ve got ourselves fans, katsuki,” you whisper to him and he can tell you are close, eyes fluttering, almost completely gone. 

he slips two fingers into you and pre from his cock leaks onto his chest at how wet you are. now, bakugou finally pays attention to all the eyes in the room with his mouth slick with you. the couple that were making out have pulled apart to stare at you. there’s a man running his fist up and down himself. there’s groups of people just watching, more coming in as his fingers pump in and out of you.

how the fuck has he gotten here? a new flush of heat floods him, pride at everyone seeing how well he treats you. that you’re moaning and wailing for him.

“you like everyone watchin’ you, huh? you want everyone to see how pretty you look when you come?”

you look delirious, biting down on your lip as you nod, trying to lock your knee around his neck to bring him back to you.

“yes. i want everyone to see me come because of you.”

he doesn’t understand a thing about right now, just that he needs to take you there. 

so he does, loud squelches of his fingers curling along your walls and his lips sucking your clit like he needs it for his survival. your orgasm rocks through you, bursts of come seeping from your hole and bakugou tries his best to keep it in his fingers, clicking around them and grunting when some spills. 

your body vibrates, legs tensing in the air as sweat gathers at your temples. you’re murmuring swears with whines and your grip on his head gets stronger to keep him there through your orgasm. 

there’s multiple other moans through the room, conversation about you and katsuki but it’s gone mute as white flashes your vision. once bakugou’s sure he’s lapped you all up, sucked you completely off his fingers, he kisses your stomach lightly, fixated on the empty pulsing between your legs. 

“you good? wasn’t too much?” he asks you as your chest falls and rises.

you can barely manage to lift yourself up so you take his hand, “loved it. i knew you’d be good with your mouth.”

you still notice the urgency in his eyes so you look over at his cock, about to reach for it.

“you both are hot. mind if i join?” a man with dark hair, toned. 

“no. fuck off,” bakugou snarls, lifting you up so you’re wrapped under an arm, tucked to his side. “you’re lucky we’re lettin’ you even watch.”

your smile blooms, awarding bakugou with kisses along his shoulder, a soft bite where his neck meets. “it’s your turn now, katsuki. need to take care of you before you pass out on me.”

you’re both sitting so intimately. you look exhausted after your orgasm and your skin is tacky with sweat against his. yet he holds you tight, skin to skin, your arms circling his neck.

“you don’t have to. i can sort this at home,” he doesn’t know why he says this. is he being polite? he’s now aware of the eyes around him. some people have dispersed since he stopped eating you out. others now just littered around the room.

“no,” you whine, a kiss on his jaw. he’s yet to kiss your lips. “i want to make you come. want to say thank you.”

your face is a few inches from his, hanging onto him like a koala. he’s committing this all to memory, the red printed 47 on your wrist. how your eyes are glassy like you owe him more than just an orgasm. how you gripped his hair once you noticed how many people were watching.

“can i kiss you?” his fingers run down your sides.

“so cute,” you whisper against his lips, sliding onto his open mouth and thrusting your tongue inside. 

the kiss is amazing, sexy. has your hips moving against his side without warning. you can feel his boost of confidence as he sucks on your tongue, tilting his head to get deeper down your throat. he bites down on your bottom lip, hating to be away from you for a second before his lips land on you again. he tastes like you and something sweet and it’s all effortless as he begins to push you back down onto the sofa, thick forearms by your head so he can begin to grind between your sensitive legs. 

bakugou doesn’t last long at all, he knows he wouldn’t be able to. as your legs wrap around his waist, all he wants is a pussy job. to feel you wet and soaked around his cock. but three thrusts from you with your tongue in his mouth and bakugou bursts all over your chest. his groan is incredible, has you clinging onto him in necessity.

it’s one jolt of come, then his face goes slack, grunts of “fuck, couldn’t stop myself.” hating how he couldn’t go on for longer, even though he’s been burning since he saw you.

“it’s okay baby, it’s all for me. i love that it’s all for me,” you say to him, working him through his weak thrusts as he’s unable to even kiss you, just transferring his hot breath into your mouth. another jolt and his seed pours. “you’re so sexy. i’ve missed you.”

that makes bakugou laugh, his come gathering in your tummy button, under your breasts and through the hair on your mound. “i’ve fuckin’ missed you too. where have you been?”

bakugou’s barely conscious as he lays beside you out of breath and out of any will to move.

“sorry, i know i’ve made a mess—,”

you tut, but you only mean it sweetly when he glances over at you, “stop apologising. there’s wipes and tissues under the chair.”

“that was so sexy, if you guys are ever looking for two more—,”

“no!” you and katsuki blurt, “we’re good.” 

as the girl walks away, bakugou sighs delightfully, reaching for the pack of wipes to clean up. 

“wait, wait,” you say, scooping up his come from your stomach on your finger and stuffing it in your mouth. 

bakugou stares with a slacked jaw, reaching over to kiss the corner of your lips as you swallow.

“are you gonna let me see you again? maybe out of here?”

you cock your head to the side as he wipes over your stomach, then your thighs. 

you take longer than needed to reply, enough time for bakugou to mumble, “please?”

“what the fuck!? there you are!” kirishima bustles in, stomping over with kaminari behind him still looking heartbroken but now considerably more interested in whatever's just gone down. “no way, kacchan? seriously?”

kirishima’s eyes flicker over you still laying on the sofa as bakugou wipes you down, very obvious about everything that’s happened.

“good for you man,” he says solemnly, slapping his hand on bakugou’s shoulder.

“kacchan?” you ask.

“short for katsuki,” he says into your hair and there’s something inside you that bursts in delight that he trusted you with his actual name. 

“this is yn,” he blurts, knocking his head with yours. the fuck is he supposed to do, caught just having sex in a sex club with a beautiful woman by his two friends, “she’s sweet.”

kaminari laughs wetly, “course she is. how did he find someone and i lost someone. the love of my life.”

“sorry about him. still distraught. i found him asleep upstairs—,”

“then i woke up to him sucking off this guy—,”

“shut up,” kirishima whines.

“was it that same guy we saw when we walked in?” bakugou asks and he’s met with a slow nod, that becomes a small smile in remembrance.

the dynamic of katsuki and his friends wasn’t what you expecting. you weren’t sure what you were expecting really, but it wasn’t this. light laughter between them both, all three of them jacked and muscled like they have the same hobbies.

“anyway we’re heading out now, you coming with kacchan? or you wanna stay with yn here?”

bakugou looks to you. he wants to be anywhere you are. maybe do more with you, talk to you. find out what you do for work, your dreams, your family. he wants to touch you in his bedroom, without a crowd.

“i’ll meet you at the cloakroom in fifteen.” 

with two waves to you, you look over at bakugou with a pout. “you’re leaving?”

“you can come with me? this isn’t my thing,” he looks around the room, “not at all. but i wanna spend more time with you. maybe outta here?” 

it’s the same nervousness from earlier but instead of coming out jumpy, he’s unable to make eye contact, hands unable to leave your thighs. 

“okay… i’ll say goodbye to a few people and meet you outside?”

bakugou doesn’t hide his shock at you agreeing. he was expecting push back, this being a once in a lifetime situation where he meets the most beautiful girl of his dreams and never again. but you rise to your feet, taking his hand like you’re helping him up.

on your tiptoes, you kiss his cheek, “i’ll be quick okay?”

he shakes his head, “take your time.”

with kirishima and kaminari clothed an seated at the front of the car, bakugou sighs for the fifth time.

“it’s been ten minutes bro, she said she will come, she’s coming,” kaminari says through the window, his eyes closed. “you won’t be let down. not like i was.”

bakugou stands leaning with his arms crossed against the car, kicking a rock.

“maybe she doesn’t notice you without your dick out,” kirishima laughs, which only makes kaminari laugh too.

“fuck off, we all had our dicks out—,”

“you know you’ve got glitter on your neck?”

“sorry for taking so long, they couldn’t find my clothes!”

you look completely different yet completely the same, under the harsh yellow streetlight compared to the fuzzy purple haze from the club. you look real, beautiful, in reach for him to kiss with a clear head. and clothed, you’re adorable. dressed nothing like the minx that enjoys having an audience when she orgasms.

you’ve got a fluffy striped jumper on and baggy denim blue jeans with your bag over your shoulder. you look like you’re dressed to do a food shop, a student going to university. fuck… he cannot even wrap his head around the fact he came over your chest a mere half an hour ago.

“you look adorable,” he blurts and you give him a grin, stuffing your hand in his face. 

“shut up katsuki, that’s my word for you,” though he only grabs your wrist, kissing the faintly stamped 47. 

he continues holding it when you peep your head to the open window to his friends. “thanks for dropping me off guys!”

“no problem!”

bakugou opens the back door for you, “d’you wanna come back to mine?”

he asks before you get in and like before, there’s an extra second pause. then, “are you going to tell me what you do for work?”

“he’s a pro hero, we all are,” kaminari groans, his hangover settling in as well as his urge to go home.

your eyes widen, your hand back on his chest like feeling him will reveal the truth. he’s now coated in a plain black tshirt. “oh wow.”

“guys we really can be horny in the car instead of outside. get in.” kirishima says and it’s a quick scramble of you sliding in and then bakugou after.

it’s inevitable, an attempt to be appropriate but straying from it at every corner.

another kiss shared in the backseat between you saying how many siblings you have, bakugou gripping your thigh as he says where he grew up. kaminari sharing an embarrassing tidbit about bakugou growing up and bakugou threatening to snap his neck. then the blonde apologises to you for saying that while kaminari whines in the background. 

when kirishima drops you and bakugou outside of his skyrise apartment the only thing you can think to say is, “you’re a really good friend.”

bakugou huffs a laugh, slinging his arm around your shoulders, “not really. i was eatin’ you out when i shoulda been lookin’ for him.”

likes don’t do anything on tumblr! but reblogs, comments and asks mean the world! i delete comments asking for another part. thanks xox

wanna read something else?

[lunarkace]

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ pro hero bakugo fucks his pr agent

tw: rough sex, office sex, uniform kink, unprotected sex, creampie (he’s bad at pulling out), semi-public, fingering, orgasm denial, canon timeskip katsuki (mid‑20s)

═══════════════════════

It’s your job.

Literally.

Keeping Dynamight from ruining his own career.

And if that wasn’t already hard enough, he makes it worse…by being exactly who the fuck he is.

“No." You hiss under your breath, heels clicking as you walk ahead of him toward the press room. “You can’t call the guy a dumbass on air. I don’t care if he was one.”

Katsuki scoffs behind you, unbothered. “He was. If he’d kept his fuckin’ head down like I told him, I wouldn’t’ve had to blast through a whole damn wall.”

You stop walking. Turn.

He nearly walks into you, catches himself just short, and glares down at you like you’re the problem.

“You’re on live TV in four minutes.” You say calmly, like you’re not seething. “Do not go in there and curse out the other pro. Don’t grunt. Don’t scowl. Don’t call anyone an extra.”

He tilts his head, unimpressed. “That’s half my fuckin’ vocabulary.”

“I know." You mutter, then force a bright, PR-trained smile and spin back around. “That’s what keeps me employed.”

And you walk away.

Heel. Toe. Clip. Click.

You know he’s staring. You always do. Especially when you're wearing tights.

——————

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

The tension.

The bickering. The heat. The way you look at each other too long.

You’re his public relations rep, for fuck’s sake. You handle his sponsorships. His press coverage. His approval ratings.

You’re not supposed to want to kiss the way he spits out a swear word.

Not supposed to like the way he leans back in an office chair, thighs spread, chest still heaving after a patrol, sweat clinging to the collar of his suit.

Not supposed to stare.

But god. When he's in that black and orange hero suit? Hands braced on his thighs? Jaw clenched like he's still thinking about the fight?

You’re not blind.

And he notices.

The way your eyes drop to his chest. The slow blink you give him when he runs a hand through his hair.

The sigh you let out when he shrugs out of his gear.

He notices. And worse?

He smirks.

——————

“You need to stop saying ‘fuck’ in interviews." You mutter, eyes on your clipboard, not looking at him.

He’s standing behind you. Way too close.

“What the fuck else should I say?”

“NOT that.” You whirl around.

He leans in.

Close enough that your nose almost brushes his. Close enough to see the mild amusement behind the scowl on his face.

He likes this. He likes riling you up.

“You got a better suggestion?” He murmurs, voice low. “Wanna write me a script, princess?”

You hate when he calls you that.

You hate that it makes your stomach clench.

Your gaze drops - for half a second - to his mouth.

His gaze drops - for half a second - to the neckline of your blouse.

You’re close. Too close.

You step back.

“I’m sending you talking points for the next segment.” You say, sharp and professional.

But your voice comes out breathier than it should.

It happens again two days later.

You’re both backstage at a hero gala, arguing in low tones near the emergency exit. You’re wearing a dress that hugs your thighs. He’s in a suit he clearly hates.

“You’re not skipping the meet-and-greet.”

“Tch. Waste of time.”

“You promised the agency.”

He rolls his eyes. “I never fuckin’ promised-”

“Bakugo.” You grit, stepping into his space.

He steps right back into yours.

You’re chest to chest. Breath to breath.

You can feel the tension rolling off him. That storm-thick frustration, the itch in his jaw, the impatience humming just under his skin.

Your hands are clenched into fists at your sides.

His arms are folding, muscle flexing even under the expensive fabric.

Neither of you moves.

You can feel his eyes on your mouth.

“You’re real fuckin’ annoying." He mutters, like a reflex.

Your voice is steady. “You’re lucky I haven’t walked out yet.”

“Why don’t you?”

You blink.

And for a moment, the room feels too hot.

“Because you'd fall apart without me.”

It slips out before you can stop it.

And to your surprise - he laughs.

Low. Under his breath. A smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah?” He mutters. “You think you got me all figured out, huh?”

“No." You say. “But I know what happens when you don’t have someone to clean up your messes.”

You turn. Start to walk away.

But not before he mutters low just loud enough for you to hear.

“...Wouldn’t mind makin’ a mess outta you.”

You stop. You don’t turn. But your legs go weak for just a second.

You pretend they don’t.

——————

It’s a quiet evening.

Your phone buzzes with approval ratings. Even after that snarky remark to the press.

You’re in his office. He’s half-undressed, the tie from his suit he aggressively ripped off thrown over his chair.

“Did good tonight." You mutter, glancing at your tablet. “Only cursed twice.”

He’s watching you. From the chair. One leg spread wide, ankle crossed over the other.

“Did better than that." He says.

You glance up.

And he’s not smirking.

He’s watching you with that look - the one that makes your pulse skip. The one that feels like he’s undressing you with his eyes.

Your throat tightens. You clear it.

“You’ll still need to do the morning interview." You say softly. “Public’s loving the new outreach campaign.”

“Yeah?”

You nod.

You try to look back at the screen.

But he leans forward in the chair. Arms braced over his thighs.

“Y’know I’m not stupid, right?”

You blink. “Excuse me?”

“I know what you’re doin’. Walkin’ away every time I get close. Pretendin’ you’re not into it.”

You open your mouth. Close it.

“I’m not-”

“Yeah, you are.”

His voice is low. Certain. Unapologetic. And it hits something in your chest that makes your heart beat louder.

You don’t move.

Just stare at him. The way his jaw clenches. The way his gaze slides over your legs. The way he looks like he’s holding himself back.

“You’re my client." You whisper.

“So?” He mutters.

You swallow. And you don’t say anything else.

Because he’s not wrong.

Not really.

You clear your throat.

The air feels too thick.

“I’ll… see you tomorrow, Bakugo.”

It’s the most professional thing you can manage.

You grab your tablet. Keep your expression neutral even though your pulse is a hammer in your throat.

He doesn’t say anything. Just watches you leave, jaw tight, that unreadable look in his eyes that sits somewhere between challenge and want.

——————

The next few days, you pretend everything’s normal.

You sit in meetings. Draft press statements. Edit highlight reels from his latest rescue operation.

You tell yourself it’s fine. That the heat in your stomach every time he says your name is nothing but stress.

But then night comes. And it’s just you, your couch, your laptop, and the soft blue glow of the TV screen.

Katsuki is on the news again. Hair still damp from the fight, arms crossed while he answers questions. You watch the way his throat flexes when he swallows, the way his forearms tighten under the black fabric of his uniform.

The way he doesn’t smile. Not even when they praise him. He just nods once. Lowers his eyes. Grunts something short.

And god, you shouldn’t. But you imagine what it would be like to shut him up with your mouth. To grab that stupid collar of his uniform and drag him down until his words die between your lips.

You press your thighs together. Turn the TV off.

——————

Three nights later, you’re packing up to go home.

The sun’s already down, the office nearly empty. You’re standing at your desk, tugging on your coat, considering the text from your friends:

Come out. Drinks?

You hover over your phone. Wonder if maybe getting drunk would drown out this thing that’s been sitting in your chest all week.

And then you hear it.

Heavy boots.

The door clicks open.

He walks in still in uniform - black and orange gear streaked with dirt, the faint smell of smoke clinging to him.

“Bakugo.” You straighten up. “Come to bother me for the last few minutes of my work day?”

“Was in the area.” His voice is rough, casual. “Figured I’d stop by.”

You raise a brow. “To do what? Critique my reports?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just leans against the doorframe, eyes dragging over you - slow, deliberate.

“What’re you doin’ tonight?” He asks finally.

Your heart stutters. “Why?”

He shrugs one shoulder. “Just askin’.”

“You don’t need to know everything I do after hours.”

“Tch. The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” you say evenly, grabbing your bag, “I have a life outside babysitting your public image.”

He snorts. “Babysittin’, huh?”

You glance up - he’s smirking, sharp and cocky. The kind of smirk that crawls under your skin.

“Yeah." You snap. “Babysitting. Because you can’t go a single day without me cleaning up your-”

“You goin’ out with someone?”

The question hits like a slap.

“That’s none of your business.”

“Didn’t fuckin’ ask if it was." He growls. “I asked who.”

You step closer, glaring up at him. “You don’t get to ask me that.”

And for a second, neither of you moves.

Just shallow breaths.

The sound of the clock on the wall ticking too loud.

Then -

Bang.

He slams the door shut behind him, hard enough to make the glass rattle.

Your stomach drops.

“Bakugo-”

But he’s already crossing the room.

You back up instinctively - until the edge of your desk hits the backs of your thighs.

He doesn’t stop. He grabs your jaw, fingers firm but not cruel, and crashes his mouth against yours.

It’s rough. Unapologetic. Teeth. Tongue. Breath.

You shove at his chest once - not to stop him, but to feel how solid it is - and then you’re pulling him back in by his collar.

The sound that leaves him is somewhere between a growl and a sigh.

He kisses you harder. Deeper. Like he’s starving. Like you’re the first breath after weeks underwater.

You grab a fistful of his uniform. He grips your hips and lifts you - strong enough that your breath catches as you’re set on the desk, papers scattering, his body slotting between your legs.

He’s still kissing you - the kind that leaves your lips raw and your lungs aching. You can taste him. Smoke, salt, adrenaline.

You drag your nails down his neck and feel him shudder.

He breaks the kiss, forehead pressed to yours, breath harsh.

“You done tellin’ me it’s not my business?” He mutters.

You tilt your chin up, meeting his eyes.

“Maybe." You whisper. “If you keep your mouth busy.”

And he does.

He grabs your hips, pulls you closer, and kisses you again - deeper this time, slower, tongue sliding against yours like he’s learning you one breath at a time.

The kind of kiss that feels like it’s been waiting months to happen.

You should shove him back, get your shit together, tell him this is a massive breach of every ethical boundary in your job description…

But instead, your fingers are tugging at the buckle on his duty belt, hands shaking with the effort.

Bakugo’s mouth is hot against yours and he groans when he feels you pull the strap free.

“Fuckin’ god, finally." He pants, helping you get it off. It drops to the floor with a loud, metallic clunk, utility clips rattling on impact.

You don’t even look at it. Too focused on the way he’s already dragging your blazer off your shoulders, his gloved fingers fumbling at the buttons of your blouse.

“You wear too many fuckin’ layers." He mutters against your mouth.

You huff a breath into his. “You’re the one in a Kevlar corset.”

He smirks - barely - lips brushing yours like he’s laughing. “‘S tactical.”

You roll your eyes.

Another kiss - rough and open-mouthed - and his fingers finally get one of the buttons undone. Then another.

You gasp when he brushes the fabric aside, his palm warm over the skin of your ribs.

Your own hands are already under his uniform compression shirt, fingertips gliding over the edge of his abs, the heat of his body soaking through the suit.

And then -

“Fuck.” He curses softly, tugging at your tights. “How the hell do these things come off…”

“You’re a pro hero.” You breathe, lifting your hips. “Figure it out.”

Your tights are halfway down your legs, bunched at your knees, when he leans back with a groan.

“Fuck this." He mutters. “I don’t have the patience.”

He fists your skirt and shoves it up around your hips instead, bunching the fabric at your waist in one quick, rough pull.

You exhale a sharp breath, blinking down at him. “Seriously?”

“I’m busy." He grits, voice low, eyes flicking to the dark panel of your panties. “Unless you want me to waste time getting it off right.”

You snort, breathless. “God forbid you use any finesse.”

Katsuki smirks -- that fucking smirk - and leans forward, crowding your body until you’re flat on your elbows, back arching, skirt hiked up, legs spread wide on the edge of your own desk.

“Finesse." He echoes, almost teasing. “You want finesse, princess?”

His fingers hook the waistband of your panties, tugging them all the way down, pocketing them easily.

And then you feel him. Two fingers, thick and callused, sliding through your folds - slow, firm pressure dragging over slick heat.

Your head falls back with a soft, involuntary gasp.

Katsuki leans in at the same time. Mouth catching the underside of your jaw. Kissing slow, possessive, hungry.

“Not so smug now, huh.” He murmurs against your skin, dragging his mouth down the side of your throat, biting softly at the hinge of your jaw.

You open your mouth to fire something back, but he curls his fingers, just right. Your breath catches. Your thighs twitch.

“Fuck.”

He grins again and kisses lower, under your chin, tongue flicking slow just beneath your ear.

You feel him breathe you in, that little grunt in the back of his throat when he realizes how wet you already are.

“All this for me, huh?” He mutters. “Just from makin’ you mad?”

Your hand fists in the collar of his uniform, yanking him back up to your mouth.

“Shut up." You whisper, voice wrecked. “You talk too much.”

“Thought you liked my mouth.”

You kiss him hard before you can answer - open, messy, his fingers still working between your thighs.

It’s hot. Deep. Desperate.

“You should’ve said somethin’ sooner." He rasps, dragging his thumb slow over your clit. “Fuckin’ coulda been doin’ this for months.”

Your answer is another moan. Sharp, breathy, hips grinding down like you’re chasing the friction, fast and sloppy.

And all he does is smile. That same cocky little grin against your mouth as he curls his fingers deeper, wrist flexing just right.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “There she is.”

You can barely think.

He drags his fingers slow through your slick. Rubbing tight, cruel little circles on your clit, just enough to make your thighs twitch, just enough to make your stomach coil, just enough to make you almost come then backing off.

Again.

You grit your teeth. “Bakugo.”

He grins against your throat, not even trying to hide it. “Yeah?”

“You’re doing this on purpose.”

“You’re cute when you’re pissed.” He mutters, kissing under your ear.

You slap a hand down on the desk behind you, lifting yourself up on one elbow, staring him down.

He's still in his hero uniform. Boots planted between your spread thighs.

And fuck, you hate how hot it is.

His hair’s a mess, cheeks flushed, arms flexing every time he moves. You can see the curve of his biceps, the thick straps tight across his chest, the way his utility vest rises and falls with his breath.

You can smell sweat. Smoke. Him.

It’s all too much.

You’re wet, aching, toes curling in your heels. And he’s standing there acting like he’s got all the time in the world.

Your voice drops. “Stop fucking around.”

He pulls back just enough to look at you. “Yeah?” He mutters. “You want it that bad?”

You stare him down. “You know I do.”

He breathes out a rough laugh. Then…

He licks his fingers.

Slow. Deliberate. Eyes on yours.

Your stomach flips.

Then he reaches for his belt, yanks his zipper down…

And your mouth parts before you can stop it.

Oh.

Oh.

You weren’t ready.

He’s thick, flushed, already leaking. You blink once, caught completely off-guard - and he sees it.

He smirks. “You gonna sit there with your mouth open or you want me to fill it later?”

You blink hard. “You’re such a…”

But you don’t finish, because he’s already grabbing your hips, dragging you forward across the desk like you weigh nothing.

You gasp, hands bracing behind you, legs spread wide -

He’s in. One hard, deep thrust.

He pushes all the way in, slow enough to feel every inch, but fast enough to make your back arch and a full, helpless moan spill out of your mouth.

“Fuuuck -”

His hips grind against yours, breath caught, head falling forward onto your shoulder as he groans just as loud.

“Holy shit - baby…”

You both freeze at the sound - loud, echoing off the office walls - and then, like instinct, you grab the front of his uniform and pull him down, slamming your mouth into his.

The kiss is messy, all lips and teeth and open gasps.

You moan into him. He groans into you.

His cock pulses deep inside, the stretch insane, thick enough that you feel it everywhere.

You’re clenching without meaning to. He swears again. Low, guttural, and thrusts shallow, just once, like he can’t help it.

His mouth breaks from yours, panting.

“Tightest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever felt." He breathes, voice wrecked.

"Harder." You demand.

And yeah. He fucks you like it’s all he’s been thinking about.

Just deep, hard thrusts, slamming into you with all that strength he tries so fucking hard to hide during press events.

Your hips knock against the desk with every push, the wood creaking underneath you. Papers scattered, pens long gone.

He grunts with every movement, his jaw tight, eyes locked on your face like he wants to see every second of it.

“God. Fuck.” He pants. “So fuckin’ good. So fuckin’ tight."

You claw at his arms, nails dragging over fabric and skin. "You gonna narrate the whole thing?"”

He grabs your thighs, hoisting you higher on the desk, getting a better angle before slamming in again.

You moan, loud, eyes fluttering shut.

It’s almost filthy. The contrast. How professional you look half-undressed. Blouse unbuttoned, bra still on. While he’s slamming into you like it’s the only thing that’ll quiet his head.

He palms at your chest, squeezing. “Been thinkin’ about these fuckin’ tits since the first week I met you." He mutters, mouth brushing your collarbone, tongue flicking the sweat pooling there.

You roll your eyes, breathless. “Charming.”

“Shut up." He pants. “You know I have.”

His hands fumble at your back, cursing low when he can’t get the clasp - until it finally snaps free.

Your bra slides off your shoulders.

He doesn’t hesitate. Mouth drops to your chest, teeth grazing the swell of your breast, tongue licking a hot stripe over your nipple.

You cry out, legs locking around him, and he fucks into you harder, rutting deep and fast and rough.

You suck in a breath when he bites down - not hard, just enough to make you twitch. He soothes it with his tongue immediately after, lips wrapping around your nipple, groaning into your skin like he’s fucking starved.

Your hands are in his hair, tugging hard. His mouth is everywhere. Your throat, your chest, your jaw - sucking, biting, kissing, dragging his tongue over every inch of skin he can reach.

The sound of skin slapping fills the office. Your moans. His grunts. His voice muttering low filth into your neck.

“Been wantin’ this since the first time you yelled at me." He admits, nipping your ear. “Every fuckin’ meeting. Every press run. You’d stand there all smug in your little heels…”

And he can’t stop touching you. Even with his cock buried deep, slamming into you like he wants to carve himself into your body.

He can’t stop.

One hand claws at your waist, gripping your skirt like it offended him. The other’s everywhere. Cupping your tits, dragging down your sides, spreading over your stomach like he’s trying to memorize you by feel alone.

“So beautiful.” He grits, voice cracking on the words.

He palms your breast again, rougher this time, thumb brushing your nipple as he leans down to take it into his mouth for the third time, sucking so hard your hips jolt.

You moan - loud, unfiltered - one hand braced behind you on the desk, the other buried in his damp hair.

He groans against your skin, tongue flicking fast, teeth grazing, biting before he kisses the sting better again.

You suck in a breath when he pulls back just enough to look at you.

“This what you wanted?” He pants. “Shit - this what you been thinkin’ about when you stare at me in that fuckin’ pencil skirt?”

You roll your hips up into him, gasping. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” He repeats.

Then he grabs your tits in both hands and fucks you deeper.

Harder.

It punches a cry out of your throat.

“Say it.” His voice is all gravel. “Say you’ve been thinkin’ about this.”

“Fuck…yes.”

“Say you wanted me.”

“I wanted you." You cry out. “God, I - fuck, Bakugo.”

He kisses you again - filthy, wet, lips dragging against yours with no aim but contact, connection, pressure. Tongue curling into your mouth like he owns it.

It’s insane.

It’s so wrong.

It’s your office.

But you don’t care. Not even a little.

Not when his teeth are back at your collarbone, sucking hard. Not when his hand slides down between your bodies to rub your clit in hard, perfect circles.

Not when he groans low into your ear, voice wrecked and possessive…

“You’re mine now. You know that, right?”

You can’t speak. Just nod.

You’re right there. So fucking close it’s unbearable.

Your legs are shaking around his waist, skirt bunched, tits bouncing with every thrust. One heel’s still on. The other is god knows where.

And Katsuki is pounding into you like he’s possessed. Jaw tight, sweat running down his neck, grunting through clenched teeth.

“You feel so fuckin’ good…tight little pussy….so fuckin’ wet for me….”

You’re panting so hard your voice breaks. And then you say it.

You whine it.

“Katsuki…”

His whole body jerks like you punched him.

“Say it again." He rasps.

You do. You’re not even thinking anymore, just crying out through gritted teeth, eyes shut, hand clawing at his bicep:

“Katsuki - Katsuki….fuck….don't stop…"

He loses it. His rhythm falters, hips stuttering, thrusts deeper and rougher like he wants to fuck his name right back into you.

You moan it again, higher, more broken - and he grabs your thighs tighter, slamming into you so hard the desk rocks with it.

“C'mon baby…” He pants. “Keep sayin’ it. Fuckin’ love the way you say my name…”

You’re right on the edge. And it snaps. White-hot and sharp, coiling tight, then ripping through you like a wave that hits too fast, too strong—

“Katsuki!” You cry out one last time, voice cracked, body clenching hard around him as your orgasm slams into you, long and blinding and overwhelming.

You sob into his mouth, back arching, thighs locking around him like you’re trying to take him deeper.

“Shit…fuck…” He gasps, head dropping to your shoulder, and suddenly he freezes.

“Wait, ah…fuck.”

But it’s too late.

He pulls out right at the edge, cock twitching as he spills hot and messy against your thigh, the edge of your skirt.

"Didn’t pull out fast enough…damn it." He swears again, breath shaking, watching it drip.

Neither of you move.

You’re panting, chest heaving, bra discarded, his release leaking down your leg. Katsuki is standing between your thighs with his pants halfway down, still in full pro hero gear, eyes locked on you like he’s never seen anything better in his life.

And the room is hot. Sticky. Silent - except for your breath and your thighs still trembling open around him.

You lick your lips. Shaky.

“That was…”

Your voice breaks. You clear it.

“…so fucking stupid.”

He grins. Hair in his eyes. Still flushed, still panting.

“Yeah.”

And then - without even blinking - his hand slides back down to your ass, fingers massaging rough and slow, squeezing the soft curve of it.

His voice is hoarse.

“Now let’s do it again.”

… i have bakugo katsuki brainrot rn sorry guys xxx

[satorusdreamer]

Seventeen then Twenty-seven

Pairing: former bestfriend!Keigo x reader

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

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

word count: 22.7k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right, pillows are filled with feathers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The rookie hero who debuts in the top ten!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The perfect weapons.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He said he’d still be here with you, yet you watch him walk away from you the moment the two of you see each other again.

Fine. So be it.

And that’s how the competition really begins.

After the first hero billboard comes the petty revenge. Flirting more with your fans—showing him that you can use his tactics to become more popular, too. The hero rankings are constantly fluctuating, you and Hawks surpassing each other every time, trading ranks like you’re trading stock.

People online have started putting bets on who will be higher ranked this year. The two rookie heroes going head to head, making for an exciting race, or whatever it is they’re saying.

He garners attention by flirting with his fans, you garner attention by doing a shoot, face plastered on every billboard across Japan. It’s petty. It’s stupid. It’s the only way you can keep him close to you despite being hundreds of kilometers apart.

There’s a nagging voice at the back of your head now every time you see his face or name anywhere on the internet. No longer associated with Keigo but rather with Hawks the hero who you’re competing against.

The second annual billboard ranks you at five while he’s at six. The saccharine smile you plaster on your face when the two of you are on stage ticks him off. You can see it in the little tells, one of his feathers near his scapula is razor-sharp one second, while soft the other.

People start asking the two of you questions—rookie heroes, dating scandals, anything and everything they can get their hands on. You deflect with a smile and a wink, and he does the same.

Later that same night there’s hundreds of clips posted about how the two of you would make such a good team or would be so good together. Your eye twitches at that, fingers cracking with the way you’re balling your hands so hard your nails breach the skin on your palms and blood steadily trickles down your forearm.

What would they know about you being ‘such a good item with him.’ They do not know Hawks the same way you do, and over your dead body would you go back to him. The feud you have with him is at this point more important than anything else.

So you start doing other things on your off time—which you already barely have, but for the sake of winning this god-forsaken competition you’d give up all of your free time—such as going into schools and telling children about safety and what to do in villain attacks.

Your popularity numbers are climbing by the day, more of you can be seen in tabloids. Face plastered all over social media for helping a cat get out of a tree. Bringing in groceries for the nice old lady on the sidewalk. Things you would never do out of your own volition, purely because that hasn’t been trained into you to do.

Seems like you underestimated how low Hawks would step, though. It’s during one of your regular patrols, the sun is blistering down and sweat is beading off your temple and down your jaw. There’s a marker in your hand while a kid is jumping up and down in excitement to get your autograph.

You’re smiling, already thinking of where you could get something to hydrate, the cold surely feeling nice against your parched throat, when a big shadow falls across you.

People starts squealing and pointing into the sky, and sure enough there he is. Hawks. All red wings and cocky smirks, hovering in the air. He circles a few times before touching down, immediately getting mobbed by tens of fans.

Hell, even the kid you were giving an autograph just… runs away from you. Your pen hovering uselessly in the air. The stench that comes from the marker fills your nostrils, and it finally snaps you out of your reverie.

Pinching yourself once, you confirm that Hawks is, in fact, really here. Standing on your turf, talking and taking pictures with your fans. And you can already hear that stupid counter climb up by the second, getting more popularity by just touching down here.

And as if he can feel your gaze on him, he lifts his head lightly, golden eyes finding your form. For a second he just stares blankly, then he smirks and throws a wink into your direction. Fucking dickhead.

Sighing you continue your patrol while already thinking of how you’ll get your revenge.

Kyushu is… different than you expected. You never read up much about it, but you knew it was an island—duh—so you didn’t expect to see high rise towers litter everywhere you looked. The buildings so high you would almost be able to touch a cloud if you opened the window; an over-exaggeration, but still.

You thought the place Hawks chose, or well, the HPSC chose for him would have more sea. You thought the air would smell salty, like the ocean, and hear the waves crash ashore, but nothing is less true.

Fukuoka is a heavily populated city. There’s buildings, cars, and street life everywhere. When you got sent here you thought it might be different than back in Sendai, but nothing is less true.

The mission had been simple. Go undercover for a drug ring, get the info, let the President know what’s happening, and turn the whole thing upside down before they even know someone infiltrated their home.

What you’d failed to consider, though, is the fact that this is the home of a certain crimson-winged hero who could spot you from hundreds of meters away.

Looks like he didn’t spot you, but rather you him. Tiny feathers slicing through the air at lightning speed, multiple civilians getting pulled out of the way by their clothes while the number two hero fights the villains.

It’s a sight for sore eyes, wings almost down to little nubs, no longer able to fly, and it seems like these villains aren’t gonna stop any time soon.

He’s exhausted. There’s too many innocent bystanders nearby that he has to keep track of while also fighting off two other villains. His wings are almost non-existent, most of the feathers having been used up at this point. One feather-blade is in his hand, luckily still able to use it.

There’s sweat beading down his brow, nearly falling into his eye before it drips to the ground, which is littered with debris from the wreckage the villains have done to the city. It’s honestly more than he’s encountered in the years before—here anyway.

Villains of this size were normally more common in Tokyo, but seems like they decided to bother his district this day.

He deflects one attack while scooping up a child that had fallen trying to run away with one of his feathers, returning the child to his mother who was in tears, officers holding her back from running onto an active villain site.

Then he hears it, a sharp whistle he hasn’t heard in years. It’s music to his ears. It grates him. Almost like he can’t decide if he loves you for being here right now, or if he hates the fact that you’re even here to begin with.

He knows you wouldn’t come here out of your own volition, just like he doesn’t go to Sendai unless ordered, so you’re here on a mission. And here you are, seeing him in this pathetic state, nearly losing to two villains.

You’d probably laugh at him when you have the time, tell him he’s gonna drop a rank and you’ll sprint ahead of him again. The swapping of places hasn’t once stopped. The number two and three, constantly swapping places but never getting that number one spot.

But he knows. He knows he should give you the go-ahead. Get this over with. The civilians are the most important thing right now, so he should do what’s best for them—even if that means you get a tally added to the score.

So he gives his signal that it’s okay to swap. His wings slowly disappearing from his back. The feathers that he has in his hand goes limp—just an ordinary red feather right now—just like all the others that he’s used to get the bystanders out of the way.

Some people gasp, while others are already filming. He can feel the way his quirk has been swapped for someone elses—one of the villains, though he doesn’t know which of the two.

The villains in front of him look confused for a split second before they grin again, certainly thinking they have the upperhand now. Hawks can only grin in turn, tucking his feather in his jacker sleeve—a souvenir he can give to fans if they want it.

And then a flurry of red feathers come down—sharp as can be. The villains get pinned down almost immediately while Hawks goes in to put quirk-cancelling handcuffs on them. He sees you walk up to him a few seconds after, whistling with your hands in your pockets—a sight so him it pisses him off. Of course you’d try and mock him while he’s already down.

More people are gasping and screaming each of your names now, but neither of you give them any attention. You stop in front of him, a lazy nod given while the police officers rush onto scene, dragging away the suspects.

There are some words exchanged while you still have his quirk, crimson stark against the dark fabric of your hero suit. And he can see the way the feathers are trembling, just like your fingers. There’s a slight tick in your jaw you never could hide, not even from the Commission.

You’re overstimulated. His quirk simply picking up too many noises at once, while he can’t hear anything at all. It’s something the two of you haven’t done in a long time—swapping quirks. While you did this on a regular years ago, it’s now something foreign. Still, he has to applaud you for keeping your face as neutral as you are right now, because he knows how rowdy people can be.

After the officer is done talking with the two of you he walks away, leaving the two of you to fend for yourselves. Masses crowd around the number two and three, as if you two are merely circus acts and everyone can just do whatever they want.

People want pictures where you have the wings, others are touching the feathers to see if they really are as soft as Hawks’. And he notes how uncomfortable you are right now, shivers running up your spine when someone tugs on one of the feathers, and he sees the way your—technically his—wings are twitching like they want to lash out.

So he whispers, as low as he can go, that the two of you can get out of here if you just fly away with him. Which is exactly what you do, picking him up with ease—ease that was never there to begin with since he was heavier with the wings dragging behind him—and flying away from the crowd to one of the high-rises.

It’s an bumpy, unsteady flight all the way up to the tallest building there is, and he has to cling onto you to not plummet to his death. Once you land, clumsy and everything, you set him down.

Your wings shudder behind you before they disappear from your back and form back onto Hawks’—only for there to be stubs instead of actual, massive wings he normally has.

There’s sweat clinging to your spine and beading down your temple. You’d forgotten just how loud his world actually is, not having had to bother with it for years on end. That of course doesn’t mean you forgot what his quirk can do—things no one else in the world except for the President and a few handlers know.

You straighten up, swallowing past the bile that was threatening to come up if you stayed down there any longer, you nod to yourself. You’re okay. This is okay. Everything is okay.

The blond is just watching you, for once having no quip ready on the tip of his tongue, but rather just… looking. There’s a hint of concern he can’t quite seem to hide from you, but you don’t focus too much on that.

Walking up to him you pat him on the back, just between his scapulae where he’s the most sensitive. A little payback you’d say, not just for the fact that you had to get the two of you out of there since he didn’t have enough feathers to even fly, but also for all the bullshit he had pulled this year to get ahead of you.

“Well, see you later, number three,” your voice mock-cheerful. You were the number three hero currently, but with today’s save, or whatever you want to call it, you’re sure your rank will rise once again, surpassing Hawks’. “Gotta do stuff.”

Before you can even walk away a gloved hand wraps itself around your wrist, tugging you back. Another hand finds itself on your hip, warm and familiar in a way you don’t want to acknowledge right now. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Clenching your jaw you look over at the blond, brows furrowing and lips pursing into a straight line. You don’t bother to conceal your expression right now, there’s no one around to see, so you can just show your disdain on your face whenever you want—one of the special occasions.

“Oh I’m sorry, I forgot. I… gotta… go,” you slowly annunciate every word, almost as if you’re talking to a deaf person with dementia who has to lip read. You know he can hear you just fine—while he might not be able to hear everything, his ears still work perfectly fine.

The next instant you’re backed onto a brick wall of the bulkhead. Rough stone scraping against your back through the fabric of your hero suit. It has you gasping out slightly, not thinking he would do something like this.

“You’re such a brat sometimes,” he breathes out, pupils almost like slits, and oh, he’s pissed. Not his normal relaxed self, but rather actually annoyed at something you did—and if you had to guess it was to hit him where it hurt the most. “You should be happy I even gave you the go-ahead to use my quirk.”

That ticks you off. It’s not like you want to use his quirk, but he was in a bind and he knows it. If it were up to you, you would never even think of using his quirk. So you do what you know best—hands coming around to his back to where the little wings are still uncovered, one of your fingers tracing over his feather. Slow and teasing.

He groans out at the sensation, eyes fluttering closed for just a second before he opens them again, pupils dilated slightly. Then he turns you around, your chest pressing up to the stone while your cheek lays flat against the rough texture. A gasp rips itself from your throat.

His breath ghosts the shell of your ear while he presses his chest against your back, and you feel the bulge in his pants on your ass, making you gulp out. He cannot be serious right now.

“You sure you wanna do this, birdie?” the nickname has you close your eyes for a split-second. For a moment you can hear it echo in your head, distort it until you hear that all too familiar nickname: ‘dove’, but he doesn’t, he just uses the same nicknames he gives his fangirls.

You scoff out at it, and try to wiggle your way from him, only for your ass to brush his bulge. He moans out at the sensation before pushing his hips further into you—pressing it right against your ass so you can feel just how hard he is. “Tell me to stop, and I will.”

Pressing your thighs together, you can feel yourself getting hot and bothered. Even after all these years he still gets you going like no other—not that you’ve ever even looked at someone else. The competition between you two has had your focus so much that you haven’t even had the time to go on a date, and honestly you didn’t care to go on one, either.

When you don’t say anything he chuckles. It comes deep from his chest, rumbling it with the sound that’s completely foreign to you.

“Who would’ve thought,” he whispers, fingers slowly tracing up and down your side, not groping, not grabbing, just tracing featherlight touches along your sides while he humps against your ass. It’s almost as if he isn’t aware of his own ministrations, simply rutting against you like a dog in heat—better yet, like a bird in heat. “Bet you flew us here just to rile me up.”

One of his hands slowly goes to the front, fingers skimming your ribs, just where his feather always used to lay. He makes a little shape there before his fingers trace upwards, squeezing your tit once over the fabric. Shivers run down your spine, straight into your core, and you can feel yourself getting wetter by the second. Panties sticking uncomfortably to your folds.

“Hah, you wish—shit,” your head lolls back onto his shoulder when he finds your nipple over the fabric, pinching and rolling the bud between his forefinger and thumb before he tugs on it slightly. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“You’re gonna be full of me in a second,” he murmurs against your cheek, hips never ceasing their motion, while his other hand finally trails down, stopping just at your pants. It’s only when you nod at him that he slips his fingers inside them, digits finding your heat immediately. “Oh? So wet for someone who’s ‘so full of himself’.”

His fingers move over your panties, lightly caressing it, almost like he’s preening himself—careful not to press too hard, nor move too fast, and it has you absolutely whining out for him.

“R-really, that’s all you can come up with. Thought you’d have some—fuck just keep them there—more practice with your l-little fangirls,” you moan out when his fingers skim over your clit, not pressing or rubbing, just featherlight touches that drive you absolutely crazy for him.

Chuckling his finger finally presses down onto your clit, moving it in small circles while pleasure shoots up your core. Your hand clamps itself onto his forearm, not trying to move it, just holding onto it while you gasp out into the open air.

“That’s itttt, love it when your rival plays with your pussy hmmm?” his finger doesn’t stop, just keeps circling your nub until you’re whining out. “Just put them in already, Hawks.”

He makes a thoughtful sound in the back of his throat—something between a hum and a groan—before he finally moves your panties aside and glides one finger through your slick folds. The feeling of the pads of his fingers directly on your skin has you arching into his touch, trying to chase his fingers even though he keeps sliding them through your folds.

One of his fingers finally slide inside your snug walls, warm and wet around him. It has you struggling to catch your breath. When was the last time you even got time to get yourself off? The feeling of his singular finger so much thicker than your own, eyes rolling to the back of your skull.

He slowly starts to pump in and out of your pussy, walls clinging onto him every time he tries to slide his finger out. Soon another one joins the first, stretching you out even further. Blunt nails dig themselves into his forearm, making him hiss out.

“F-feels so good,” you whimper out, careful not to be too noisy. There might not be anyone around, but if someone living in the apartments below, there’s a possibility they’d be able to hear you, and you’d rather not get caught getting fingered by your so-called rival.

His hips pick up pace behind you, still rutting against your ass like a damn animal in heat. Groans fall from his lips like an open faucet, never once stopping. He curls his fingers up while his thumb grazes your clit before it presses down onto it—adding all the more stimulation.

Trusting his fingers in and out a few times, he finally finds a spot that has you actively keen out, your other hand slapping itself over your mouth when he continues to attack your g-spot with his fingers. “F-fuck, please keep them there.”

Hawks just groans while his hips stutter behind you, fingers keeping their pace. Your thighs are starting to shake, knees buckling slightly. Suddenly there’s a tug on your nipple, completely forgetting his hand was still on your breast, and your eyes roll to the back of your skull. “Cumming, cumming— oh shit.”

Your orgasm shoots through you, and it’s so much more powerful than ever before. At the same time his hips cease behind you, warmth seeping through his pants while he muffles a moan into your shoulder.

It’s only when you catch your breath that you look at him from the corner of your eyes. “Did you just cum in your pants just by rutting yourself against my ass?”

His fingers slip from your heat, cunt clenching around nothing after his fingers retreat, when they come down with a quick slap to your clit. You jump slightly at the feeling, yelping while your head turns to the side to look at him.

“Shut up,” his cheeks are blotched pink, not once daring to look you in the eye, confirming what you thought had happened. He eyes his hand, spreading his fingers slightly, looking at the way your arousal webs between his fingers before they snap!

Almost in a trance he pops his fingers in his mouth, lips wrapping around the digits while his tongue licks the wetness right off. He moans out at the taste, eyes nearly rolling to the back of his skull while he can feel his dick twitch to life in his pants again.

Your mouth falls open at the sight, so sinful it makes you all the more hornier. Without realising your hips are moving back, ass brushing against his hardening cock, which he gives a quick slap. He pulls his fingers out of his mouth, lips shiny with a mixture of spit and cum, having your eyes snap to them. “Still haven’t had enough, thought you hated me?”

You roll your eyes at that, not bothering to confirm nor deny his accusations. Turning around your hand cups his member, palm pressing against it while you smile sweetly up at him. “Could say the same thing for you, Hawks.”

He growls—actually growls—at that, eyes narrowing down at you before his fingers make quick work of your pants. You unbuckle his belt, fingers fumbling slightly with how they’re trembling, and you can only hope he doesn’t see it.

He frees his cock from his underwear, mushroom tip angry red and shiny with cum. Giving it a few tugs he gets himself fully hard again. His other hand creeps down your thigh before he grabs just below your knee and hoists your leg up to put it around his waist. Your other feet shuffles around on the ground slightly, trying to find your balance again, while your hand shoots out to grab his shoulder—this time careful not to touch anywhere near his wings.

“Sure you’re ready for this?” he asks, fingers toying with your panties that are soaked through at this point, flimsy material doing nothing to hide your swollen folds.

“Just put it in already,” you roll your eyes at him, watching the way he once again pulls your panties to the side while he lines himself up. There’s anticipation and slight dread running through you now. Are you ready? Did he prep you enough? How are you even sure you can take him?

He glides his shaft through your folds a few times, skin getting shiny with your slick, when his tip rubs over your clit, shooting more pleasure through you. It’s only when he glides over it once again that you feel it—something metal.

Dickhead has a dick piercing.

“Bet your f-fangirls love that,” you whimper out, still eyeing the way he’s gliding through your folds, tip catching on your entrance only to move it up again, and again, and again. “How many compliments did you ge—fuuuckk.”

He doesn’t let you finish your sentence, instead finally deciding to push inside. The stretch feel insane, walls clamping down immediately, tip pushing past that first ring of resistance. Tears immediately spring to your eyes, and your hand tightens on his shoulder.

“S-shit, ease up, d— birdie,” he grunts out, not trying to push in any further. His hand comes down to your hip, thumb rubbing circles on your hip while he lets you adjust to the stretch. “You always this t-tight, or is it just me who has that effect on you?”

“Shut up,” you whine, not caring how you sound right now. You let your body slump to the wall behind you, sweat starting to collect at your nape again. Never in your life did you think it would feel like this. “Y-you can move.”

Looking at you for a few more seconds he slowly inches in, the stretch torturous, and he isn’t even half-way in yet. You claw at his shoulders, trying to find anything to hold onto while he was splitting you open.

“Just a few more inches,” he murmurs down at you with—is that concern? in his voice, thumb sliding from your hip to your clit, rubbing small figure eights on it to help you relax slightly. A few more inches? Looking down you see the way his skin is wrinkling at the base, and yup, he still had two more inches give or take left.

Once he finally bottoms out he lets his head fall forward, straight against your collarbone, breath hot even through the fabric. His tip is smooched against your cervix, and you can feel the two barbells of his piercing sit snug against your walls, even when he isn’t moving.

It’s a weird sensation—the metal cool against your warm cunt, smooth surface rubbing you just right. After a few moment he finally pulls his hips back—just slightly—and thrusts back in. It’s a shallow thrust, but it knocks the breath right out of your lungs.

“Y-you always this weak when fucking your girls?” You shouldn’t ask it, you don’t even want to know his answer to it, but your mouth is moving before your brain can even catch up. Luckily for you he doesn’t reply, only pulls out further before thrusting back in, making you moan out.

He sets a steady pace after that, hips pulling out halfway only to thrust back in, tip hitting your cervix each and every time, pre clinging to your walls. Moans and groans fill the air while the two of you are too lost in the pleasure to even taunt each other.

“F-fuck, pussy gripping onto me—shit look at that—like she doesn’t want me to leave,” he groans out, eyeing the way your lips are wrapping around him every time he pulls out.

“Maybe she just wants you to cum so she can get away from you,” you mutter out, which he hears loud and clear. The stubs on his backs flutter slightly, not bothering to hide any reaction you pull out of him any longer.

His eyes narrow at you before his hand that’s still rubbing circles stops. The pleasure dwindles slightly, only for him to set a more brutal pace, balls slapping against your ass while he pummels into your poor pussy.

“Yeah? Well then maybe— oh fuck… maybe I shouldn’t get you off,” he changes his angle slightly, hiking your leg further up his waist before he starts pistoning his hips in and out of you, an audible squelch can be heard every time he bottoms out.

“Don’t need you—there, please there,” your eyes roll back while you babble out ‘please’ and ‘there’ over and over again. Your mouth falls open, high off ecstasy while Hawks keeps bullying your g-spot with lethal precision.

“There, yeah? Fuck feel her clamping down on me. What was that… hahhh, about not needing me?” he grunts out while he can feel his abs start to tighten.

Your own hand comes down to your sensitive clit, rubbing circles on it while you’re incoherently babbling now, cock-drunk on the way he’s pummeling into your weeping hole. “Gonna—” you gasp out, before it cuts off with a choked cry. Your walls spasm around him while you get thrown into your second climax of the day, thighs trembling slightly.

“F-fuck,” he chokes out before he thrusts once more, hips stilling while he paints your entire walls white. His wings twitch and flex against his back, and you’re pretty sure you can see the left over feathers sharpen and soften against his back through your hazed-out mind.

The two of you stay like that for a while, just breathing in each other’s presence, not daring to move. It’s only when he pulls out with a hiss that you realise the situation. Looking down you see his seed bubble out of you, a bit of red mixed in the mess.

Hawks also sees it, looking down with concern at you. “Shit— fuck, are you okay?”

Rolling your eyes you let your leg fall from his hips, and your thigh almost immediately seizes up. Luckily you can deal with cramps—having been through enough training that this doesn’t feel like anything anymore—but the foreign feeling of your pussy having been stretched out has you grit your teeth.

“That’s your blood,” you mumble out, swiping your thumb on a cut just on his eyebrow. It leaves behind a trail of red, staining your finger in the crimson substance. Holding it up for him to see you just swallows and nods once.

Wiping it off on your uniform, you put your panties back in place, grimacing slightly when you feel the sticky substance ooze out of you. Pulling up your pants you pat everything down to see if you still have everything before straightening up.

There’s an awkward beat where the two of you just look at each other. And it finally sinks in what just happened. You fucked Hawks. Your ex-bestfriend, ex-lover, current rival. The one person you swore you would be done with.

Swallowing you quickly push yourself from the brick wall, finally noticing just how much your back hurts at the moment. Running your fingers through your hair you nod once towards the hero before you open the door and walk away from whatever all of this is.

And while you awkwardly walk down the stairs—gait off and your hole pulsing around nothing—you know that you’re absolutely and utterly fucked.

The time after that moves weird. You hadn’t seen anything of the crimson-winged hero while you stayed in Kyushu, only hearing people whisper about him in passing, but never once seeing that blur of red move through the sky.

You know somewhere deep down that he’s avoiding you, and you’re honestly doing the same. The night in the safehouse after what happened made you unable to sleep, eyes blinking up at that same industrial gray you’ve seen your entire life, and for just a moment—just one—you could feel him beside you on that bed. Only this bed was bigger than the one you had for twelve years.

When you closed your eyes you could feel the way his breath would ghost your skin while laying beside you, his wing flopped over you like a soft, unique blanket that sometimes twitched whenever either of the two of you moved.

Could still feel the way he would trace soft patterns over your arms when he thought you’d fallen asleep before he was out of the room. Could still feel the gentleness in his gazze whenever he looked at you.

But when you opened your eyes you were met by silence. No soft whisper of feathers ruffling or the soft breathing pattern he always had around you—something that had been trained into the two of you. There was still that small electral buzz you were familiar with, but it made your heart only do more complicated flips.

It was like you were suddenly thrown back to when you were seventeen years old and got told that the two of you shouldn’t see each other anymore.

And just like then, you have a feather in your hand. Soft, white, and itchy. Not the crimson, alive feather you used to wear like a shield. Like a promise etched onto your skin. But rather just a dead feather from god-knows-where.

It droops to the side sadly, like it’s reminding you that this isn’t what you were familiar with for half your life. But still you put it on your chest and begin talking to it like it can respond. The stories are quite silly, and you would never actually say all of these things out loud—when you’d done grocery shopping online, the latest villain arrest, a short story about how your sidekick had put soap in the food instead of olive oil.

You’re gesturing around the room wildly, a small smile on your face while your eyes are closed. It’s easier that way, telling stories to a feather that can’t respond. But for a moment you just let yourself believe it can. Let yourself believe that you’re seventeen years old again and that you’re ranting to your friend.

The golden-eyed boy across the hall that always looked like you were more than the weapon they were trying to make you out to be. The one who you shared secret glances and giggles with. The one who put a warm hand over your stomach whenever your cramps got too much, but the handlers just kept pushing you to do more more more.

And when you open your eyes, there’s a slight part in your heart that yearns to see that red feather hovering in front of your eyes. But you’re met with air. The white feather still laying on your chest, not moving an inch from where you last put it.

A tear slides down your face before you can stop it. Quickly wiping it away you chuckle into the empty room. No one can hear you, after all, so why would you care?

There’s a slight throbbing between your legs, soreness running through your muscles—an type of sore you’ve never been before, and it scares you slightly—while there’s no one to tell you it’s okay.

Rolling over you look at the empty spot beside you in the bed. It’s cold and pristine, not a wrinkle in sight. How many times have you imagined there to be someone beside you? It’s honestly too many to count, and you can’t help but let another tear slide down your face.

There’s a slight discontent in your heart that tells you that after today he’ll never even look at you anymore. That this will be just like what happened seven years ago, where he told you the two of you couldn’t be together and walked out of your life.

You had this silly competition, chasing after numbers the two of you knew didn’t matter. While other heroes yearn to be in the top 10, the two of you treated it as an game to one-up one another. Taunting the other with whoever has the higher rank that year.

That was the only time you talked to him, honestly. The annual Japanese Hero Billboard Chart. One of the only times you’d see him in real life instead of on a screen with an update on his latest endeavor.

And somewhere deep down you know that even that will cease to exist after today. The silly competition will be over, no more trying to get more popular, but rather just actually focusing on what the two of you are—heroes.

You grab your pillow, squeezing it to your chest. Of course you had to fuck it up once more.

The pillow feels to hard. Too many feathers stuffed into the thing, and without thinking about it you rip it open, hundreds of little feathers spilling from the casing. Sitting up you look around the room knowing that each safehouse had a small kit with a thread and needle stored somewhere.

Searching around for it, you find it under the sink. Sitting on the bed once more—a few feathers poking you in the butt and your legs—you get to work.

Hours pass, the dark night sky changing to the soft break of dawn that paints the entire sky hues of orange, to daylight where the sun is shining onto the sealed windows.

Your hands are cramping and bleeding slightly, small spots of red against the stark white feathers that make you just wanna cut your hand open to stain them red entirely—something you decide against when you repeat it in your head.

When you finally lay down the thread and needle you look up at your nightstand. It’s just past twelve in the afternoon, which gives you plenty of time to still get ready for the mission. Scrubbing a hand over your face you look down onto the bed.

An entire sheet of feathers lay there, neatly sown together in something that resembles the form of a wing. The entire thing is soft and way too itchy, but you still run your hands through it, hoping that one of them would twitch.

They never do.

Leaning your body back you look over at the wall, just… staring at it for a good few minutes. Since when were you so lonely that you had to sow together a whole feather blanket just to be reminded of when you were younger?

A small chuckle escapes your lips. Hollow and heartbroken. Of course, of course you would go ahead and fuck him after what happened when you kissed him last time.

Hands shaking you put the feather blanket over your legs, trying to feel the warmth in them—but they are too different. Even your brain knows this isn’t what you want, but it’s the closest what you can get. Sighing you get up to get ready for the day.

The mission comes before anything and everything else.

After that night you haven’t been able to focus, quickly losing sleep and some of your popularity considering you haven’t been doing that good of a job interacting with your fans. You were short and snappy with them sometimes, almost like a bird that’s being cornered into a cage.

Your number two rank—because you did get to two after that save—quickly dropped to four over the span of mere weeks. Tabloids printing out more and more articles about you. Speculations, your latest mishap, you name it and it’s there.

And of course wherever your name went, his was not far behind. Hawks, the number two hero, charming his way with the ladies once more. His ruby studs catching the light just right in the latest picture, and you know his magpie brain loves to see it.

Clicking the screen off you let yourself fall backward. This isn’t what you wanted, not even close. And just like you expected, there’s no more real competition. But maybe that’s also because you’re not letting there be competition.

The Commission has been on your ass about your latest endeavors, scolding you and even putting cameras inside of your own agency, just so they can keep track of what you’re doing in there.

Your sidekicks have been eyeing you carefully, but you just smile at them and tell them everything is fine. Because it is, isn’t it?

No matter how much time passes, every time you get home—if you even get the time to go back to your own apartment, nothing Commission owned—you look in the almost-empty closet and fish out the little feather blanket you made weeks ago.

Every time you can’t sleep, you lay it over you, just to try and trick your brain that everything will be okay, even when it will never be again.

The Hero Billboard Chart that year felt brutal. You fell down the rankings—now the number five hero—while Hawks was at his number two spot. It’s been the first time in years since the two of you didn’t stand next to each other. And oh boy, didn’t people have their opinions about it.

There’s speculation, children and adults alike screaming at the two of you asking if something happened. Others are more bold and ask if the two of you had a falling out of sorts. And of course there are the shippers who are making sad edits about you and Hawks, compiling every picture the two of you are in together to throw a sad song over it while unrelated pictures get used.

It’s honestly… something. Never in a million years would you have thought that people cared like to this extent. The two of you weren’t that close. Not in the public’s eye anyway, and no one knows about the history you have with the birdbrain.

So why is everyone always trying to get you two together anyway? Is it because you two debuted at the same time and rose the rankings together? Or do they see something deeper you yourself are refusing to admit?

Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter, because the HPSC is once again calling a meeting. Walking in you see that one face you were dreading to see, but you can’t just walk back out. Steeling your face you go to sit down at the long table that’s filled with people in business suits.

The meeting drones on and on. Beginning with reprimanding you for losing rank so fast. Rolling your eyes you let them talk about how they are going to rectify things, as if being the number five isn’t good enough.

A pawn. That’s still all you are to these people. Just a little piece on a much bigger board they can use any time they want. Same goes for the crimson-winged hero across from you. He’s leaning back, arms behind his head while he leans back.

There’s a beat of silence before your handler finally speaks up. “The two of you will do an ad together. Just to show everyone there’s no bad blood.”

That makes you freeze up slightly, hairs standing on end like someone threw a cold bucket of water over you. The blond across from you also halts for half a second—one you’re sure everyone around the table saw—before he smiles, big and bright.

“And what would this ad be?” he almost purrs across the table, canines on full display while he sits up a little straighter. The lax position from minutes ago disappearing completely.

The handler looks you over for a second, then him, then looks down at the tablet, just to create a little suspense. You know she knows what the ad is about, everyone here, except for you and Hawks do. They never call in a meeting without being prepared to the max.

“It’s an underwear ad. They want to advertise their new matching sets—for partners. The two of you can do that, right?”

Of course. Of course they would throw you in the deep end like this. It isn’t even just the fact that you have to do an ad with him, but the forced close proximity and underwear. Fucking great. Across from you Hawks’ eyebrows shoot up.

“An underwear ad,” he echoes, dragging every syllable like he’s chewing on taffy and trying to figure out how to get it out of his mouth. “For couples.”

Everyone at the table looks at him before his own handler smiles, cold and devoid of any emotion. “The two of you can do that, right? Show the world there’s no bad blood like they think there is. Just two heroes who are competing to be the better hero.”

You nod slowly, mechanically. There’s no saying no to this, and he knows it as well. His golden eyes flit over to yours, and for the first time in forever you can see a glint of emotion in there. It’s gone as quick as it came, but you swear there was some relief in there.

Which is why you’re here now, two weeks later in a warehouse that doubles as the set. There are people everywhere around you. Two are working on your body, lotioning it up so it looks good in the lighting—or whatever they said, you weren’t really listening to begin with to be completely honest—while there are another two people working on your hair and makeup.

The underwear is plain. A little heart cut out on your ass—nothing scandalous, just something cute—while there is a little bow on the front. Your bra also has a cute little bow at the front, tits sitting snug in it, and it’s honestly cute.

You can hear the assistants whisper to each other about everything and anything, but most of the time yours and Hawks’ name fall from their lips. Straining your ears you can just about hear what they’re saying—He’s adorable’ ‘adorable? he’s so hot.’ ‘I think I like her more’ ‘Fine then, more for me’.

They’re giggling as if you can’t hear what they’re saying, and if you can hear it, you’re certain he can, too.Speaking of, looking in the mirror you can see him walk up and lean against the doorframe, arms over his chest, biceps bulging.

He’s in nothing but boxers, and you have to keep your eyes up to not ogle him. Lean frame gotten a bit more defined over the years, but nothing extreme. He has to be able to fly, after all, and it would be more difficult if he was on the bigger side.

The stylist puts on some lipgloss before she steps away with an watchful eye. Once she determines everything is fine she nods at you to go stand up. Walking over to the guy who fills every room without even trying—though his wings certainly had something to do with that—you stop just short in front of him.

He lets his eyes rake over you, stopping just slightly when he sees the cute bow before he whistles. Low and sharp. A catcall if you ever heard one. Your hand shoots up and hits him on the back of his head, a small little flick of your wrist.

There’s a small, sharp sting on the back of his head. Not hurting him enough to complain, but enough to get him back into the present. The two of you are not alone, and when he looks around, he can see almost every eye on the two of you.

Right. Just an ad campaign and not just the two of you.

“Ready?” he murmurs, pushing himself upright before stepping aside slightly. You roll your eyes at him before pushing past him to make your way to the set. He flicks two fingers into the air to everyone in the dressing room before he turns to follow you. And, oh—oh now that’s unfair. The little heart cutout has his eyes drawn to it.

It’s cute, small enough to be inconspicuous, but enough for him to notice. And notice he does. His feathers bristle slightly before he has to calm them down. Memories of months ago filling his head. You pushed to the brick wall, your warm, wet walls clamping down on his fingers, on his dick—shit.

He flexes his arms in hopes to get the blood rushing to there instead of down there. And he already knows this is going to be a long day.

The director is absolutely delighted when he sees the two of you walk in, immediately shaking your hands and thanking the two of you for coming, since he knows how busy hero work is. He’s absolutely beaming when you start talking a bit more, but then remembers he has to actually put the two of you in positions for the shoot.

It starts out with Keigo sitting down, muscled thighs spread oud, and you have to perch on his lap. Of fucking course. This is a couples ad, after all. But that didn’t mean you weren’t hoping it wouldn’t be like this.

Still the shoot goes on, running through multiple poses. Sitting on his lap, standing in front of each other, standing in front of him while you were with your back turned toward the camera, one of his hands on you waist, which slid lower lower lower, until he was grabbing your ass—which the director absolutely loved to see.

‘Make it more sensual.’ ‘Good, good, look each other in the eyes like you mean in.’ ‘Oh, yes yes that! that’s it!’ ‘Put your hand on his chest—there we goo.’ ‘This is looking good guys.’ ‘Okay now I just need something that shows off the front. Ohhh that’s good!’

He was… energetic to say the least.

By the time the two of you are done with the shoot—having had solo shots done as well—it’s already late at night. Most of the people have packed up already with a promise to go to dinner together, while there are still a few people walking around.

You’re in your dressing room removing your makeup when the door opens. Looking up through the mirror you can see Hawks leaned against the door, crimson wings spread open slightly while his arms are over his chest. Still in just his underwear—same as you.

You’re not sure what happened next. One minute he was talking to you—taunting you, really—and the next the two of you are stumbling to the couch, fingers groping and touching everywhere your eyes can see.

You’re laying on your back, hair splayed out underneath you while Hawks stands over you, teeth in the wrapper of the rubber that he— “Where did you even get that from?” He walked in here in just his boxers, so unless he was hiding it in there you have no idea where he got it from.

“Sent a feather to retreat one from my wallet,” he chuckles before he drops the last piece of clothing, dick springing free and hitting his bellybutton. He’s already hard and leaking for you—a sight you cannot get used to—and the soft amber lighting of the mirror shows you the two barbells just under his tip.

Fuck, if that isn’t hot. Your thighs squeeze together while you feel yourself start to soak through your underwear, white fabric almost turning translucent, sticking to your folds that leaves nothing up to the imagination.

Rolling the condom on he positions himself between your legs, hand at his base tapping his tip on your clit over the fabric a few times. Each tap has your thighs jolt, almost clamping them shut before you feel multiple feathers on them, keeping you nice and spread for him.

“You always like to tease this much or— or are you trying to keep me here longer?” you ask him through your teeth, annoyance dripping from your voice. It just makes him chuckle, golden eyes trained on where you were dripping for him. “Hmm, just wanna get you nice ‘n wet for me, but seems like I don’t have to do much, do I?

You roll your eyes at the statement. It’s not like he’s wrong, though. There’s no hiding it, either, not with the way your spread out for him.

He finally takes your panties off, hooking his slender fingers into the waistband before he lets it snap against your skin once, having you jolt out, before he finally takes them off. He looks down at the way you’re spread open for him—wet slit spread open for him with the way his feathers are keeping you open, and he can’t help but pry your lips open ever further with his thumbs.

Your hole clenches around nothing, more arousal dripping out of you and down the couch. He’s just staring for a few seconds, pupils blown out at the sight, and it would’ve made you chuckle—taunt him about hypnotizing him with your pussy—if it wasn’t for him putting his thumb in your weeping hole.

“Fuck, Hawks. Wanted your cock,” you mewl out when he slowly moves his finger in and out of you, totally transfixed on the way you’re swallowing him whole. “Seriously, just g-get this over with.”

You grab the base of his cock, manicured fingers wrapping around the appendage, before you move it over your slit, head bumping your already-sensitive clit. That finally snaps him out of it, retreating his thumb from your snug walls with a pop!

Positioning him at your entrance, he finally moves his hips, pushing in slowly. The stretch is still overwhelming. Leaning down his teeth sink into the fabric of your bra before he pulls it down just enough to bunch under your tits. Your nipples pebble immediately after they get exposed to the cold air, which just makes him groan before wrapping his lips around one of them.

The dual sensation has you mewling out, hands finding purchase on his back, fingers skimming the base of his wings making them arch out, the red plumes the only thing you can see right now. He whimpers at the sensation, feathers bristling slightly before he folds them back in.

His cock throbs inside of you once he bottoms out, flushed head steadily dripping more pre. The feeling of the rubber is different, the layer between your walls and his flushed cock has you whining out. The little barbell also feels weird, not like last time.

“Stop clenching— fucking hell… like that,” his hand smacks your thigh, aa sharp sting running up your thigh and straight to your core, having the exact opposite reaction he wanted—walls clenching down on him further.

“Just move already,” you moan out when his tongue flicks over your nipple, still waiting for him to move. His hips start to move, pulling them back he thrusts forward again. A deep and brutal thrust that has you clawing at his back, leaving behind angry, red marks. The red that matches his wings.

Your hips move in tandem with his, skin slapping against skin, heavy balls hitting your ass while his mouth finally finds your other tit, peppering it with kisses and bites. “So good for me, love it when I fuck you, don’tcha?” he murmurs against your skin.

Your legs wrap around his waist before you flip the two of you around, his body hitting the couch with an ‘oomf’. Straddling him you grab him at the base before sinking down on his girth, weeping hole swallowing him greedily. “Hate you. Hate you so much.”

His hands come down to your hips, helping you move up and down his cock. His eyes are transfixed on where the two of you are connected, lips stretching around him. “Yeah, hate me? That why you’re bouncing on my cock right now?”

His thumb presses onto your clit while two of his feathers come down to play with your nipples—feather-soft brushes against your skin making you keen out into the air, not caring who could possibly walk by and hear the two of you.

“T-this doesn’t mean anything,” you moan out, ass slapping against his thick thighs with each fall of your hips. Your pace slowly dwindles down, hips not lifting as far up as they did before, which is a wrong move because Hawks tightens his hold onto your plush hips and starts moving you.

“C’mon now, birdie. Wanted to ride me so. ride. me.” he slams you down with each word, tip hitting your cervix every time he bottoms out. You throw your head back at the feeling, back arching to the point where your tits are basically smothering him. Not that he cares though, he just happily groans while licking off the sweat that’s beading down the valley of your breasts.

“You’re—shit—dirty,” is all you can get out while he’s bruising your walls, fingers digging into your flesh in a way that you know will leave behind marks the next day. Luckily your hero suit covers it, because otherwise people would definitely know what happened.

Your thighs are starting to strain, knot in your stomach coiling deeper and deeper until it finally snaps. Body trembling above his, walls constricting around him. “Shit— tryna milk me even when you know you can’t get filled?”

He holds your body against him while he plants his feet on the ground. Pummeling his hips into yours, he chases after his own orgasm. You’re whining out at the overstimulation, hips writhing above him trying to get away from the feeling, only for him to lock his arms around your waist, keeping you still for him.

With a groan he finally cums, rubber preventing you from feeling him fill you up. The only sounds filling the room is the two of you greedily gulping in some air, and his feathers twitching against his back—puffing up slightly with affection before they go down again.

That’s the way the two of you begin this… arrangement of sorts.

Instead of taunting about rankings, the two of you began doing… favors for each other. He ate you out after you shot up the rankings again, and you sucked him off when he was still the number two—above your ranking—the next year.

You can still remember the way he was teasing you about sounding hoarse during patrol. Your throat was constricting around him a mere ten minutes before you had to go out, so there was no time to even look for something to soothe your throat.

And then you had the times where he came over just to take his frustrations out on you, hips pummeling into your ass from behind, grunting about how overworked the two of you were. The Commission still on both your asses, giving you assignment after assignment.

Your ass was red and swollen by the time he was done, puffy cunt absolutely abused while he watched his cum drip out of you only for him to lick it out of there mere seconds later.

Sometimes he came inside of you, other times he pulled out just in time, painting your skin with ropes of white, rubber having been ditched after your third time together. You were whining about not being able to feel him, telling him that you were on the pill so he couldn’t get you pregnant anyway—thank you Commission for doing something good for once.

Which is leads you to today, you’re laid out on a bed. Not the small beds the two of you had in the safehouses, nor the couches backstage somewhere or the rough bricks scratching against your back whenever the two of you find yourselves outside again. No this is Hawks’ bed, massive, just to comfortably fit his wings onto.

He’s pounding into your poor, overstimulated pussy. His hips coming down to grind against you before he pulls back and slams back in. The headboard is hit hit hitting the wall behind you, luckily for the two of you he lives in the penthouse, so there will be no noise complaints.

“Fucking hate them,” he grunts while sweat is beading down his temple, wings spread out behind him in a brilliant, crimson arc. Your fingers are clawing at his biceps while he continues his rant. “No, Hawks, it isn’t enough. Nothing you ever do is enough. We’ll just keep on sending you on missions, because that’s why you’re here. To be a hero means to sacrifice,” he mocks one of the handlers.

It’s not often that he reaches out to you, much less when he actually calls you over. Hell, this has been the first time you were even in his apartment, and you had no time to actually admire the place before he had you pinned to the wall already.

Sinking to his knees he muttered out a, need this. need this pussy to suffocate me. before he all but yanked your shorts and panties down in one, swift movement. His lips immediately latched onto your sensitive nub, making your hand fly to his hair while your head thunked! onto the wall behind you.

“Fucking hell, what’s gotten into you?” you asked him through a moan. While he’s eaten you out before, he was never this desperate to get his hands—or in this case lips—on you. It was always filled with teasing and taunting remarks. But this time he just groaned into your mound like it was the answer to all of his questions. “Seriously, Hawks… what happened?”

You’re pulling on his hair trying to get him to at least acknowledge you, but all it did was make him whimper out into your slit while his wings shuddered behind him. Well guess you found out something new about him.

“Commission was on my ass,” he mumbles through licks, his tongue flitting over your clit while one of his hand is groping your ass like it was his personal stress-ball. “Fuck you taste so sweet.”

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, hips starting to grind down onto his face while he plunged his tongue inside of you, wiggling the muscle around into your tight walls. “Want me t-to talk about it?” you breathed out, swinging one leg over his shoulder—careful not to pin his wing to his back—to give him more access to your slit, which he happily takes, pressing his mouth further into your pussy.

“Jus’ need you right now,” he grunted out, continuing to eat you out. It was messy, spit dribbling past the corners of his mouth while the lower part of his face was shiny with your arousal. “Pussy loves me, doesn’t she?”

You couldn’t answer that, too busy trying to focus on your upcoming orgasm to even think of responding to him talking to your pussy like it was alive instead of just an organ. Gripping his hair even tighter you began gyrating your hips down onto his face which he happily let you, groaning out while he angled his face so his nose would nudge your clit with each roll of your hips.

Once you came on his face—thighs trembling, tummy clenching, moans flowing free out of you—he dragged you to the bed where he took no time to slide into you. You’re still not used to the way he stretches you out, despite it having been years since you first began fucking him.

He’d filled you up once already while you’ve cum three times, weeping pussy sensitive to each roll of his hips, and you can feel your stomach starting to tighten once more.

“Haven’t I sacrificed enough already?” He’s still talking, still asking rhetorical questions that you could answer—that you would answer if he wasn’t pounding you into oblivion—but all you can do is moan out at him. “D-did everything for them.”

Nodding your head you run your hand through his hair, trying to soothe him slightly, but you just tighten your grip once he finds that spongy spot inside of you again, bullying it when he realises he’s found your g-spot once again.

“F-fuck, Hawks. Wait. Feels weird,” you’re trying to get him to slow down, to get that weird feeling building up in your lower stomach to go away, only for him to continue babbling about the Commission and how they ruined his life. If you weren’t so busy you’d give your two cents on it, but you can’t. Legs starting to tremble around his waist while your toes curl.

He presses his thumb to your clit, and that does it. Your orgasm crashes into you like a lighting strike. Clear liquid gushing out of you and onto Hawks’ abs, thighs, balls and bedsheets. Your hands tighten in the sheets beside you while you sob out his name. “Fuck, Keigo— Kei. Pleasepleaseplease. Love you— shit.”

That makes him still. Just completely still against you. You don’t notice, though, too busy riding out your orgasm to even see the way his eyes are wide open, mouth agape. The pleasure shooting through you has you crying, tears rolling down your cheeks and disappearing into the pillows below you.

“What did you just say?” His voice is so small, unlike his normal, cocky self that you finally open your eyes. Blinking a few times you note the way he’s hunched over you right now, a few feathers suspended in the air while his golden eyes look at you like you’re made of glass. He says your name—not birdie, not dove, not your hero name, just your actual name. The one you haven’t heard in years.

“Say it again,” he breathes out, almost begging you. “Please.”

Gulping you look at those golden eyes you’ve seen your entire life, the ones that always meant that you were safe. The ones you’ve hoped to see beside you every day, but got taken away from you when you were a mere seventeen years old.

“I love you,” you murmur, trying to gauge his reaction. The next second his mouth crashed onto yours, plump lips groaning out after he finally tasted you. It’s been ten years. Ten years since the two of you last kissed. You two hadn’t kissed even once after debuting, despite the two of you having been fuck-buddies for years.

It’s filled with warmth and lust, his tongue clashing against yours while you drink up all of his sounds. The wings on his back unfurl and furl back in, almost as if he has no control over what’s happening to them.

“Love you, love you, love you,” he mumbles out against your lips while slowly starting to trust back inside again. The overstimulation has you keening out, but you just wrap your legs further around his waist while pulling him back in. “Mine, all mine.”

His pace picks up, hips snapping against yours once more. One of his hands gropes your breast while the other squeezes your waist, pulling you down to meet every thrust.

Your body is completely pliant against his, bones feeling like jelly with the way he’s made you cum multiple times already. The last sunrays catch your eyes, and it has him gasping out. You look like an angel beneath him—his angel.

He spills inside you not soon after, a second load filling you up. And you coax him through it, hands running through his hair while his lips latch onto your throat.

You thought he’d be done now, but you can feel him twitch inside of you. “Are you still hard?” you whisper, incredulous.

Keigo merely smiles down at you before he pulls out of you, his thick seed immediately bubbling out of you. He gives you no time to even realise what’s going on, picking you up into his arms and setting you down in front of the big window that overlooks the city.

Your body tilts forward, tits pressing against the cool glass while you turn your head to the side to look at the man behind you. “What are you doing?”

“Gonna show everyone you’re mine,” he growls before nudging your knees apart and slips back inside. Your mouth falls open when he starts moving again, the cool glass a stark contrast to your overheating body.

The streets below are still busy, and if someone were to look up they would be able to see the number two absolutely railing the number three hero. Your nipples brush against the smooth surface, adding all the more pleasure to your core.

Inner thighs are slick with a mixture of your and his cum, and you can see him in the reflection of the glass. The crimson almost getting swallowed by the burnt-sienna of the sky outside, but his eyes are transfixed on you. He chuckles when he feels you clench down onto him, walls fluttering uselessly around him. “You like the thought of people seeing you like this?” he murmurs into your ear, breath warm against the shell.

Your hips move back against him, knees weak with the way he knocks you forward with each thrust. Wrapping his arm around you, he lifts you up, feet dangling uselessly above the ground. You gasp out at that—at him using your body like you were merely a doll he could just pick up whenever he wanted.

“Shit— Keigo,” you whine out his name, forehead thumping against the glass, eyes fluttering close when that piercing passes over your sweet-spot with each pass of his hips. Nails leaving angry indents into his forearm.

“I know, dove. I know,” he murmurs against your cheek, he pounds into you from behind like a man possessed. “Let go for me. Show me how much you want me.”

Your eyes roll to the back of your skull, mouth opening in a broken moan that sounds so unlike you. White-hot pleasure shoots through your core, whitening out your vision for what feels like an eternity.

Keigo is not far behind, hips snapping against your ass like a punctuation. “S-shit, trying to milk me for all I’m worth.”

He spills into you for the last time that night. Hips ceasing their ministrations completely, his sweaty chest pressed flush against your back. Letting your head loll back against his shoulder you look at him, tired eyes blinking over his form.

He’s flushed from his face down all the way to his chest. Sweat beads down his body and he’s panting against your neck. His hair is plastered to his forehead, eyes blown out wide.

Moving the two of you back to the bed, he carefully lays you down before walking away, only to return with a washcloth seconds later. He carefully opens your thighs for him and begins to clean you up. You trash slightly at the sensation. “I know, dovey. Will be over soon.”

He throws the washcloth somewhere to the ground, and it lands with a wet schlap! somewhere in the corner of his bedroom—something you’ll probably reprimand him for when you have more energy, but right now you couldn’t care less.

Shuffling into the bed, he pulls you to his chest. One of his wings wraps itself around you—just like old times. It takes you right back to that too-small bed where the two of you would talk into the late hours of the night.

Feathers are twitching against your skin as if trying to kiss your entire body. It makes you relax, body sinking more into his chest while he traces small shapes in your skin.

“That was… a lot,” you mumble out, not quite sure if you should even address it, but you can’t stay silent any longer. The way he said your name, told you he loved you, gave you your old nickname back. It was, quite frankly, a lot. And even if that all didn’t happen, he also made you squirt for the first time. The memory has you flushing bright red.

“Mhmm, nothing I said was untrue, though,” he mumbles out into your hair, pressing his lips feather-soft against the crown of your head. It has you closing your eyes for a few seconds before opening them again.

“Why did you even leave in the first place, Kei?” It’s been bothering you ever since he walked out of that room. The way he was so fidgety, no longer wanting anything to do with you when the two of you only had a few more months before the debut. A few more months and the two of you could’ve just stopped sneaking around.

You can feel him lean back a little, head angled down before his fingers find you chin and nudges your head up so he can look at you. “What are you talking about, dove? You’re the one who told me that we couldn’t be together.”

Furrowing your brows you look at the golden eyes you’ve known your whole life. Shifting slightly—and hissing when you accidentally rub yourself against his thigh—you sit up a little, just enough to look at him.

“No, no. You came into my room telling me it couldn’t work any longer,” you start, eyes darting around his face, confusion settling over you. You can still remember that night vividly, and it was him who broke it off with you. “Said you didn’t have feelings for me and then just… walked out.”

“Now why would I do that when I’ve been in love with you for all of my life?” He asks you, bushy brows furrowed together. There’s a slight crease between them, and you want to rub it away, but you’re still racking your brain.

He continues, voice lower now, more sad, “I came back from that horribly long assignment and you were waiting for me on my bed. At first you were just… quiet. Then you told me that it was a mistake and that it was just the proximity that had made you kiss me.”

You chuckle at that, hollow and sad all at once. “Just the proximity? Keigo I’ve liked you ever since I realised what it meant to have a crush on someone.”

He just purses his lips at that, not moving an inch. The feathers that are still on your back twitch a few times, a shudder going through them that he doesn’t bother to stop.

“Then why would you—” he trails off, golden eyes almost bulging out of his skull with realisation. “The Commission.”

“Wait, what?” You’re confused now. What does the Commission have to do with any of this? It was just you two that knew about everything, the Commission has never even known that you and Keigo even knew each other outside of any assignments.

“Think about it, dove. You’re saying it was me who broke it of, I’m saying it was you—”

“I never broke up with you. God I was so heartbroken.”

“—and neither of us is saying we did that. Hell, we’re both saying we wanted to be together. So what else could it have been? You know how the Commission is, they could get their hands on any quirk user, and I would bet there’s someone who could shapeshift, or something like that.”

You’re still looking at him, mind racing now. You honestly can’t believe neither of you thought about this earlier, but then again the two of you didn’t really talk. Just played stupid games to be close to each other.

“The feather,” you finally breathe out, fingers ghosting over your ribs where he always put the small feather. The one you’ve been missing on your skin for years. “It didn’t float when I threw it back at you. It just… fell to the floor. And ‘you’ picked it up. Picked it up.”

How could you have missed it—that small detail that would tell you something was wrong. Sure he was acting strange, not letting you touch him and just being twitchy in general, but his feathers were the dead giveaway. They never could quite hide everything he wanted to, despite having been trained for years.

How did it never occur to you that he had telepathic feathers and he picked it off the floor rather than just bringing it toward himself.

“You gave that feather back,” he murmurs, his own thumb coming to your ribs. Then a small, sad chuckle falls from his lips. “Even after all the training we’ve had, we still got outsmarted by the suits. Purely because we couldn’t see past our emotions.”

Tears spring to your eyes, because it’s true, isn’t it? You let the emotions get the better of you, throwing out the small feather that could have solved everything. What would’ve happened if you never threw it back at ‘him’ in that fit of anger? Would the two of you still have been best friends? More than best friends? Or would he not have believed you?

“How did they even find out about it?” you whisper. His thumb comes up and wipes away some of the tears that are gathering on your waterline, the action so soft compared to how he used your body mere minutes ago. “We’ve never gotten caught in twelve years.”

“Must’ve been the supply closet,” he answers, pulling you back to lay on his chest. “Maybe they realised that us walking back took longer than needed.”

And how stupid could the two of you have been? Of course they would know how long it takes for the two of you to walk back—especially considering Keigo had left before you and went out of the supply closet after you.

That’s the exact thing the two of you were trained on noticing, patterns and behaviours. Yet it didn’t occur in your minds that they would be using it as well. Didn’t think about much but him at that moment, to be completely honest.

“Can’t believe secret kisses in a supply closet is what has gotten us caught,” you groan out into his chest, the words slightly muffled. And he laughs at that, a small breath through his nose that rattles his chest. “At least you were my first everything.”

“Wait what?” He looks down at you, looks at the way you’re burrowing yourself further into his chest, trying to find his warmth. His wing instinctively tightens around you, feathers whispering against your skin from where they’re puffing up slightly. “You mean to tell me that time on the rooftop was your first time, too?”

You hum slightly, a small, drowsy thing that comes deep from your throat. His words still have to catch up with your brain, but when they finally register your head snaps up. “What do you mean, too?”

“I never fucked anyone beside you,” he says, not even a tremble can be found in his voice. Looking at him for a little while longer, you let a small chuckle escape your lips. He never fucked anyone else?

“Then why do you have a piercing there?” Your leg shifts slightly over him, making him groan out, wing tightening a fraction. He grabs your leg with one hand, halting your movement, because he can already feel blood rush south again—way too sensitive from the multiple rounds the two of you had earlier.

“Got it so I could jerk off faster—why are you laughing, you out of all people should know that we don’t get any time to get any release. Especially with the way the Commission keeps throwing more and more missions at us.”

“It’s just… I thought you had fucked half the population here in Fukuoka City, and here you are telling me you were a virgin and just got a dick piercing to make yourself more sensitive?”

It’s ridiculous, honestly. And everything makes sense—the way he would never respond to your taunts about other girls, just like you wouldn’t respond to any of his taunts since you wouldn’t just tell him he was the one to take your virginity.

“Guess we have a lot of catching up to do, love.” There it is again, that nickname. Not a slip of the tongue as you thought it was ten years ago. He really did call you ‘love’ back then.

Your eyes close against your will, body finally going boneless against him. “Mhmm, but first we should go to sleep.”

“I don’t care what we do as long as I have you beside me,” he murmurs out against your skin, lips brushing your temple—feather-light, almost like it was never there to begin with.

You don’t know what’ll happen tomorrow. All you know is that you got the boy you loved back and that this time nothing will come between the two of you.

©CursedKisss do not copy, steal, plagiarize, or feed my works into AI. I will send Shigaraki after you if you do.

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[oomisluvr]

"SOMETHING NEW"

SYNOPSIS: Your face is set into that firm expression again, the one that makes the cutest dip between your brows. Kiyoomi just wants to kiss it away, make it all better.

WARNINGS: swearing, allusions to sex, misunderstandings, co-workers with benefits? like a teaspoon of angst. sakusa kiyoomi is so stupid oh my god hes so fucking stupid. reader is described as shorter than him so i’m sorry if ur 6’2 or taller. if u see a runoff sentence no u didn't! sakusa kiyoomi x reader. 3.2k words!

You never stay. Not that SAKUSA is keeping track.

He just wishes he knew you a little better, is all.

The shower head sputters to life above him, plastering his curls to his forehead as he racks his brain on where he went wrong.

Kiyoomi thought that last night had gone well—Great, even. He invited you over to talk over a decent home cooked meal served with candlelights and quiet song. He even made you laugh a few times, smiling at him over a glass of chilled wine with a flirty look in your eyes that made his stomach jump. 

It’s rare that Kiyoomi gets to see you so comfortable. Barefaced with your hair down, lips pulled into a shy smile when they’re usually pressed in a firm, focused line. You look so soft like this, relaxed in a way that you usually aren’t during work hours. It’s like you’re a completely different person behind closed doors. A version of yourself only he gets to see.

At some point you ended up on his too-hard box sofa watching a terrible B-list horror movie—a choice Kiyoomi prepared to regret but eventually found himself enjoying. 

Basic in its exposition and excessive over-the-top gore—It’s objectively an awful fucking film. Still, you were actually scared—flinching hard at every jumpscare and holding him tight during tense moments, Kiyoomi’s heart beating rabbit-quick in his chest at your touch.

You ended up in his lap before the credits rolled, arms wrapped around his shoulders and kissing him honey-slow. All the tension in the room building and building until it finally crested and he couldn’t tell the difference between where he ended and you began, mewling against his jaw in between messy kisses while he gripped your hips to drive you harder on his—

Fuck.

The memory of you leaves Kiyoomi warm, more images of you flashing through his mind before he can will them away. The dip of your waist. The elegant line of your back. The delicate crease where hip becomes thigh. The curve of your lips, stretched tight as you fit more of him into—

He grabs the shower handle and jerks it cold, the water turning icy in seconds. Recalling the rest of the night leaves him with the same awful feeling.

You had kissed his cheek goodbye, gathered your things, and skirted out the door, chattering about needing to be up early with a bubbly promise to see you tomorrow!

Kiyoomi felt like he was floating, hand brushing his cheek where you had kissed him. After months of pining, he might actually have a chance—

But then you ignored him at work the next day, and you continued to ignore him in all the days that followed.

&&&

It’s fine that you leave. It’s not like he's holding you hostage. You’re free to make your own decisions. You’re both adults, after all.

So, like an adult, Kiyoomi goes to practice and works hard. Nails every set that comes his way and aims his serves with lethal precision. He pointedly ignores the chorus of wolf whistles that start up when they’re back in the locker room, responding to overly curious questions with a smug ‘Wouldn’t you like to know’ or ‘Not very work appropriate, Miya.”

Now that had earned him a growl, “Since when do you fuck?” 

“Since your mother asked me so nicely.”

“Don’t you fuckin’ talk about my—”

But Kiyoomi’s already gone, letting Atsumu’s rage fissile out of earshot as he slips out of the locker rooms and into the gymnasium, sneakers squeaking against the glossed court floor.

You’re there when he leaves, sitting on the bleachers as you type furiously on your laptop, the cutest scrunch between your brows as you focus on your task. You don’t seem to notice him, too deep into… whatever it is that you’re doing, so he clears his throat with an awkward wave.

“Hey.” He says, a little startled to see you, a little excited. A clipboard rests beside you, fixing a document in place that you’ve scribbled numbers all over, half the page covered in bouts of pink and purple highlighter. You’ve got your hair pulled up tight, face set into something pensive. “You look nice today. I like your hair.”

“Oh, hi. Thanks, Omi.” You smooth a hand over a lock of hair, twirling it around your fingers in focused circles, your expression melting into something warm, “You really think so? Trying something new.”

Ki, Kiyo, Yoomi, Yooms—You seem to be searching for every possible way to shorten his name. It always catches him off guard when you come up with a new one, taking steady breaths so his heart doesn’t beat out of his chest, lips fixed in a frown to fight down a smile. 

Kiyoomi nods—perhaps a bit too stiffly—remembering the way you looked last night, sleepy and satisfied and so, so cute. He wants to kiss you back into yesterday, when you were soap-soft and giggly, falling apart again and again as he worked you through it all, melting on his tongue like ice cream on a summer afternoon—

“Is… there something I can help you with?” You say when he doesn’t reply, and oh my god he’s been staring this entire time just say something Kiyoomi say anything—

“What… are you doing out here?” Jesus fucking Christ. 

“Working, if you can believe it.” You don’t seem to mind his presence, so maybe he’s not making a complete fool of himself. “The wifi in my office is shit, so I’m stuck out here until I finish this.”

“What are you working on?” He asks, craning his neck to see the source of your despair.

“Budget stuff.” You jot down a few more numbers on the sheet packed full of numbers, tilting the screen to give him a better view, “We need to order a million things before the season officially starts. This isn’t even technically in my job description.”

You tilt the screen to reveal a spreadsheet. Kiyoomi doesn’t understand much of it.

“Seems like a lot of math.”

“It is.” You hit the ‘enter’ key with perhaps too much force, “Putting my degree to use, I guess.”

“I thought you majored in English?”

“I did, but it’s all the same to them.” You dismiss him with a wave of your hand, “A degree is a degree. And someone has to order the charter bus for the game next week.”

That pulls a quiet laugh from him, “Maybe you could use a drink?”

Your eyes finally shift from the screen to meet his gaze, playful but intrigued, “Why? Are you offering?”

The effect is immediate, stomach fluttering as his chest thumps. It feels good to have all of your attention. He’s not too prideful to admit that.

“I—Yeah. Well, the guys are going out later. Team bonding, or something. You should come.” He feels a bit like a coward for using the team as a crutch, but he’d say anything to spend more time with you. “And before you ask: You are part of the team. Nobody would care about us if it wasn’t for you.”

“That’s not true. You’re all well-liked, with or without me.” Your disagreement is made clear when the scrunch between your brow returns, “Besides, nobody wants to get drunk with their PR manager.”

A half-truth. Managing their public images hasn’t been easy. Last month you had to deal with a leaked sex tape that looked suspiciously like one of the Miya twins. Bokuto can’t stop swearing during public interviews and Hinata almost got himself cancelled for inappropriate comments about the starting setter for the Schweiden Adlers. Even Kiyoomi has gotten heat in the media for turning down gifts from fans. You’ve got enough dirt on them to bury them several times over—It’s a miracle you have anything nice to say about them at all.

“I do.” He says before the courage leaves him. Kiyoomi likes that about you, too. Part of him wishes he could step into your world and experience life through your eyes—where everything is brighter, lighter, and forgiving. You always find ways to highlight the best parts of people, even when faced with the absolute worst. He figures that’s why you’re so good at your job. 

Still, he can see the uncertainty in your face about coming. “I want you to come. It would be nice if you came, I mean.” Then more quietly, “Only if you want to, though. No pressure.”

Kiyoomi is about to cut his losses, feeling like he’s pushed too far and revealed too much about himself, begging for a scrap of your attention like a dog at dinnertime. 

But you say something so astounding and unfathomable that Kiyoomi thinks he misheard you.

You say yes.

&&&

The bar they always go to is nearing empty. It’s almost midnight and still no sign of you.

The team is long gone by now since they do everything on an early schedule, including going out. Start drinking by 7pm, have your last drink around 9pm, then sober up enough to leave at 10pm to be ready for 8am practice the next day. That’s just how it goes.

So he sits in a corner booth, waiting for your silhouette to walk through the door when he probably should have left hours ago, his beer untouched and having lost all carbonation. He watches a guy on the other side of the bar completely miss his shot in a game of pool.

Huh, Kiyoomi thinks to himself, watching the condensation steadily slip down the glass, so this is what getting stood up feels like.

It just stings, more than anything else. The embarrassment is what kills him, really. You hadn’t even texted.

It begins to make sense the longer he dwells on it. It was ridiculous of him to invite you, and even more ridiculous for him to get his hopes up. Drinking with the team, really? You obviously want to maintain a professional relationship with him as much as possible, and that’s fine. He was stupid to think otherwise. Why would you jeopardize your career over him? This isn't a workplace romance.

It’s a thirty minute walk back to his apartment, but he could use the air. The trains are done for the night, so it’s not like he has a choice in the matter. Kiyoomi closes his tab, tugs on his jacket and heads for the door. 

He decides to take the long route anyways, hoping to pass through the livelier side of the city to drown the noise in his head. Stopped at the crosswalk, he waits for the light to change, when a shoulder shoves into him. It’s not a big deal. He did choose to walk through the part of town known for nightlife. Though, the thought of a drunk stranger emptying their stomach on the pavement beside him has Kiyoomi turning to look at just exactly who bumped into him.

“Oh.” He says, eyes wide, “Hey.”

“Hi.” You greet, brushing him off. The light changes and you start walking, Kiyoomi following a half-second after.

“You… ” He trails, taking longer strides to match your pace. You walk strikingly fast for someone so much shorter than him. “You didn’t show.”

You huff, walking faster. “You didn’t text.”

He… what? The only reason he didn’t text was because he didn’t want you to feel pressured. You don’t need him hounding you about an offer you seemed hesitant to accept in the first place. He was trying to be considerate, afraid to stretch his luck too far and ask for too much.

“Did you not want to come? I didn’t want you to feel I was forcing you.”

“I don’t know what to feel, Kiyoomi.”

The use of his full name makes his stomach drop, “Did you want me to text you?”

“I don’t want anything from you.” You spit, tucking yourself further into your thin cardigan. He can feel you slipping further from his reach. Kiyoomi can’t see any tears, but the tremor in your voice gives you away, “Not anymore. I just want to go home.”

“Then let me walk you.” He blurts, shrugging off his jacket to drape over your shoulders, “And it’s cold out, you should be wearing a thicker coat—”

You stop walking, whipping around so fast that it forces him to stop, too. The sudden loss of momentum makes him stumble, nearly taking you down with him. The crowd splits around you, suspending this moment in a bubble where it’s just you and him, pedestrians passing by in an indistinguishable blur.

He would have fallen if he didn’t reach out to steady you, one hand landing on your shoulder and the other around your waist. Kiyoomi’s hands retract as if burned, but the slip-up puts the two of you much closer. You don’t step back. 

“What is it that you want from me?” Your face is set into that firm expression again, the one that makes the cutest dip between your brows. Kiyoomi just wants to kiss it away, make it all better. 

“I want—” He tries, panicked eyes darting around your face to catch every microexpression. “I want whatever you want. I invited you tonight because I wanted an excuse to see you. I’m sorry I didn’t text. I didn’t want to push. Earlier it seemed like you didn’t want to come.”

“Of course I wanted to come! You’re just so—” You gesture towards him vaguely, “I don’t know! You don’t acknowledge me at work. You rarely text. You just followed me on Instagram. What am I supposed to think?”

Kiyoomi could rip his hair out. In hindsight, his choices seem nonsensical, but every decision had been a carefully calculated measure.

“Fuck, I was over-thinking.” He can feel his heartbeat in his throat, “I was overthinking it so bad—” 

You huff, adjusting his jacket over your shoulders. You don’t look convinced.

“I swear I was trying to do right by you. I didn’t know if you wanted other people to know, or if this was a casual thing, or if—”

“You could have talked to me, maybe?” You cut him off, “Fucking asked me?”

“I… didn’t have the guts to ask. I don’t know what I would have done if you just wanted to be friends.” The words catch in his throat. “I wouldn’t have known how to stand next to you at work and pretend that was enough. I still don’t.”

He’s rambling now, inhibitions now forgotten at the crosswalk when you first bumped into him.

“I think about you all the time. At practice, at home—” he gestures vaguely between you like that explains anything, “I replay every conversation we’ve had trying to figure out if I imagined it or if you actually—” he cuts himself off, “And then you leave. Every time, you just—leave. Like it didn’t mean a thing.” His voice drops, quieter now, shy. “And I didn’t know how to ask if it did.”

You’re both still blocking the walkway, the city moving around you in blurred streaks of noise and neon. Neither of you move, your fingers twitching at your side like you’re not sure what to do with them. Your mouth opens, then closes. For a second, it looks like you might say something.

You don’t.

Still, Kiyoomi holds your stare, refusing to be the one to look away first.

Finally you shake your head, but there’s no malice in it. Your voice comes out quieter than it should, “You are so fucking stupid.” 

“Yeah.” He agrees easily, no arguments to be made, “—But I can do things differently from now on. If you even want to continue this. I just—Let me walk you home? Please, can I walk you home?”

“I am home,” You gesture to the building behind you with a tilt of your head. “This is my apartment.”

Not that he would know. You’ve never invited him over.

Kiyoomi recalculates, face warm. “Let me walk you to your door?”

Your smile takes him by surprise, small as it is, keys jangling loudly as you pull them from your purse, “Sure. Don’t want to get lost, now do I?”

Your sarcasm fails to deter him. Kiyoomi is a man of his word, so he escorts you the final ten paces to your doorstep, not-so-discreetly wiping the sweat from his palms. 

“I have to know. What were you doing when you bumped into me earlier?”

Your gaze drops to your shoes, rocking slighting as you shift your weight from your heels to your toes then back.

“Being petty. I didn’t want to show up too late or too early. I was waiting for you to text me, so I wouldn’t look stupid.” You exhale a quiet laugh. “But you actually didn’t text me. And it suddenly felt like I was reading too deep into this. I was heading home when I saw you at the crosswalk.”

“Where’d you go for all that time?”

“The bar next door.” You snort, “I had drinks with my friend instead. They really helped me figure out my feelings.”

The thought of you dressed up, waiting anxiously for a text that never came makes Kiyoomi want to fall to his knees. Your friends probably hate him, too, and they’d be right to do so. It takes significant effort not to bang his head into the sidewalk.

“Could I…” He feels a flush creep up his neck, “Could I try again?”

You debate his question for a short while, Kiyoomi’s heart a sledgehammer in his chest. Clumsily shoving your keys into your bag, you extend a hand and give him your full name.

He scrambles to take it, your hand soft against his calloused palm, and it feels like something new. 

“Sakusa Kiyoomi.” He reintroduces himself with a firm shake and a boyish grin, “Are you doing anything next weekend?”

haiii the sun is out and i feel like a person again. its actually so embarrassing how slow i am at writing i totally understand if u want to stone me in the town square. i have like 5 longer wips to finish so expect more at some point in the future probably!!

love as always,  niko ♡

[splurtz]

IS IT A CRIME TO ACCIDENTALLY SEND NUDES TO YOUR LAW PROFESSOR?

SYPNOSIS. in which you accidentally email your increasingly explicit nudes to your stern law professor higuruma hiromi instead of your assignments.

PART TWO

PAIRING. law prof! higuruma hiromi x law student! reader

CONTENT. MDNI. professor/student. age gap. oral sex (m/f receiving). light degradation.

A/N. art by ayushnz on ig

subject: urgent assignment submission

from: [email protected]

to: [email protected]

hey prof higuruma,

just attached the draft for the criminal procedure essay like you asked—reworked the section on miranda rights based on your feedback from last office hours. let me know if it still needs more case citations or if i’m overcomplicating the exclusionary rule again

thanks for staying late to look it over again, you’re saving my gpa here!

talk soon,

[your name]

(attachment: Criminal_Procedure_Essay_Draft_v3.docx)

tuesday lecture comes and you get there early this time. you sit in back row, legs crossed tight. he walks in five minutes before start wearing his usual black suit, sleeves already rolled. briefcase hits the podium hard. he doesn’t bother looking around before he starts.

“entrapment. page 231. we’re covering it today.”

he paces. voice low and tired like always. “entrapment defense requires government inducement that would cause a normally law-abiding person to commit the crime. it’s not just opportunity. it’s active persuasion, pressure, temptation that overrides free will.”

he stops, leaning on the podium. eyes scan the room slow looking at your section longer than others.

“consider seduction as a tactic. undercover officer poses as a romantic interest. they builds trust, uses flirtation, compliments, physical proximity, promises of intimacy. the target eventually agrees to sell drugs or whatever the crime is because the seduction makes refusal feel impossible. courts have ruled both ways. some say it’s legitimate police work. others say when it crosses into sexual manipulation it becomes entrapment per se.”

he keeps going, he describes cases. like how a female officer in a bar is wearing a low-cut dress touching the suspect’s arm. whispering how much she wants him. leading him to the deal. male officer doing the same to a female suspect. lingering looks, suggestive comments. “let me take care of you.” he lists factors courts weigh: intensity of the advances. repetition. whether the target initiated or resisted. how long the seduction lasted before the crime occurred.

the whole lecture his tone stays flat. no glances your way. he talks about “arousal as leverage” like it’s just another legal element. “when sexual desire is weaponized to lower inhibitions, the line between persuasion and coercion blurs. but the test remains objective: would the average person succumb?”

you feel his stare when he asks the question like he’s personally talking to you.

when class ends, he leaves fast.

wednesday night you send your second one.

subject: revised entrapment section – attached

from: [email protected]

to: [email protected]

prof,

added the entrapment cases you referenced in lecture. focused on the seduction hypotheticals and court splits. let me know if the analysis is on track.

[your name]

(attachment: Entrapment_Analysis_Revised.pdf)

again, no reply.

thursday you spot him at the faculty coffee stand outside the law building. the line’s short and he’s in front. pays with exact change as he takes his black coffee. when he turns, your eyes meet. you’re three feet away. he pauses and looks straight through you. he doesn't bother acknowledging you, then he steps around you, walking away.

your hands shake holding your own cup.

friday night comes and you promise yourself that this will be your last attempt.

subject: entrapment follow-up questions – example attached

from: [email protected]

to: [email protected]

hi prof,

had a couple questions on the objective test for seduction-based entrapment. attached a quick example i wrote up to clarify my thinking. appreciate any notes.

thanks,

[your name]

(attachment: Seduction_Entrapment_Example.docx.)

saturday morning your inbox lights up.

subject: re: entrapment follow-up questions – example attached

from: [email protected]

to: [email protected]

that’s the third nude you sent this week.

monday 5:30 pm. my office.

h. higuruma

you arrive at his office door at exactly 5:30 pm on monday, heart pounding like it's about to burst out of your chest. the law building is mostly empty this late–classes wrapped up hours ago, and the few lingering students are buried in the library or grabbing takeout from the food trucks outside. his door is cracked open, a sliver of warm lamplight spilling into the dim hallway. you knock lightly, his voice cuts through immediately.

"come in."

you push the door open, stepping inside. the office is what you'd expect from your professor.

stacks of case files on the desk, bookshelves crammed with legal tomes, a single window overlooking the campus quad. he's seated behind his desk, tie loosened, sleeves rolled up to his elbows like always, exposing those forearms you've caught yourself staring at during lectures more times than you'd admit. his eyes flick up from a pile of papers, dark and unreadable, pinning you in place.

"close the door," he says, it’s not a request too. when you do, the click of the latch echoing too loudly in the quiet room. "lock it."

your fingers fumble on the knob, but you manage. when you turn back, he's already standing, rounding the desk with slow steps. he doesn't say anything at first, just leans against the edge of the desk, arms crossed over his chest, watching you. the silence stretches, it was awkward until you can't take it anymore.

"professor, i—about the attachments, they were accidents. i swear, i meant to send the essays, but my files got mixed up, and—"

"accidents," he repeats, he uncrosses his arms, picking up a folder from his desk—your emails printed out, you realize with a flush of heat to your face. he flips through them casually, as if reviewing a student's brief. "three times in one week. each one more... explicit than the last."

your cheeks burn. the first had been a simple nude, you in front of your mirror, lace panties and nothing else, snapped for your own confidence boost after a rough day. the second? you'd been bolder, sprawled on your bed, hand between your thighs, capturing the arch of your back. and the third... god, the third had been you on all fours, ass up, looking over your shoulder with a smirk that screamed invitation. you'd meant them for a situationship that fizzled out, but in your late-night haze of studying and scrolling, you'd attached the wrong files. or had you? the thought nags at you now, but you push it down.

"i didn't mean for you to see them," you whisper. his gaze drops to your lips, then lower, tracing the way your blouse clings to your curves under your cardigan, the skirt that's maybe an inch too short for a professional setting like this.

he sets the folder down, stepping closer. close enough that you can smell his cologne–too strong for your liking. "and yet, here we are." his hand lifts, fingers brushing your jaw, tilting your chin up so you're forced to meet his eyes. they're darker now, pupils blown wide. "you didn't delete them. didn't send a frantic follow-up apologizing. just kept sending more."

before you can stammer another excuse, his thumb presses against your lower lip, parting it slightly. "on your knees."

you drop without thinking, carpet rough against your bare knees. he doesn't rush when unbuckles his belt, zipper dragged down loud in the quiet office. when he frees himself he's already hard, thick in his hand as he jerks himself watching your face the whole time.

"open."

he guides the head past your lips, you taste him as he slides deeper, filling your mouth inch by inch until he hits the back of your throat. your eyes water instantly. he groans low, one hand cupping the back of your head, the other braced on the desk behind him.

"that's it," he mutters. "take it."

he starts to move slowly letting you adjust, then faster. shallow thrusts turn deeper, until he's fucking your throat in earnest. you gag around him, saliva pooling at the corners of your mouth, dripping down your chin, but he doesn't stop. his grip tightens in your hair, holding you steady as he uses your mouth like it's his to take. every time you choke he pauses just long enough for you to breathe through your nose, then pushes back in, deeper, until your nose brushes his pelvis.

"look at me," he orders when your eyes flutter shut.

you force them open. his expression is almost detached but the way his hips continuously move faster betrays him. he's close. you can feel it in the way he twitches against your tongue, the way his breathing turns ragged. one more deep thrust and he holds himself there, releasing down your throat without a warning. you swallow reflexively, choking a little, but he doesn't pull out until he's finished, until you've taken every drop.

when he finally pulls out, a string of spit connects your swollen lips to the tip. he tucks himself away, zips up then he scoops you up by the waist like you weigh nothing. your legs dangle for a second before he sets you on the edge of his desk, papers crinkling under you. he pushes your thighs apart with his knee, settling between them, his hands gripping your hips to hold you in place.

"touch yourself," he says quietly.

he wants you to what…?

heat floods your face anew. "w-what? here? that's... embarrassing."

his lips twitch into something almost like a smirk, he leans in closer, breath hot against your ear. "you weren't embarrassed when you sent those nudes. all sprawled out, hand between your legs, begging for attention." his fingers trail up your thigh, pushing your skirt higher, but stopping just short. "show me now or was that all an act?"

shame and desire twist in your gut, but your hand moves anyway, slipping under the lace of your panties. you're soaked already—from the way he used your mouth.. fingers glide over your clit, circling slow at first, and a soft whimper escapes you. he watches, unblinking, one hand still on your thigh.

you pick up speed, hips rocking into your touch, breaths coming faster. but it's not enough—his stare is too intense like he's analyzing you. "please," you whisper, free hand reaching for him, but he catches your wrist, pinning it to the desk.

"no. keep going." his voice is low, commanding. "let me see you fall apart like in that second photo, that was my favorite one you know.”

your fingers start dipping lower, thrusting shallowly. the edge in you builds but just as you're teetering, he pulls your hand away. you whine in protest, but he silences you with a look.

"not yet." he drops to his knees then, surprising you, hands shoving your thighs wider. he drags your panties aside, not bothering to remove them, and leans in. his breath ghosts over you first, making you clench around nothing. then his mouth is on you—tongue warm and broad, licking a slow stripe from entrance to clit.

you gasp, hands flying to his hair, gripping tight. he groans against you, he eats you out like he's starving. his fingers dig into your thighs, holding you open as you squirm, the desk creaking under your shifting weight.

"hiromi—fuck," you moan, head falling back. he sucks your clit between his lips. one hand leaves your thigh, two fingers sliding inside you easily, curling to hit that spot that makes your vision blur. he pumps them in time with his tongue, building you back to the edge faster than before.

it crashes over you without warning, thighs clamping around his head as you come undone, crying out his name. he doesn't stop, lapping through it until you're oversensitive and shaking, pushing weakly at his shoulders.

only then does he pull back, lips shiny, eyes filled with satisfaction. he stands, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, then reaches between your legs again. he tugs your panties down your thighs, you lift your hips to help. he balls them in his fist, slips them into his pocket like a trophy.

"that's enough," he says stepping back.

you blink, still dazed, legs dangling off the desk. "what?"

"go home."

"but—" you start, voice small and wrecked, glancing down at the obvious bulge in his slacks. "you didn't—i want to—"

"i will." he steps closer one last time, brushes a stray tear from your cheek with his thumb. "when i decide. you'll get an email when i want you back here.”

he leans in, lips brushing your ear. "and next time, wear something easier to take off."

he steps back, opens a drawer, pulls out a tissue packet and sets it on the desk beside you. then he sits again, picks up a pen, and starts marking papers like you aren't still perched there, dripping because of him.

you slide off the desk on unsteady legs, fix your skirt, wipe your face. he doesn't look up as you unlock the door and slip out into the hallway.

you still haven't processed what happened but you know you’re going to check your inbox obsessively from now on.

© splurtz 2026 — all rights reserved.

[yenayaps]

Rose Garden Dreams; Torn At The Seams

Pairing: FireLord!Zuko x RoyalAdvisor!Reader

Content: contrary to popular belief, the fire lord can't have everything he wants. however, even he’d admit that what he wanted was troublesome in itself, which is why he forces himself to be okay with having you by his side as his advisor. [tw: MDNI, angst/fluff/smut, apothecary diaries coded, so much yearning and longing, porn with plot, there is no power imbalance he’s afraid of your father, zuko’s a little shit tho, we’re already married in his head] wc: 4.8k

m.list | chapter one | next chapter

“You want me to do your hair?”

His lips twitch, fighting back a smile. “Yes, precisely.” 

You sigh as you step into the man’s chambers, walking up to the vanity that’s more fitting for a queen, in your opinion. If only people saw this side of the fire lord. Zuko, the pretty boy. He has zero insecurities over the scar his tyrant of a father left on his face, but he’d faint at the sight of seeing too much hair shed on the marble floors of his bathhouse. 

“When you decide to have me summoned like this, do you ever wonder, hm— what would her father think?” you ask as you grudgingly pick up the boar bristle brush and begin to brush his hair. 

“I do,” he dryly responds. “I like the way you do your hair, though, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell on me. You wouldn’t want me getting in trouble, right?” 

Zuko might be the fire lord, but he still has to watch his relationships with the other clans in this nation— especially with a certain hot-headed strategist that just so happens to be your father. You can only imagine his outburst upon learning that his daughter is playing with the lord's hair, rather than playing your role as his advisor. 

Most fathers would be pleased by the information— not yours, he’s a little more… strict. He already doesn’t like him from a joke made over a decade ago, suggesting you’d make a fine concubine, which wasn’t taken lightly. 

Your father threatened to usurp the throne, sending a chill running down a then 21 year old Zuko’s spine.

There was no way in hell he’d hand you off to the imperial palace to become a concubine. You’re the only child of his that inherited firebending. If your father had it his way, you’d be a warrior, for fucks sake. 

Lord Zuko may have a dry sense of humor at times, but you have your doubts about how much of a joke that statement was, especially with how much he likes to bug you throughout the day.

Perhaps another conflict should erupt— the man has too much time on his hands. Maybe then you’d fulfill your fathers wish of finally working in the military— put your talents to use, as he’d say. 

But would Lord Zuko allow the gentle hands running through his hair to commit such violence? Or would that be when he’d draw a hard line with the aggressive strategist? 

As progressive as he is, you sometimes wonder just how much it extends to you. Even as children, he’d go easy on you during trainings. He’s only grown softer with you as the years passed. Despite not being a concubine yourself, you wouldn’t be surprised if he saw you as one of the flowers in his garden— one he’s not allowed to touch. 

You slide the hair stick through his headpiece, securing the top knot he had you redo. It looks the same, but you hold off on making a comment. “Is that better?” 

“Much better.” His eyes meet yours in the mirror, lips curving into a sly smile. “Now— what are we doing today?”

We. You hate how much he likes to emphasize that at times. 

“Well,” you sigh. “Aside from the usual council meeting, nothing much. Perhaps you can visit one of your concubines today… for once.”

He huffs out a laugh. “Are you saying I don’t fuck my concubines enough?” 

“Precisely,” you say almost mockingly. 

It’s all they ever complain about, and honestly, you’re sure you would, too, if you were one of them. Having to wake up and sit around all day, waiting for a man who never comes. And on the rare occasion that he does, he doesn’t stay long. He’ll show up, fuck the shit out of you for a couple rounds, then leave right after. Allegedly. 

“Don’t you want an heir?” you ask. 

“Depends,” he hums. 

With the way he’s looking at you, you can already tell what it depends on, and it has nothing to do with his current concubines. Lucky for you, he never gets the chance to actually say it because he gets interrupted right after, putting a conversation you’d rather not have to a screeching halt.

“The council is waiting for you, my Lord.”

—

The silk district was notoriously known for two things: brothels and bandits. It was the wild, wild west compared to the other districts in the capital due to high crime and the growing wealth gap. The governments always kept a watchful eye on it, which was never enough in your opinion. 

Are you surprised to hear that an entire brothel, including the madame, was discovered to be slain and robbed in the early hours of this morning? Absolutely not. 

“Send more military officers to patrol the area,” the chamberlain says without hesitation. “We’ve been too lenient with them. If they want bloodshed, we’ll give them bloodshed.”

Yikes, he wants to rule the area with an iron fist when they’re already clearly struggling. You can’t help but think of how much of a dictator this guy would be if he were in Zuko’s place. 

You make eye contact with the lord, who’s sitting at the end of the table right next to you. In that brief moment, he notices the concern in your eyes and gives you a subtle nod. 

“Perhaps we can send more public aid?” you suggest. “They’ve been testing out a new rehabilitation program in Republic City as well. I’m sure the Silk District could benefit from—“

“Nonsense,” the chamberlain cuts you off, wondering why you’re even here right now— he thought you only assisted in matters within the court, not outside of it. “I-“

“Careful,” Zuko interrupts the man rather playfully as he continues to read through the scroll. “That’s the military strategist’s daughter you’re speaking to.” 

The comment makes you nearly roll your eyes, knowing the only reason why he said it was because you’re having to constantly remind him yourself when he gets too close. 

The chamberlain, however, straightens up immediately. You have no idea why it took him this long to realize it. He’s been here for nearly over a year, but at least he knows now. The chamberlain can be quite rude at times, you wouldn’t want him to slip up with your father in the room. Not only would that earn him an earful of insults that are as creative as they are hurtful, but it’d also be embarrassing on your part. 

That old man embarrasses you enough when he’s around. Following you around like a lost puppy after meetings, asking if you’ve eaten and if your superiors are treating you right, while side eyeing the fire lord himself. You’d agree so yourself that he has too much power in the court. He enjoys holding it over everyone’s head even more. It’s sickening, really.

You look at the chamberlain, who is now pouting, and offer an apologetic smile. “May I continue?” 

“Yes, of course,” the old man nods, struggling to hide his shame.

Always one for games, Zuko finds himself suppressing a laugh, which in turn makes the chamberlain’s slouch worsen. He’s grown to find more and more amusement in his daily tasks, a trait his father would definitely disapprove of— good thing he’s not here anymore. 

The rest of the meeting went by as smooth as it could be, with the fire lord, of course, praising the chancellor in the end for being so well behaved, pretending to wonder what could’ve changed his usual demeanor. The usual teasings, all while you once again found yourself thinking of how light he’s become. Even after receiving such upsetting news, he stayed calm while finding a solution. 

A humane one.

No longer the grumpy, angsty boy you grew up with. He’s actually quite charming. But you keep that to yourself.

The palace grounds are empty, as they should be during the afternoon. Everyone’s off either eating, napping, or tending to duties such as cooking or cleaning. It’s quiet, surprisingly peaceful. Your footsteps echo throughout the breezeway as Zuko defies the basic etiquette of walking ahead of you as a ruler should. Instead, the bastard walks a little slower than you. If given the opportunity, he’d turn it into a mini competition of who could walk the slowest, up until you both come to a full stop, with him looking at you all smug. 

“Your chambers are this way,” you remind the said bastard as if he’d already forgotten. 

He doesn’t bother to look back as he responds, walking down a gravel path leading directly to the flower garden. “How about we take a detour today, hm?”

You watch him for a moment, waiting to see if he’d stop. He doesn’t, and you shouldn’t be surprised by it. You’re able to catch up with him in just seconds given his slow pace, this time not bothering to walk behind him as he’s clearly in the mood to be extra stubborn today.

You’re all alone and away from the hearing distance of anyone else, yet you still choose to speak quietly as you start to gently tease the man. “What a surprise to see the king taking some time to enjoy his garden.” 

He lets out a soft laugh that fades into a hum. “Only around a select few.”

“Oh, wow,” you pretend to be impressed. “How charitable.” 

“It’s an honor that you think so,” he says, placing a hand over his chest to add to the theatrics, trying not to laugh once again. “Tell me, when was the last time you walked through here?”

You hum as you walk further into the sprawling garden filled with wooden arches covered with green vines and flowers in full bloom. “Can’t say I actually remember when.”

“That’s a shame. I had the gardener plant new rose bushes,” he murmurs. “Wanted to ask what you thought of them.” 

“I think they’re lovely,” you admit, softly pinching a petal, rubbing your thumb over the velvety skin.

He smiles. “I figured.” 

They were your favorite after all. 

Why is he like this? The garden’s already filled with enough flowers. A new section wasn’t needed. 

Again, he’s just bored.

In an attempt to keep the conversation from getting any more personal, you change the subject. “Are you looking forward to your trip to Republic City?” 

At the end of the meeting, it was decided that he’d visit with the purpose of getting more information about the new rehabilitation program the city was rolling out. While the chancellor wanted to take a more aggressive approach, he decided to take a more peaceful route. It’s admirable how hands on he’s chosen to be since taking his father's place. 

“Mhm. It’ll be nice catching up with some old friends while I’m there—“ he cuts himself off and looks at you with slight suspicion, “you’re going, right?”

You never said you would, nor did you want to, honestly. It’d be nice to take a break. “I’m sure you and some of your subordinates can handle it.” 

“Weren’t you the one who came up with the idea, though?” his tone slightly clips as he reminds you. 

“I was,” you respond tentatively, taking back your thoughts from earlier as you look him in the eyes. 

This man looks like he’s about to throw a fit. 

Zuko opens his mouth again, already knowing he shouldn’t be this pushy towards you, of all people, but he is far from perfect. 

So with a forced smile and all the resolve in the world, he murmurs, “you’re going.” 

You smile back despite feeling an annoyed heat creep up your neck, heart starting to pick up. “Alright.” 

—

Imagine being the fire lord, a literal ruler, and getting the cold shoulder from your own advisor. Every answer is so curt and clinical, and it’s going to drive him up the wall. 

Yes, my lord. Of course, my lord. Apologies, my lord.

Give him a fucking break.

As if you weren’t punishing him enough, you went ahead and had two of his concubines “accompany” him on the trip. It’s not like he can say no to that, either, since it’s considered to be one of his duties. Not to mention they both come from high-ranking families that would not be very pleased to hear of their neglect. 

So now he has to deal with two spoiled, pent-up brats hanging on him during the entirety of this flight, all while trying not to glare at the biggest brat of them all— you, as you sit directly across from him, reading probably what’s some pathetic romance novel.

This is fucking ridiculous. You haven’t looked at him once since you first sat down.

You’re no better than him. There was a strike of lightning in the direction you walked off in, and given how it was a perfectly sunny day, he’s pointing his finger at you for the damages done in the east wing, despite keeping his mouth shut on the matter. Complain about being dragged to Republic City all you want, but you still have it better than most. If you really did have it that bad, you would’ve been punished for such an offense. 

Like, seriously? Blowing shit up, like a fucking child— a terrifying one, to be frank, you are absolutely your father’s daughter— just because you had to do your job? Grow up. His grandfather’s statue was shattered in the midst of it all, thanks to you. You’re lucky he never liked the bastard.

In protest, you’re dressed like a noble's daughter rather than a member of the court. Wearing the finest silk and adorned in gold imported from the Earth nation, quietly refusing to represent your actual nation as you claim to be representing your clan— proof that you have enough power on your own to be acting like he’s actively denying you of basic human rights.

As if he even cared about your attire. Be his guest! You look fucking hot. Someone might even mistake you for one of his concubines, and he might just not correct them, since you think you’re more petty than he is.

Zuko gets pulled out of his thoughts when Concubine Aika speaks, still leaning against him and rubbing on his chest. She asked what book you were reading, which is when you finally looked up from it. 

“It’s sort of an adventure novel.” You look at the cover, speaking to her with a certain warmth you’ve been depriving him of. “It’s about a girl escaping an abusive orphanage once she turns 18 and follows her journey for the next 10 years.”

So now you’re fantasizing about leaving him? Good luck with that. 

“You look troubled, my lord,” the woman to his right, Concubine Saiyo, says. She’s leaning against him as well, now tracing her fingers along his jaw. “Are you alright?” 

“M’fine,” he murmurs, trying to fix his face as he takes a sip of sake. “It’s been a long flight.”

“There’s a private cabin you can retreat to, if you’d like,” you suggest, going back to your little book, missing the way you just made the lord’s eye twitch. 

“I know,” he says. 

It’s his airship. 

Without warning, he gets up from his seat. Was it a little rude? Perhaps. But surely the two women beside him could understand what feeling hounded could do to someone. They don’t, they do their jobs and get up as well, which he understands. However, Zuko’s not in the fucking mood right now and waves a dismissive hand. 

“No need,” he curtly says, making his way to the back of the airship. “I just want to close my eyes for a bit.” 

. . . . . .

The trip starts off strong with a banquet being held in honor of the fire lord's arrival. 

Contrary to Zuko’s wishes, nobody’s stupid enough to mistake you for one of his concubines. At least not within the circle of people you’re mingling with tonight, who all recognize your family's crest engraved on your hairpin. 

They were an ambitious bunch that spread all over once Zuko came into power— reaching amongst the highest positions within the military, medicine, and even education. 

Funny enough, your position in the court was nothing special in comparison to some of your relatives’ achievements. Some are even bothered by the fact. Being the first of all your cousins to master the art of firebending, being your grandfather's favorite solely for bending lightning with the same grace as he did in his prime, all while excelling in your studies. 

All of that potential, just wasted on being the lord’s “pet”. 

You don’t have much of an opinion on the disappointment some of them have expressed in the past, though it would’ve been nice if their words had stayed behind closed doors. You didn’t want to hear any of it. If you truly wanted to make use of that said potential, you would’ve worked directly under your father as his subordinate. 

Maybe it was the result of growing up feeling like you were enough. You have nothing to prove, and quite frankly, you’re content with having a role that really only requires you to share your opinions with a ruler that shares the same ideals as you… for the most part. 

If only he’d also agree that you two spend way too much time together. 

Luckily, you’re not required to be by his side tonight since you’re attending the banquet as a representative of your clan— something Zuko had no clue about until the moment you stepped onto the airship, which had him looking like he was about to blow a fucking gasket. He absolutely sucks at masking his frustrations. You’re surprised his concubines still had the courage to cuddle up with him. He looked like he was 2.5 seconds away from throwing you off the ship mid-flight. 

Zuko would never do that, by the way, but you’re sure he was daydreaming about it. 

But even then, with all the distance between you tonight, you can still feel his eyes on you. Just watching and waiting for you to do something he didn’t like. Very masochistic considering how he wouldn’t confront you if you did end up doing something wrong in his eyes. 

You spend the entire night avoiding eye contact, which isn’t too hard given how all you’ve done is catch up with old peers from school and relatives who’ve decided to move here to start new lives. 

The relatives you got along with, that is. 

You were enjoying yourself. Truly. Until Sokka called you over to their table. 

Funny how Zuko wasn’t looking at you then and was instead stuffing his face with spicy dumplings, then downing it with whatever liquor was in his cup. 

You walk over with two thoughts running through your head— please don’t let this man be as drunk as Sokka and Aang, and don’t let this be a conversation about how work was been. Sokka tends to ask those things at the wrong time, despite his heart being in the right place. 

This time around, it’s not Sokka.

“How’s our flaming hot lord treating you?” Aang asks, throwing an arm around a very drunk Zuko, who’s laughing his ass off over the avatar’s words for once. 

Your lips may have twitched a little, as well. Only because Aang gave even less fucks when in an inebriated state. 

“Oh, you know— the usual.” You let out a lighthearted laugh, and only you notice the way Zuko’s face momentarily drops. 

The air around him quickly screams ‘don’t fuck with me’, then settles back into something more suitable for someone who’s already had half their water weight in alcohol. 

“C’mon, you can do better than that,” Zuko forces out a laugh, leaning back in his seat. 

You laugh a little harder. “Can I?”

“Yeah, you can.” 

Sokka lets out this weird, giddy gasp because he loves drama, and cuts in. “Are you two fighting?”

“No.” 

“No.”

You and Zuko look at each other after shutting down Sokka’s question at the same time. The fake smiles you’re wearing are not helping your case at all. 

“Where’s Katara? I’ve been wondering where she’s been this whole time,” you ask in an attempt to keep the energy between you from getting any more awkward than it already is

Aang grows a little pale— the instant karma feels nice. “She’s a little sick tonight.” 

There’s a bit of fear in his voice. She’s totally pregnant. Not that you say that. Instead, you just point in some random direction behind you. “That’s terrible— my cousin actually just mentioned a bug going around. I hope she feels better soon.” 

“Thank you,” the man lets out a sigh of relief, allowing himself to be delusional for just one more night. 

“What about Toph?”

“Home. Asleep.” Sokka rolls his eyes. “She’s like a little old lady now. You’ll see her tomorrow, though, she’s been volunteering at the center.” 

“Volunteering or beating everyone into submission?” Zuko murmurs, and they all erupt in laughter. “She probably runs that place like the military.”

You find yourself starting to zone out as the conversation moves on to a different topic. You’d like to blame some of the wine you’ve been sipping on throughout the night for that. Everything starts to melt together— the live music, the endless chatter in every which direction. The only thing that pulls you out of it is seeing another one of your cousins who had just arrived, waving at you, and you don't shy away from taking that as an opportunity to excuse yourself. 

Aang and Sokka were as kind as usual when you said your goodbyes. Zuko, on the other hand, was harder to read through the pathetic excuse of a smile he gave you. One only meant to save face. 

If only he knew just how much worse he makes things sometimes. Although they’re rare, this isn’t the first fight you two have been in. Perhaps you have been a little petty towards the man, but it’s not you who grows so frustrated at someone’s anger that you begin to hold a grudge yourself. 

You arrive back to your room in the early morning with the regret of not cutting yourself off from the drinks sooner than you did. You wouldn’t say you were drunk, but you were definitely tipsy as you started to shed layers of clothes and jewelry to get in the hot bath that had been prepared prior to your return. 

Aang may be childish at times, but fuck was he a great host. Or maybe it was Katara who had all of these amenities set up for you. Candles and bath salts— you could die a happy woman right now as you settle into the stone tub, taking deep breaths, letting your muscles relax. 

Twenty minutes in, you hear rattling and heavy footsteps that seem to hit the ground with more confusion than the determination an attacker would usually have. It forces you to leave the warmth of your bath, slipping on a robe. Getting hit with annoyance rather than fear may be a little foolish. Overconfident, even. But there’s still alcohol running through your veins, and you aren’t the pride and joy of your clan for no reason— you can absolutely hold your own in a fight. 

When you walk out of the bathroom, you come face to face with exactly who you were thinking of.

“Fuck,” he looks away for a moment, regretting his decision thinking it was okay to just walk in. 

Zuko didn’t think you’d be bathing, for some odd, stupid reason. Judging by the fact that he’s still wearing his usual day clothing and his hairs not up in a bun, it’s safe to assume he went straight here after leaving the banquet. 

You let out a long sigh. “God— what are you doing here?” 

You don’t even sound mad— just disappointed that you have to see him once more before you lay your head to rest, which slightly hurts the man’s ego. Truth be told, he came here to argue with you, but even in his drunken state, he’s finding it quite difficult to do so since he looks like a fucking pervert now. 

“Your comment from earlier— what the hell was that about?” Zuko sounds more wounded than anything right now. 

You cross your arms, leaning against the door frame that connects the room to the bathroom. “What comment?”

“The usual,” he says with air quotes. “Do you not like me anymore or something?”

“You’re seriously asking me that right now?” Your face twists, just dumbfounded at this point. “You ask me that as if I don’t work for you?”

He scoffs. “So what, you’re saying I’m not your friend now?”

“I mean, yeah— you are, but I’m still your subordinate at the end of the day,” you attempt to spell it out for him, trying to get it through his brain that he can’t just act like you two are a pair of besties. 

But he just continues to argue with you. 

“Really? ‘Cause last time I checked, people don’t fight their superiors.” 

No, they do not. You’re not sure why you even tried to make that an argument, the line between you has blurred a long time ago. 

“You know what, just— forget it.”

The thing is, you're not the best at taking accountability. Most of the arguments you’ve had with him have been swept under the rug after a while. Zuko's not having that right now, though.

“Hm— actually, no— I don’t think I will,” he stubbornly says. “You have been punishing me for fucking weeks now and now you just want me to forget it?”

Punishing him?

You roll your eyes, muttering “oh my god” under your breath, not even bothering to look him straight in the eyes anymore as you walk to the nightstand and pick up a small jar of body cream. 

“We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow,” you say dismissively, rubbing the jasmine-scented cream into your hands. “I need to go to sleep, and so should you, honestly.”

It doesn’t matter how well he can handle his alcohol— he reeks of it. 

“I’m trying to talk to you right now so I don’t have to deal with your attitude tomorrow,” he says, as if he hasn’t had an attitude himself the last couple of weeks. 

“Don’t worry, you won’t have to,” you murmur back. 

What feels like minutes pass after your pathetic attempt to settle your issues with him. At first, he just lets out a sigh, trying to keep his composure, but then he laughs under his breath. 

“So that’s it?” he asks in a condescending tone. “We’re all good now?”

“Yes. Goodnight, Zuko,” you hum. 

More silence follows after. You can just feel his eyes on you despite still facing away, now reaching for some hair oil, waiting for him to leave.

He never does. Even after working the product into your hair, you have yet to hear the door to your room close, making you grow wary. 

There are many things telling you not to turn around at the moment— your blurred mind and tensed body. But even you make mistakes, lots of them with Zuko, and so you finally turn around. 

His lips are on yours. 

You don’t know how long he’d been standing directly behind you, you never even heard his footsteps. All you know is his hands are snaked behind your neck and he’s kissing you and you’re letting him.

It takes you a moment to realize you’re kissing him back— too focused on how soft his lips are, how his tongue glides across your lower lip before slipping inside, so commanding yet so gentle. 

Then you sober up— pressing your palm flat against his chest and pushing him back so you two can look at each other, eyes wide and filled with instant regret.

“What the hell was that?” you try to snap at him, but the sharp edge was dulled from the start, already fearing what’ll change between you from this moment forward. 

“I— fuck,” he stutters, taking another step back. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

Immediately, you cut him off. “No, you shouldn’t have and you know that.”

“I know.” It sounds like a plea coming from him as his chest tightens. “I’m sorry.”

Even you start to look apologetic, which breaks his heart a little since you did nothing wrong. The one who crossed the line was him, after all. “You should go. You’re drunk.” 

He opened his mouth to respond, but then closed it shortly after. There was nothing to say. 

And so he slowly nods and turns around, still in shock by his own actions as he begins to walk away, leaving you to deal with the aftermath of what the fuck just happened on your own. 

This was going to be the longest work trip of your life. 

notes: i hope u guys enjoyed this first chapter!! this was supposed to be a oneshot but then ideas kept popping up in my head and i thought, why don't i just turn this into a longfic like defiance lol. the plan is to follow these two around throughout a couple arcs, with the first one being them trying to navigate their feelings and attempting to go back to normal while trying to fix the shit show in the silk district.

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[wacuoms]

alternate timelines satosugu

[bfbkg]

studying for weeks to surprise bkg in lingerie and saying multiple sexy phrases in his language fluently. He’s so turned on and impressed with ur Japanese he’s gonna explode and so so proud GOD THE DICK FROM THIS WOULD BE INSANEEEE

LOVE LANGUAGE (1.5k)

bakugou katsuki x reader

synopsis: to show your love for your boyfriend, you learn his language.

content warnings: nsfw, minors dni, f!reader, a load of dirty talk, fingering, grinding

notes: to be willing to learn a language to understand your partner… wrote this in 2023, finished in 2025 and edited to post in 2026. italics are for japanese. something fun and short. completely forgot this was as finished as it will ever be.

this would be no easy feat. as a gift for your boyfriend for being the best one to have ever existed, you have decided to learn his language for him, complete with donning your body in the prettiest lingerie money could buy.

okay, not the whole language, you don't have that much time and since the lingerie is the easiest part (basically an award for participation), you've decided to try really hard with learning phrases.

you've adopted help from your girl friends that also speak japanese for translations, common sexy phrases and of course, pronunciation. you've basically got a script down and to say you were nervous is an understatement.

especially, as you lounge on your sofa, creepily whispering dirty phrases to yourself so you don't forget and readjusting your legs so they look appealing when he walks in. nobody can say you aren't romantic in your relationship.

your front door slams shut, paired with a tired huff and the sound of boots kicking off. you know from rhythm of steps who it is so you take a deep breath.

"baby? i need a fuckin' cuddle, today kicked me in the ass—,”

bakugou doesn’t mean for his jaw to drop but it does before quickly sliding up to the smirk you love to see. he starts at your shiny bare legs, cute thighs to these lacy pink panties you’ve got on. barely covering your ass and poorly covering your pussy. then your soft stomach, your pretty tits in a matching baby pink bra and then his favourite face in the world. you’re coated in jewellery, all pieces he’s bought for you. earrings from your last holiday in santorini, necklace from when he asked to be your boyfriend, anklet from a mission where he missed you and rings for all random reasons, all from him.

he crosses his arms, gazing over you like he’s excited to devour. “ah, guess i’m gettin’ more than a cuddle tonight? what did i do to deserve this?”

the fear dissipates after seeing the lust in his eyes and his complete attention. you’re not as worried about your next plan, especially as he mumbles under his breath without realising.

“y’so beautiful.”

you rest your head on your palm, running a finger up your thigh. he’s following the movement until you speak, head snapping up to yours, mouth dropping for another reason.

“hey gorgeous, how was work?”

the sound bakugou makes is almost inhumane. he pulls up his long t-shirt sleeves as if to prepare himself, “hah? you goin' bilingual on me, babe?”

you almost snort a laugh but you keep in character, tilting your head with a flirty dramatic pout, “i’ve been waiting for you.”

he feels as if his head is about to pop, too many unanswered questions. he gets closer to you with one knee in the sofa, between your legs as he hovers over you. his language falling from your lips, looking like a dream? what is going on?

bubbles of giggles spill at the sight of his face, his lips moving with no words coming out. just, “wait… what? who? hah?!” large hands paw at your thighs spreading them open playfully, only it’s not playful at all when the fabric between your legs is so thin, it slides between your lips.

you feel the bulge in his jeans as it hardens on your thigh and bakugou grunts. “fuck. you gotta stop.”

“i’ve been playing with myself… t-thinking of you.” the words are practiced on your tongue and they get the desired reaction.

“do you know what you’re sayin’? who taught you this?” he demands, though there’s no vigour, just a suffocating need for you. he lifts your legs onto his shoulders, pushing you down onto your back. “don’t tell me you learnt this for me?”

you give him a little shrug, a finger over your lips in a shushing motion. you tug him down by the t-shirt, his hands sliding up to rest by your head and you live for the burn in your thighs from his body weight.

“kiss?”

his hard cock presses against your centre, fully clothed and begging to be exposed. you sigh lightly and bakugou can’t stop staring at you in awe.

“i love you,” he whispers and you know what he means, “i love you so much.”

you eyes glow in understanding, “i love you.“ you’re grinning and he can’t help but match, leaning his forehead on yours to chuckle.

it’s you who cups his chin and brings his lips to yours.

you kiss for minutes, hours, forever. him rocking between your legs, electricity shooting through your body, your arms circling his neck to keep him close and every few seconds he’ll ping your bra strap or cup your breast. he tastes like longing, like need. he’s been at work for so long, he’d rather spend his evening drowning in everything you are.

there’s moans upon wet kisses and when you pull away you remember to mumble, “really pretty.” you run your thumb over his eyebrow.

bakugou can’t stop grinning, eyes in the shape of crescent moons, breath hot on your lips. “me? i’m pretty?”

you nod, nibbling his ear.

“i think i’m more sexy, princess.”

you grip the neckline off his t-shirt, urging him to pull it off, “pretty and sexy.”

he does what you ask, resting on his knees in a clean swoop. the action makes your underwear damp, a cologne advert right before you. ripples of muscle, all alluding to strength and persistence. you mewl.

then there’s a moment of no talking amongst the heavy breathing. there’s only been kisses so far, bakugou scanning your body like it’s something he need to revise into his brain so it’s there even when he blinks. you’re about to start withering, begging for him, finger tips clawing for his skin.

then, “fuck it, i’m takin’ you to bed.” he swoops you up. arms under your ass, tits in his face.

“lucky me, sex in a bed,” you giggle and so does your boyfriend.

“you ran out of words, baby?”

he kicks open his bedroom door and it’s you that pushes him onto the mattress, unbuckling his belt in a rush like no other.

“no.” you breathe, eyes becoming shiny globes when finally, you pull down his trousers and underwear at once. he helps you shuffle them off to the ground and you think you could be dribbling at the sight of him. aroused and hard. his tip is a glossy red, sticky with pre.

“no, no, baby. want you to fuck yourself on my fingers. wanna stretch you before i fuck you,” he knows what you want without words, that it was instinct to wrap your lips around his tip. though he pulls you up to his lips, dragging you into a kiss.

your tongues brush, sweet and burning. his skin is hot beneath yours, practically a furnace and you only jump out of everything that is bakugou katsuki when you hear a rip from between your legs.

you pull off him, “katsuki!”

the middle of your underwear is now a flap, ripped from where it connects to the part that covers your ass so he’s got easy access. your annoyance is simmered easily when he strikes your clit softly, caressing you.

“shh, baby, i’ll get you new ones,” he kisses your jaw while your eyes flutter shut.

he’s so talented with his fingers, but since he dedicates the majority of his home life to your pleasure, you guess it makes sense.

his fingers drift to your centre, circling around your wet hole, “fuck yourself on them.” he grunts, ignoring the feeling of your thigh against the head of his cock. he wants to see you fall apart over him.

bakugou slips two fingers inside of you and you do the rest. rocking your body back onto him, following your bodies desires without a thought passing through your brain. it feels almost rabid, animalistic, chasing your needs like this. it's sticky and wet, your whines desperate and loud. bakugou just coos in your ear, “fuck, c’mon baby. all for me.”

“so g-good,” you remember to mumble and you don’t miss the hitch in his throat.

katsuki knows you too well, how your clenching and head dropping onto his chest means you’re close.

“more, please. more,” you pant and he meets your thrusts with his hand, even adding an extra finger when he manages to get you to be still for a second.

your clenching makes bakugou’s jaw tighten, “come for me, princess.”

and you do. with a broken moan in your throat, you clench the bedsheets beside you as you keep grinding on his fingers. “oh, oh my… k-katsuki.” you mumble.

as you begin to slow down, he massages your ass and slowly pulls out of you to assess his fingers.

“fuck me, prettiest thing you are,” his three fingers shine in the lamp light and you open your eyes to see your lover watching his fingers like he found something rare. “wanna taste?”

you don’t know what he’s saying exactly but you can guess from how he tips his fingers to your lips. his eyes are half lidded, lips parted in awe as you take his fingers in his mouth and lick.

“my girl. my fuckin’ girl,” he coos and you drink up all his praise.

“thank you,” you smile softly.

[yuutaguro]

judge jury executioner

[bfbkg]

WANNA BE ON TOP! (5k)

— bakugou katsuki x f!reader

synopsis: your boyfriend looks so good whenever you’re on top that it makes you shy. when are you ever shy?! you wanna sort this out asap or you ride bakugou trying to figure out which position feels best

what’s coming up: 18+, a whole load of smut this is lowkey pwp. p in v, riding, multiple positions, making out, head (f receiving), established relationship, overstimulation (m)

notes: antm title. listen i can’t explain what happened to me. needs another proofread i think.

you mention this one night wrapped in katsuki’s arms about to go to sleep. you’re doing the compulsory three minute spoon until you both pull away and get comfortable at your respective sides of his bed.

this time it’s you spooning him, your leg over his hip, your arm around his waist. you rub your lips over his shoulder and sniff his hair.

“i really want to get better at being on top.” you mumble into his skin, eyes not yet adjusted to the darkness around you.

katsuki shifts his head on the silk pillowcase. you told him to change fabrics to protect his hair (you really meant yours) and he listened, new ivory cases the next time you saw him.

“hah?” it’s a quiet one, not like his usual booming loud ones that hit the back of your eardrum.

“i never feel like i know what i’m doing when i’m on top and i get so shy. i am literally never shy! ever. then you just end up doing the work.” you whine, “i want to be able to be on top and do it well. make us both feel good.”

katsuki breathes in through his nose and out his mouth. you’re having a conversation with him. about sex yes, but this isn’t you offering to have sex now. despite this, the blood rushes to his cock by simply imagining you riding him to oblivion. your head thrown back as your hips grind down on him.

it is true. he’s never seen you shy in any other part of your life or relationship. usually during sex, you’re confident and excited. hell, you’re okay with walking around his apartment naked. but for some reason, you sitting on his cock, legs straddling his waist makes you shy in a way bakugou doesn’t understand.

after making out you’d mumble to him that you want to be on top but as soon as he slides inside of you, katsuki will just look at you and your whole body flushes with heat. it has you mumbling under your breath, trying to look away from him but then his hands are on your thighs and he’s softly cooing at you. compliments about how you feel around him and how pretty you look on top. 

which leads to you either leaning forward to cover his eyes with your hand, covering his whole face with your hand so he can’t talk either or just whining that you can’t do it and he needs to take over.

he shuffles around so he’s facing you, your minty breath on his face. he gives you three soft pecks, catching your lips with every brush.

“hm no, don’t give a fuck about me in this. if you feel good, i feel good.” he whispers and it makes you tighten your leg around his waist, your crotch against his lower stomach. 

he’s noticed how shy you get on top. the frustration. if he’s honest he thinks it’s adorable. at the beginning of your relationship it was him stuttering like an idiot, overthinking everything he did and assuming every text from you was going to be ‘it’s not you, it’s me.’ which would mostly mean it was him all along.

bakugou is also an idiot for how you beg for him to take over, crawling into his mouth for a kiss. covering his eyes so he can’t see how your breasts bounce and how insanely sweet you look slotted over him. you, all of you, shaking and trembling as he thrusts up. but although he’s into this rare shy version of you, if you want to work on not being so like that, he’ll be there.

his ruby eyes are so caring, a little frown on his face like he’s urging you to understand. 

“i do want to make you feel good though,” you rub your palm against his bare chest, feeling every breath he takes. “be in control over the pace.”

“y’can look at me and i feel good. tomorrow we’ll try. see what position has you comin’ over my cock.”

you smile, “i’ll put it in my diary.”

he gives you a kiss, rubbing his nose against yours after, “why d’you feel shy for? ‘s just me.”

that has you slamming your own eyes shut in refusal. laying on your back to sigh into the ceiling.

“because of you. you’re all…,” you wave your hands in the darkness for a terrible explanation. “and the pressure. you’re usually in control.”

that’s true, he is unless you’re giving him head. “i’m what?”

you open your eyes and stare at him. “you make me all shy. staring at me like that while you’re literally inside me and you’re all… big and sexy and i’m so exposed and now i need to make you come while you look like that.”

bakugou grins like you just proposed. the sight of him below you, usually with an aroused dopey smirk, always saying what’s on his mind. the sweat across his forehead or the worst, when he lays on his forearm behind his head without a care in the world. like it’s an everyday occurrence that women sit on his dick and you’re next. it turns you on more than you can admit, it makes you feel like a shy virgin being naked in front of a boy for the first time.

along with the thick cock pressing against your warmest points, it’s too overwhelming for you.

“big and sexy?”

you roll your eyes, “that’s all you heard?”

“y’know i love when you’re on top. happy to do whatever you want,” he chuckles boyishly and the big arm that haunts you, wraps around your waist to drag you into his body. “like i wasn’t shittin’ myself when we fucked for the first time. lookin’ up at me like your life depended on a hard fuck.”

you guys dated for two months before you got intimate. to say you were going crazy for a single touch from this man, would be an understatement.

“no i wasn’t! but you look cocky and mean in a sexy way,” you gasp looking at him, “you look like dynamight. tv dynamight.”

tv dynamight is an alternate version of dynamight and your usual boyfriend bakugou katsuki. tv dynamight is the one you see snappily answering after fight interviews or smirking when the crowd cheers for him or rolling his eyes when he’s on a talk show and he gets a stupid question. you never get this version of him, he’s so much softer and love struck with you. doesn’t mean you don’t love watching it.

bakugou frowns, “i just look at you and say you look good. that sounds like a bad thing.”

“did you miss me saying you look sexy? so sexy it gets me feeling like an idiot.” you cross your arms under the covers. “i just want to be good at it. able to make you come like that.”

as much as he loves you still feeling nervous around him, he wants to get to the bottom of this.

“we’re sortin’ this tomorrow.”

having planned sex is a whole different game than simply assuming you’ll have sex tonight or having it spontaneously. it includes you turning up at bakugou’s apartment, more excited than usual, flinging your overnight bag on the ground and your arms around his neck. 

“i watched a few videos and read articles on how to be comfortable and i did a few stretches at home,” you say, kissing him hello and katsuki has to blink into realisation.

your conversation before bed. he’s been thinking about having you tonight all day that part of him believed it was all his imagination. he kisses you back, then your cheek.

“y’look pretty,” you’re in a matching comfy pink gym set. he doesn’t know the last time you went to the gym but you always ask him to buy you these expensive ass sets. “and wait, you stretched to prepare?”

he chuckles bubbly, grabbing your bag off the floor. you pout immediately, “don’t laugh at me. i’m trying here! all you have to do is lay back.”

“i’m not laughin’ at you, baby. i love you,” he grins, “i’d never laugh.”

but you’re clenching your teeth, looking away at the dinner he’s started preparing for you both. ah, this evening he’s got his sensitive girlfriend. perhaps this was a bigger deal than you originally made it out to be. 

“maybe i shouldn’t—,”

“no, we are. it was just fuckin’ adorable, i should have had a wank before you came so i don’t bust as soon as you’re naked.”

he walks into his bedroom to plop your bag on the floor and you follow behind.

“you do that?”

“i used to when we started datin’. meant i’d last longer. the fact we planned this i should have done my prep.”

his last syllable is cut off when you lay your lips over his, tugging the end of his white tee so he pulls it off.

“don’t expect this to be good, i’m just trying and testing tonight, okay?” you mumble and just as quick as usual, katsuki hardens in his basketball shorts.

the idea of being your test dummy, your experiment while you ride him, sounds like a fantasy to him. it’s true that you’d ask to be on top usually and then upon not being able to find your groove, you give up. then katsuki will grab your ass cheeks and slide you up and down like you weigh a feather.

“sounds sexy, baby,” he groans, nibbling down your neck and in turn, being rewarded with sweet gasps from you. “get naked for me.”

bakugou lays back in the centre of his bed butt naked and hard as a rock while you sit on your knees beside him, also butt naked. 

“sit on my face,” he orders.

“no! treat this seriously.”

“i’m so fuckin’ serious, c’mon. you say you need to get comfortable, you’re always comfortable on my face. maybe i needa make you come first.”

he doesn’t know what the hell he’s saying, he just knows you're wet right now and he wants a taste.

it does sway you a little. thinking about the videos you’ve seen and articles you’ve read. educational ones! some being porn also. stretching your hips is necessary and it’s not that you’re uncomfortable around your boyfriend, just being on top, shyness takes over.

his hand drifts up your thighs, then your soft stomach before squeezing your breast. you see katsuki twitch out the corner of your eye. your mouth waters at the sight of him. always so pretty, thick and long, dead weight on his stomach. only from some kissing and being naked together.

“we could sixty nine?”

he grabs your hips, dragging you closer and manoeuvring you so you’re sitting on his upper chest. he can smell you from here, he’s sure pre is leaking from him, his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

“we’re focusin’ on you.”

“says the one begging to eat me out.”

katsuki’s smiles always drive you crazy, mostly because they’re always dedicated to you. the world gets his smirks and as sexy as they are, it’s never a genuinely excited smile. especially over the prospect of having you on his face.

his gold tooth catches the warm lamp light and he reaches to kiss your thigh, “you’re so close now. can smell ya.”

before you can let the intimacy overwhelm you, you sit up on your knees and carefully slot your pussy over your lover's face.

katsuki only needed one session with you to be good at eating you out. an annoying thing about him is how he’s simply good at everything, whilst you, after months of dating, still need to work on things. you think about the sex positive podcasts you’ve listened to recently and it’s true, not everything is going to work out of the box. you’re two completely different people coming together. in both ways. 

but katsuki, he always knew exactly what to do to get you trembling. it’s firstly his enthusiasm. probably the biggest turn on. how he clutches your thighs like someone’s about to take you away. the meat of your legs will definitely have an imprint after this. how he closes his eyes and moans into you. rocks your hips into his face as his tongue laps up everything you are. 

like a man starved, his death row meal and he’s asked for you on a platter. he sucks on your clit and opens his eyes to see you lean over to grab the headboard. watching your tits and how they shake at every movement he makes. katsuki loves to talk but because his mouth is preoccupied, you just get vibrations through you along with the accompanying moans and groans he can’t help. 

“fuck, y’taste… so fuckin’—,” is all he can manage, sticking his tongue down your centre and licking as much as he can. 

“‘tsuki, so good,” you cry, you meet his eyes and your whole body heats up to boiling temperature. his ruby pupils are narrowed, as if he’s testing you to come now, on his face.

you grind your hips on him, following wherever feels good. he slaps your ass and you mewl. “i’m gonna, baby, i need to come.”

since he can’t speak even if he wanted to, you do as you please, coming all over katsuki’s face. your body trembles as he swipes up every drop that comes out of you, keeping you still so you don’t fall off. you clench your eyes shut, wailing loud enough that in any other part of the city, you’d have angry neighbours.

you flop onto the bed beside katsuki, as he wipes his face with the back of his hand. you’re quick to give him a cuddle, basking in the come down of your orgasm.

“good, baby?” he asks, rubbing your back slowly.

you nod against him, stuffing your face in his armpit as you catch your breath. 

“how are you so good at that?”

bakugou laughs, chest swelling with pride, “‘m just passionate.”

after counting to three in your head you get up slowly, biting down on your lip. 

“you wanna take another second?”

“no! and i think you were right. the orgasm helped.”

you swing your leg over bakugou’s thighs to straddle him. carefully you take hold of his cock, flicking your wrist up and down him. 

katsuki reaches his arm behind his head to lay on his forearm. everything about the man is sex. the massive biceps, his flushed face. how he kneads your thigh to check you’re still there with his eyes shut.

“just like that, babygirl,” he grunts, “been thinking about this since you mentioned it. horny all goddamn day.”

you smile at him, “thinking of me in your meetings?”

you squeeze the base of his cock, your other hand coming in to rub his balls in your palm. his hips jolt into your hands, chasing every movement.

“i always fuckin’ am. b-but you on top, ridin’ the shit outta me.”

you moan without meaning to, “i want to do that for you.”

bakugou’s eyes slid open, “today is about you. findin’ out how you like it.” he pulls your hands off him and you pout. “sit on me and start movin’.”

“yes, sir,” you say playfully but it only makes bakugou exhale shakily, blinking away any newfound arousal.

he holds your hips, as you angle his cock into you. you’re already soaked from what he did to you, so he slides in like a dream, bottoming out completely.

“oh fuck,” you curse, planting your hands flat on his chest. staying still feels good, you feel him everywhere, prodding your softest parts, your walls sucking him in like he belongs there. but you know it could feel better, you just need to work out how.

“i wanna fuck into you. didn’t realise how hard this shit would be for me,” he groans, adjusting the pillow behind his head. 

you blink away the horny fog the best you can. he’s still got your shine on his chin and he’s staring at you like he’s a second away from taking over. swinging you so you lay flat so he can take control. you feel his gaze on every part of your body, the focus on your soft stomach then where you meet between your legs. what gets you most is how he focuses on your face as if he’s recording every expression and exhale. the clear proof of him being so into you, the smirk rising onto his cheeks at the position you’ve got him in.

the fact he’s so into you, whilst looking like an adonis statue in an art gallery, makes you so shy.

 “s-so last time i just grinded on you but i didn't feel anything? i watched a few videos on how to bounce on you without aching.” you try to look away from him, but it just has you staring at his chest. littered with these gorgeous scars. his golden body that can protect you and the country. you have to close your eyes.

“you’re watchin’ porn without me?”

you and bakugou have never watched porn together with the aim to come. sometimes you’d send him a video of something you wanna try but that’s all. 

“for research! and some girls on tiktok helped.”

“okay, babygirl. do your thing, pretend i’m not here lookin’ big and sexy.”

“shut up,” you mumble, firstly planting your feet into the mattress by his hips and keeping your hands flat on bakugou’s chest to begin bouncing on his cock.

it’s a position you’ve never tried, one that always embarrassed you to imagine getting into and moving like so. you’re grateful for your stretch beforehand because bakugou glides in and out like butter. it’s more intense than just sitting on him, your body is squashed and he knows he’s gonna be using this image to get himself off till the end of time.

“oh, oh…,” you whine, tits smushed, stomach clenched to focus on what feels best. “i like this. feels good, baby.”

bakugou clenches his teeth. he can see you suck him up with every bounce, your thighs wet, so is his length. he could come like this alone if you moan any louder.

“you comfortable?” he asks, “you look insane, babygirl. can’t believe this… i could come.”

“don’t!” you squeal, whines flowing out of you without meaning to, “my knees are hurting.”

“i can help,” bakugou thrusts his hips up into you and he’s about to thrust you down into him, like what he usually does once you give up.

“no, no, let me try something else.”

without pulling off him completely, you press your knees into the bed and lean all your weight onto your left side. you begin to bounce again, up and down, up and down.

you fling your head back, mostly from the burn switching from your knees to your thighs. 

bakugou’s obsessed with whatever position you get yourself in, “doin’ so good, princess.”

that has you looking at him, leaning forward for a kiss. he meets it without thought, biting down on your bottom lip when you pull away.

“i am?” 

he nods rapidly, swearing under his breath. he’s got a layer of sweat on his forehead even though he’s barely done anything. forcing himself to not move is more exerting than just moving. 

“yeah, baby. feels like torture though, not gonna lie to you.” he squeezes the fat of your hips, staring at the ceiling for a few seconds. 

you switch your weight onto your right knee, sighing in delight, wetness leaking from you. your bodies are getting louder now, the slap of your skin against his. graphic with the white ring forming around bakugou’s cock. 

“now you know how i feel when you won’t let me come,” you whisper and he’s about to lean in to bite your lip as a punishment but you rotate around so your back is facing him.

you’ve never tried reverse cowgirl before but you can already predict how katsuki will feel about it. bakugou’s least favourite position. you know this because he always goes on about how he loves to see your face. your sweet loverboy. but equally one of his favourites because it’s a front row view of your rippling ass every time you slap down on him. it’s enough to make him come, a few bounces and he’s done. it’s also a good break to not have to think about him staring at you. the number one tip for other shy girls on that blog site you read.

you forward, grabbing his knees and for a second you can barely move.

“princess?” bakugou asks, caressing your ass slowly. “you okay?”

“i can feel you in my stomach,” his cockhead nudges against your insides, somehow further than you’ve ever felt before. why the hell haven’t you tried this before?

bakugou sits up on his forearm, sneaking his hand to your stomach, “does it hurt? you wanna pull off?”

you shake your head, then you remember he can’t see you well. you moan, grinding back into him. you can’t be quiet, can barely make out a coherent word either. you’re between crying and moaning, soft breaths of “‘tsuki,” and another wail.

“so good, fuck, i’m gonna die,” you gasp and the warmth in your stomach bundles together and tightens. you ignore the burn in your knees, focusing on the obscene amount of pleasure that bursts under your skin. you reach between your legs to play with your clit, slow circular rubs to make everything last as long as possible.

katsuki gets where you are now. the idea of you using him like a toy is what had him boiling all day. you’re moving on your own accord, focusing on yourself and what feels good. he begins to help, meeting your thrusts just so you scream louder.

“cmon, baby,” he says behind gritted teeth, “let me hear ya, louder for me.”

bakugou’s strict with his thrusts, obsessed with how your body shakes when it comes into contact with his. how his thighs are equally soaked and the fact that you’re both leaking onto his bedsheets. he keeps moving and before he knows it, only hearing your whines, he comes inside you.

jolting harshly, a hand on your hip bone to keep you close while he comes. it has you looking back at him with a frown.

“s-sorry, i couldn’t fuckin’—,” he’s gasping for air, back arched off the bed. he holds you down and you’re grinning like you’ve won a prize. “fuck, holy shit.”

“you came.” 

delight blossoms inside of you, your body burning for your own release. katsuki looks exhausted. red cheeks, sweat coating his forehead. he genuinely looks pissed that he came. you look at the mess between your legs, so much come.

he grunts in annoyance, “i didn’t mean to i—,”

but he’s cut off as you face him again, ignoring all the liquids spilling out. you plant your feet by his head and lean back, your hands on his knees.

“touch my clit for me,” you ask politely and bakugou does what he’s told, mentally preparing himself for the overstimulation about to come.

you begin bouncing again, using your hands to guide your body up and down, rolling your hips to grind to hit a specific spot. all the shyness you ever felt before has evaporated, simply following your body to catch whatever feels good. 

bakugou on the other hand, feels as if he’s about to pass out. if it’s the squelch in the air, the sight of your pussy drenched and his cock soaked. your pubic hair has strings of his come and his lower stomach has a shine to it. his cock is still hard, aching, twitching in painful flicks of pleasure. but there’s no way he could say no, not with you looking practically angelic.

you’re in your own world with your little mumbles, your whines that sound troubled but are anything but. he’s not sure how he can have you in any other position but on top after this. you ride him like you own him, like he’s yours to play with and use to relax. your breasts are soft, nipples perked to the ceiling and as he rolls his thumb against your clit, he knows you’re ready to come any second now.

“oh my god, katsuki.” you make those odd grunting sounds that make bakugou leak, “faster, w-why haven’t we done this before?”

you say in a rush and bakugou obeys, speeding up his rubs on your clit. 

“this is all we’re gonna do now, huh?”

you hum, pace slowing as the burn of your knees radiates.

“lettin’ you ride my cock while i come early like a fuckin’ teenager,” he moans, frowning harshly because he’s too sensitive now, way too sensitive. 

bakugou takes matters into his own hands, especially once you whine for him, “help me, ‘tsuki.”

you lift your head up to lock eyes with him. you’re fucking crying. tears down your cheeks, “i love you so much.”

he thrusts into you, meaning you no longer need to strain your body anymore. he moves you for your own pleasure, sliding you up and down, mimicking how you were moving and he’s ready to come again.

“nah, you love my cock. tell me you do.”

it takes only a second for you to reply, stretching your arms straight, your back arched so bakugou can see all the beautiful curves of your breasts and waist. he bites back his bearish groans, this is way too much for him right now. he thinks hes about to come again.

“l-love your cock so much. feels like heaven, like i’m gonna split open,” you babble, “love it so much, ‘tsuki.”

“my good fuckin’ girl, usin’ me like this. love you so much, princess,” he hums and before you can even catch yourself, after all the noise tonight, your orgasm is a silent one.

these strained gasps come from your throat as you lean forward, your whole body tensing. you don’t mean to dig your nails into his chest, but bakugou welcomes the pain especially when he orgasms again, loud enough for you both.

he growls into the air as you hold yourself up over him, open mouthed, tears falling from your eyes.

you can barely contain yourself, your body still bouncing as he continues thrusting his hips. everything is lewd, the stained bedsheets and the trail of sweat down your breasts. the sound of your ass hitting his balls only draws out your orgasm, your bodies soaked with each other.

“oh my god, oh my god,” you whisper. you stare at your boyfriend in shock as he slows down and wraps his arms around your body to drag you to his chest. “we’ve never… it’s never felt like that before.”

you can feel him pulsating inside of you and your walls are hot around him.

you both breathe, catching your breaths, plastered to each other.

“you’ve got me fucked,” his chuckle is dry, but you shuffle to get comfortable and bakugou yelps. “don’t fuckin’ move. please.”

you smile, pressing kisses into his chest until you realise what you’ve done. “i’m so sorry, i didn’t mean to…”

you trail off, lightly brushing your thumb over the red scratches over katsuki’s chest. bakugou’s half lidded eyes catch yours, grabs your hand to kiss the centre of your palm.

“it felt good, princess. needed any distraction to ignore your warm pussy.” he pouts his lips and you happily meet his, “you confident bein’ on top now?”

bakugou twitches inside of you, “yeah. i know what to do now.”

“you looked…,” and he doesn’t know how to describe you. but you’re patiently waiting for an answer. if anyone likes to be complimented more than him, it’s you, “like a goddamn angel. thought you were gonna kill me.”

“i’d never,” your eyes droop, ready for an evening nap. “you need to pull out now.”

bakugou sighs, “this is gonna be a mess to clean up and my dick aches.”

“i’m sore too!”

bakugou rolls his eyes but he knows he’s going to be kissing your knees and thighs any minute now.

“still want me to cook dinner or order in?” he asks, pushing you on your back to slowly slide out of you.

you whine softly as he does, not used to the feeling of not being full. you almost want to sit back on him, clamp your legs around him and never let him go.

“fuck,” bakugou grunts, then he sees your pout. “after dinner.”

your eyes light up, “really?”

“you’re goddamn insatiable.”

“it’s just there’s one more position, well two, i want to try with you sitting up and me laying down.” 

he climbs off the bed to grab a clean flannel from his en-suite. “you wanna break me, huh?” he calls.

you giggle, “no, i just wanna know how it’ll feel and the website i found has loads of positions we haven’t tried.”

you have the audacity to look innocent while he wipes your legs with the damp flannel. then your lower stomach and very lightly between your legs.

“you should have told me earlier i would have booked tomorrow off work.” he kisses your knee, “we can do whatever you want. until you get all achy.”

there’s no doubt he’d be able to get hard again for you, especially looking this eager about trying a new way to have sex with him.

you nod softly, running your hand down his face, “can you still cook? i want your udon noodles.”

if it was up to bakugou he’d order in. he’s way too tired to cook for you right now and still have energy to have sex again after. he had a whole patrol and training earlier today too.

but one thing bakugou has always struggled with since he met you, is the ability to say no. especially not when you sit up and grab the flannel from him to slowly swipe across his stomach and then his softened cock.

“yeah, ‘course i can. anythin’ f’you.”

[weirdergirlbrina]

“I hope every man that’s ever touched you dies” Bakugo slurs out, cheeks flushed, glossy eyes locked on you.

You blink, then burst out laughing, hand flying to your mouth, “Katsuki! That’s so mean!”

He scowls, trying to sit up straighter and failing miserably, “Wha? You love em or somethin?” he barks out, but the alcohol in his system makes it sound more like a pouty little whine.

You roll your eyes, playful smile pulling at your lips, “You’re wasted”

“I want them dead”

“You’re a pro hero babe, I don’t think you should be saying that”

“dead” he hisses like a pissy cat.

Your laughter spills out again, light and easy, filling the room. And just like that, he feels himself cool off a little. He lazily slumps further into the couch, watching you through half-lidded eyes.

You move around the room like it’s second nature. Grabbing him cold water, crouching down to tug off his shoes, gently setting them aside. You’re yapping the whole time, some random story spilling from your lips, but he’s not really listening.

He’s too busy watching you.

The way your hands move so carefully, like he’s something that deserves to be cared for so gently.

Something warm stirs in his chest.

Before he can stop himself, he lets out a loud whine, arms lazily opening, “c’mere” he mutters.

You don’t even hesitate.

You smile softly, finding your way to him in seconds. You curl up on the couch with him, fitting perfectly into his arms, like it’s where you belong.

He buries his face into your hair, inhaling deeply, like he’s desperate to memorize your scent. You giggle softly, wiggling around until he grunts and squeezes you hard.

“Stop movin” he grumbles

“You’re tickling me” you protest, giggles still spilling out.

He cracks a small, crooked smile. He nuzzles in deeper, deliberately making it worse until you’re wriggling around, laughing hard, desperately trying and failing to escape.

He keeps a strong grip on you, not enough to hurt, just enough to keep you in his grasp. Enough to remind you, you ain’t going anywhere.

Not from him.

When he finally gives you mercy, head flopping back onto the couch cushion, he’s got a silly little smile on his face. His hands stay on you, thumbs gently rubbing small circles in your hips.

You smile up at him with that soft look in your eye. You smile at him so fondly, so warmly, he feels his heart stutter.

“Quit lookin at me like that”, he mutters, gently pushing your face away in a playful way, “y’know my hearts weak”

You jump up instantly, all laughter gone, worry taking over your face, “What? Are you okay?”

He laughs, loud and bright, something silly and boyish breaking through. He reaches for you, hands pulling you back to him like he can’t stand the space between you.

“I’m kidding”, he grins. From where you’re sitting with him, hands gently over his heart, you can feel it. The way his heart races, the warmth radiating from his skin.

It calms you, huffing out a little laugh of your own, “You’re not funny”

“…yeah,” he mumbles, quieter now, gaze flickering over your face. The look in his eye rivals your own, soft and warm, something almost shy creeping in, “But you care.”

You don’t even deny it, just lean in to pepper little kisses down his jaw, making sure to kiss every little scar you can reach, “Because I love you so much”

And damn, does that get him.

It hits him all at once.

That overwhelming, heavy gratitude that settles deep in his chest. His throat tightens, breath catching as he blinks rapidly, trying to force away the burn behind his eyes. I’m never drinking with those idiots again, he thinks bitterly, makes me soft as shit.

He suddenly flops over, big body draping over your own, “I love you too” he mumbles, voice rough but unmistakably shy.

His grip tightens just a little, fingers curling into your shirt, “…so don’t go touchin’ anybody else”, he adds under his breath, softer this time, less bite, something more fragile that he’d never admit to sober.

You simply smile, laughter bubbling out as you run your fingers through his hair, “Wouldn’t dream of it, handsome”.

————————————————————————

A/N: I luv grumpy characters being secret softies can u guys tell

[bombshellhero]

imagine wearing dynamight panties and pro hero!bakugo goes feral WALK WITH ME (repost from my old blog! i accidentally deleted my entire blog instead of my side blog 😭 a/n is at the end lmao)

you’re straddling his lap on the couch, kissing him slow and messy. your fingers are tangled in his hair and his hands under your shirt. you’ve been making out for like twenty minutes now—he’s flushed, his cock is already hard in his sweats.

then he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of your shorts.

“these gotta go, baby” he mutters, voice gruff and warm against your jaw, and you nod, lifting your hips to let him slide them off.

and then he freezes.

his grip stills. his breathing stops.

and then—

“…what the fuck are you wearin’?”

your heart drops.

“what?” you blink, panicking slightly.

he shifts, stares straight down between your legs. you peek down and your heart sinks.

your orange panties with little embroidered explosions all over them. the ones with ‘DYNAMIGHT’ printed on the waistband.

you forgot.

you completely forgot you were wearing those.

“katsuki—” you start, but your voice is weak and trembling. “i—it’s not—i didn’t mean—”

he raises an eyebrow and smirks.

“you didn’t mean to wear my fuckin’ hero merch on your pussy?”

you bury your face into his shoulder with a broken little whine.

“oh my god—don't say it like that!”

he laughs.

it’s not even mean or mocking, he’s genuinely losing it over how cute you are. he’s already easing you back, peppering kisses across your cheeks and nose.

“you little nerd” he groans, practically grinning. “you wore dynamight panties for me? baby, are you tryin’ to kill me?”

“stopppp” you whimper and squirm, but you’re giggling now too, all pink and overwhelmed.

“no, no, don’t even try to hide” he’s fully obsessed now, his hand between your thighs, cupping you softly over the fabric. “you’re the cutest thing i’ve ever seen. you love me that much, huh?”

“of course i do” you whisper, eyes glossy. “you’re my boyfriend…”

his eyes soften instantly. 

he’s literally short-circuiting. you’re so sweet and devoted. you love him so much you’re out here wearing his name on your panties, and it’s not even to be funny or silly—you're just genuinely proud of him and in love.

“get on the bed” he murmurs, voice low and rough now. “right now.”

“katsuki—”

“nope. you’re not wearing these for no reason.” he’s kissing down your neck now, hands sliding your panties back down slowly. “gonna eat you out so good in them. gonna fuck you with those cute little dynamight panties still on, feel ‘em clingin’ to my cock while i ruin you."

“you’re so—oh my god—”

“shh, don’t go shy now baby. you love your hero, don’t you? you want dynamight to fuck you good?” he coos.

you whine and nod your head.

"then let him make you feel good"

you barely hit the bed before bakugo is on his knees in front of you.

he grabs your legs and yanks you to the edge like he owns you, eyes already locked on the way your soaked little panties cling to your core.

“jesus” he mutters, voice already rough. “you this wet from wearing my hero merch? wearing my name got you gushin’, huh?”

you try to close your legs, bashful and overwhelmed, but his palms are firm, keeping you wide open.

“nuh-uh” he growls, eyes dark and wild. “you put these on and thought you were getting away without me devouring this pussy?”

and then, he’s there. mouth hot and wet through the fabric, tongue dragging across the soft drenched cotton just to tease you. the slick feeling of it makes your whole body jolt and thighs tremble in his grip.

you whimper. “katsuki—”

“shut up” he cuts you off. “lemme feast.”

before you can even respond and call him an asshole, he shoves the fabric to the side with two fingers and dives in, tongue flat and heavy against your dripping cunt. the first drag of it has you crying, which ultimately does nothing but fuel him. he just moans right into you and starts slurping loud like he’s starving.

he pants and pulls back to mutter a quick “so wet”, and before you know it, he’s on you licking again. noisy, messy, and fucking feral. “fuck, baby you taste so fucking good”. his lips wrap around your clit and he sucks hard until your thighs start trembling uncontrollably and a cry rips from your throat.

he keeps sucking even harder.

sloppy, obscene sounds fill the room—his tongue working in tight circles, his mouth latching on with desperation like he’s never tasted anything better. he even works two thick fingers into you while he’s devouring your clit.

“taste like fuckin’ candy” he groans, lips dragging off your clit with a lewd pop. “poor baby, look at you.”

you’re a mess, sobbing and begging for more all at once, thighs shaking around his head.

“more katsuki, please” you whine at the sudden loss of pleasure.

“i’ve got you baby, i’m gonna make the ache all better” he coos, mouth already back on you. he keeps eating, even through your orgasm. keeps sucking on your clit until your back arches and your moans start to become all broken. until you’re crying again, begging him to stop, but also begging him not to.

finally, he decides to have mercy on your poor overstimulated cunt.

“you taste so good with my name sitting pretty on your pussy”

you nod, whimpering with tears clinging to your lashes.

“that’s my girl” he whispers sweetly while pressing a soft kiss to your thigh. “now gimme another one.”

you don’t even have time to gasp before he’s shoving his sweats down just enough and gripping the base of his painfully red and throbbing cock.

“katsuki—!”

but he’s already pressing in.

just the tip at first, sliding through your slick folds and right into where you’re sensitive and trembling. your hands reach up blindly, desperate for him. when your fingers curl around the back of his neck, you tug him down into you, clinging tight like you need his whole body on top of you to breathe.

he groans at the way you hold him, melting into the way your arms wrap around his shoulders like a hug. like you need him so bad you have to be this close.

“fuck, baby” he breathes, nose brushing your cheek. “you’re killin’ me” he whimpers but would never admit. he pulls out for just a second, dragging his cock up and down your slit, teasing your clit with the thick head until you jolt and whine, before thrusting it back in with full force.

“you made a mess all over my face, now you’re makin’ a mess all over my cock. you’re a dirty girl”

you nod weakly, eyes fluttery and dazed. “p-please…”

“yeah baby, you want it?” he grins, all feral. “then take it.”

you whine and he keeps thrusting into you slow and deep. he’s so thick and pulsing and throbbing inside of you. the slide in and out is so easy—your cunt even makes the filthiest little squelch when he bottoms out.

“fuuuckk” he groans, grabbing under your thighs to tilt your hips just right. “you hear that, princess? you hear how bad your little pussy needed me?”

your mouth falls open in a breathless sob, tears beading at the corners of your lashes. you’re still sensitive and overstimmed, but his cock feels too good. it’s so warm and deep, filling you perfectly.

“takin’ me so good” he pants. “you’re always so good for me. love you much” his hips snap forward even deeper and you cry out in overwhelming pleasure.

“katsuki—ahh, too much—!”

“shhh, it’s okay baby, breathe. you’re being such a good girl. you’re taking me so well, making me so proud. gimme one more baby, you can do it” he soothes, voice sounding like honey as he talks you through it.

he’s so lost in you.

he can’t stop thinking about his name on your panties. or the way his precum glistens on your thighs. the way your nails are digging into his shoulders and your eyes all glossy and pretty just for him. and most of all, the way your pussy is squeezing around him like it’s trying to milk him of every last drop.

“love you so much” he groans, pressing his forehead to yours. “so fuckin’ much. makin’ me crazy, princess—wearin’ my name like that—fuck—i’m gonna lose it—”

he’s babbling, and you’re nodding, moaning, crying, and gripping his arms like a lifeline.

“cum with me. now. be my good girl, fuck, please, baby—i need it, need to feel you cum with me,” he begs in a needy, high pitched tone, voice cracking as he fucks you harder, like he’s right on the edge of falling apart.

and you do. you both do.

your sob shatters into a broken moan, your body seizing under him as you cum hard, clenching around him. the second he feels it, he breaks.

a soft, broken whimper breaks out of his mouth as his hips stutter and press deeper than before if that’s even possible, and he spills inside you with a cry, mouth falling open against your neck like he’s losing his mind.

“ohh fuck, baby—fuckfuckfuck—” he whimpers through it, holding you close like he’ll die without you.

and when it’s over, and the waves of pleasure ease through and your bodies go all shaky and warm, he still doesn’t let go. he just falls forward, face down right into your chest and arms wrapped so tightly around your waist.

you giggle, barely able to catch your breath. “katsu…” you whisper, breathy and sweet, your fingers brushing through his hair. “you’re squishing me”

“don’t care” he mumbles and smiles all dopey as he nuzzles his face into your chest. “mine.”

he leans back just enough to look at you—and god, is he whipped.

“you’re so fuckin’ perfect” he says dramatically, plopping his face back down onto you. “how’re you real?”

you giggle again, shy now. “you’re just sayin’ that 'cause i let you wreck me.”

“no” he murmurs, kissing your cheek and nose. “sayin’ it 'cause it’s true. and 'cause i love you.”

your heart flips, and you can’t help but hide your face in his chest, giggling like it’s the first time he’s ever said it—even though he says it all the time.

“i love you too” you whisper, and he just holds you tighter.

“who would’ve thought my hero merch would get me such good sex?”

𝖺/𝗇: 𝖨'𝖬 𝖡𝖠𝖢𝖪𝖪𝖪 𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾'𝗌 𝖺 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝗒 𝖽𝗒𝗇𝖺𝗆𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍 𝗉𝖺𝗇𝗍𝗂𝖾𝗌 𝖿𝗂𝖼 𝗂 𝗆𝖺𝖽𝖾 𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗂𝗇 𝗇𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗆𝖻𝖾𝗋! 𝗂 𝖺𝖼𝖼𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝖽𝖾𝗅𝖾𝗍𝖾𝖽 𝗆𝗒 𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝗋𝖾 𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗀 𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖺𝖽 𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝗒 𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗀 𝗂 𝖽𝗂𝖽𝗇'𝗍 𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝗂 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝗌𝗈 𝖽𝖾𝗏𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗍𝖾𝖽 😭 𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗌 𝗂𝗌 𝗐𝗁𝖺𝗍 𝗂 𝗀𝖾𝗍 𝖿𝗈𝗋 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖼𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗅𝗒 𝗅𝗆𝖿𝖺𝗈. 𝗅𝗎𝖼𝗄𝗂𝗅𝗒 𝗂 𝗐𝖺𝗌 𝖺𝖻𝗅𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖽 𝖻𝗈𝗍𝗁 𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝗒 𝖿𝗂𝖼𝗌 𝗈𝗇 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗐𝖺𝗒𝖻𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗆𝖺𝖼𝗁𝗂𝗇𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝗇𝖼𝖾 𝗐𝗁𝗒 𝗂'𝗆 𝗋𝖾𝗎𝗉𝗅𝗈𝖺𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆 𝗇𝗈𝗐!! 𝖨'𝖬 𝖲𝖮 𝖲𝖮𝖱𝖱𝖸 𝖥𝖮𝖱 𝖣𝖨𝖲𝖠𝖯𝖯𝖤𝖠𝖱𝖨𝖭𝖦 𝖮𝖭 𝖸𝖠𝖫𝖫 𝗂𝗆𝗆𝖺 𝗆𝖺𝗄𝖾 𝗌𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝖽 𝗒𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝗆𝗒 𝗌𝗍𝗎𝗉𝗂𝖽𝗂𝗍𝗒 𝗌𝖾𝗇𝖽 𝗂𝗇 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍𝗌!!

[stressedand-obsessed]

satoru gojo fucking his cute little girlfriend but it’s simply too much!

satoru gojo, who’s fucking you in missionary with his hand on your clit as you claw at his forearm, you just can’t handle both at once!

“wait, wait, wait!” you exclaim as you try to wiggle away from his relentless hips, “feels…”

“i know honey, where are you going?” he coos as his free hand moves to yank you back into place. it really is too much though! you try to warn him, pressing against his abs with your hands and looking at him with pleading eyes.

“satoru! stop!” you pull back just enough for his dick to slip out but not for his thumb to leave your clit. you throw your head back as you squirt all over his hand, yours still weakly trying to push him away. he lets out a huff in i disbelief as you still try to scramble away. his thumb on your clit doesn’t stop though, shoving you into overstimulation.

“please! just-” you try to plead with him. it’s no use. he pins you up against the head board and shoves his dick back inside with one quick thrust. your legs shake from where they’ve landed on his shoulders as your eyes roll back into your head.

“oh no baby, we aren’t stopping until you do that again for me”

[yuemiu-deactivated20260315]

childhood bsf!atsumu finally loses it and turns into a pathetic mess the second he sinks into you after years of fantasizing.

cw. explicit smut, tsumu has a big dih, big size difference, slight overstimulation, childhood friends to lovers undertones, creampie, tsumu being down bad, osamu mentioned :p : 1.6k words

atsumu’s always been loud about it.

ever since high school, back when he would often tell everyone that he’s going on a date with some hot chick and osamu would smack the back of his head for running his mouth in the locker room. “i’ve fucked more girls than you’ve had rice bowls,” he’d brag to anyone who’d listen, shoulders squared, that fox-like grin splitting his face.

osamu usually just rolled his eyes and muttered “yeah sure ya have” under his breath while toweling sweat off his neck.

you were always there too— sitting on the bench while you wait for him to finish so you could walk home together, pretending you weren’t listening. but you were. you always were.

he never said it to your face though. never looked straight at you and ran that same cocky spiel. with you it was different. softer. stupider. he’d nudge your shoulder with his, steal fries off your tray, call you “shortstack” even after you’d both shot up and you still only reached his collarbone. he’d ruffle your hair like you were some kid sister he was fond of.

except he wasn’t fond of you like a sister.

he was disgusting about it, actually.

he spent years of stolen glances while walking home together from school, when your sundress rode up your thighs on hot summer days, when you laughed so hard you had to grab his arm to stay upright. years of him jerking off in the shower after you’d hug him after winning a match, smelling like vanilla body mist and sunshine. years of him groaning your name into his pillow at 3 am in the morning like a prayer he was too ashamed to say out loud.

and now you’re here.

sprawled across his bed like you belong there— because you do, you always fucking did. your legs parted just enough that he can see how soaked your cute cotton panties are. there’s a little damp spot right in the center and atsumu swears his soul just left his body through his dick.

“ya sure?” he asks for the third time in ten minutes. his voice rough. cracking at the edges like he’s sixteen again.

you nod, biting your lip, cheeks flushed so pretty he wants to bite them.

“atsumu,” you murmur, reaching for his wrist. “stop stalling.”

“’m not stallin’,” he lies instantly. “just… y’know. makin’ sure my best girl’s ready for the miya special.”

you snort. actually snort. and it’s so you that his chest does that stupid flip thing it’s been doing since forever.

“miya special,” you echo, teasing. “is that what we’re calling your right hand now?”

he groans, drops his forehead to your bare stomach. “don’t be mean t’me. ’m fragile right now.”

“you’re the least fragile person i know.”

“not when it’s you,” he mumbles against your skin. kisses the soft curve under your belly button. then lower. then lower. “been dreamin’ bout this pussy since i knew what hard-ons were.”

your breath hitches.

he hooks two fingers in the waistband of your panties, drags them down slow like he’s unwrapping something holy. when the fabric peels away from your cunt there’s a thin string of slick that stretches and snaps and atsumu makes a sound that can only be described as wounded.

“holy fuck.”

he just stares for a second. like he’s trying to memorize every glistening fold. then he lowers his head and licks a fat, obscene stripe from your perineum all the way up to your clit.

you jerk. your thighs twitching. little whimper slipping out before you can catch it.

atsumu grins against you— feral, boyish, that shit-eating grin plastered on his stupid pretty face.

“told ya i’m a pro,” he mutters, voice muffled because his mouth is already back on you. “gonna eat this pussy so good ya forget every other guy’s name.”

except there aren’t other guys. not really. not ones that mattered. he knows that. you’ve told him before— drunk on cheap convenience store sake on his birthday two years ago— that you’ve only ever wanted him.

he never mentioned it after that.

but he still wants to erase the idea of anyone else ever touching you.

his tongue is messy. sloppy, even. he’s not trying to be neat or precise— he’s trying to drown in you. his nose pressing to your puffy clit, lips sealed around your entrance, sucking like he’s starving. when you buck he just groans louder, palms sliding up your thighs to pin you open wider.

“taste s’fuckin’ good,” he slurs. “been missin’ out my whole life.”

you’re already trembling. fingers twisted in his bleached hair. tugging hard enough that his scalp stings and it only makes him eat you out harder.

when he finally pulls back to breathe his chin is shiny, lips swollen and red. pupils blown so wide there’s barely any hazel left.

“gonna put it in now,” he rasps. not a question.

you nod frantically.

he fumbles with his shorts like his hands forgot how zippers work. when his cock springs free it slaps against his stomach— thick, flushed dark at the head, already leaking. bigger than you expected even though you’ve seen him in nothing but boxer briefs a hundred times.

“tsumu…” you breathe. half awe, half nerves.

he wraps a hand around the fat base, gives himself one slow stroke. “yeah?”

“you’re… really... uh— big.”

he grins, cocky but unraveling at the seams.

“i know baby. gonna stretch ya so pretty.”

he crawls back over you. one forearm braced beside your head, the other guiding himself to your entrance. he rubs the head through your folds— coating himself, teasing your already tingling clit until you whine.

then he pushes slowly, just the tip first.

and then stops. his whole body locks up, eyes fluttering shut. mouth falling open in a silent O shape.

“fuuuck— oh fuck— oh my god—”

you’ve never heard him sound like that.

“tight,” he chokes. “s’too fuckin’ tight— shit— ’m gonna die—”

you giggle despite the stretch. despite the ache. “you’re so dramatic.”

“not dramatic,” he pants. “just— jesus christ— yer pussy’s tryna kill me.”

he sinks another inch. then another. slowly. careful. even though his arms are shaking and sweat is already beading on his temple.

when he’s halfway in he drops his face into your neck and just… stays there. breathing so hard, his hips twitching like he’s fighting every instinct to slam home.

“tsumu?”

“gimme a sec,” he mumbles. voice muffled against your skin. “gimme a fuckin’ sec or ’m gonna cum right now and i swear t’god i’ll never forgive myself.”

you card your fingers through his damp hair soothingly.

“you can move,” you whisper. “want you to.”

you heard him make a broken noise.

he pulls back the tiniest bit just to feel the drag— then rolls his hips forward again. deeper this time. filling you so full your toes curl.

your pussy were stretched wide to its limits, gripping his thick shaft in a vice-grip like its sucking him in even deeper.

“ohmygod,” you both say at the same time.

then you’re both laughing— breathless, dazed, stupidly happy like some lovesick idiots.

until he rolls his hips again and again.

and suddenly laughing isn’t an option anymore.

atsumu miya— loudmouth, cocky setter, self-proclaimed sex god turns into the most pathetic, whimpering mess the second he bottoms out inside your warm pussy.

his sweaty forehead pressed to yours. eyes glassy. mouth slack. babbling incoherently like he’s too fucked-out to say something clearly.

“s’good... shiit— s’warm— fuckfuck— pussy’s suckin’ me in— can ya feel that? hm baby? shit— ’m so deep— look— look how deep i am—”

he grabs your hand. presses it low on your lower stomach where he’s bulging just a little.

that made you let out a loud and shameless moan. “atsumu— oh fuuuck!”

“yeah baby... say my name, fuck— say it again—”

he starts fucking you for real then. not graceful, not practiced. just pure raw need. his hips snapping, bed creaking so loud by the force of his thrusts. you could hear the wet squelching sounds every time he sheathes himself completely inside your fluttering cunt.

he’s so big it hurts a little, burns in the best way but the stretch makes your brain melt out your ears. he’s fucking you so good. so fucking good.

“good girl...” he slurs. “takin’ it so good— takin’ my big cock like ya were made for it— fuck— made f’me—”

you’re drooling. actually drooling. a little string of spit sliding from the corner of your mouth. he licks it up without thinking. kisses you messily, all tongue and teeth and desperation.

“been waitin’ so long,” he confesses between thrusts, his voice cracking. “wanted this— wanted you— fuck— since we were kids— used t’dream bout bendin’ ya over my desk—”

you clench around him hard at the image.

that made him sob.

actually sobs.

“do that again— please— please baby— squeeze me— fuuuck— ’m so close already— don’t wanna cum yet— wanna stay inside ya forever—”

and you do it again. deliberately. clenching your walls tightly against his pistoning cock

his rhythm stutters for a sec, his hips punching forward erratically. “nonononono— shiiit—! wait— ’m gonna—”

you wrap your legs around his waist. pull him deeper inside. lock him there.

“inside,” you whisper against his ear. “wan’ it inside.”

that breaks him.

his full-body shudder, letting out a choked moan. hips jerking as he pumps you full of hot, thick spurts that seem to go on forever that it leaks out around his cock. he keeps moving through it, shallow little thrusts like he can’t stop. like his body won’t let him.

when he finally stills he’s shaking. panting. face buried in your neck again.

“sorry,” he mumbles. “came too fast— fuck— ’m sorry—”

you laugh breathlessly, still heaving and kiss the shell of his ear.

“you’re so cute when you’re ruined.”

he groans. embarrassed but still inside you. still half-hard.

“gonna pull out,” he mutters.

“no...”

“…no?”

you tighten your legs around him. “stay.”

his breath hitches. “yeah?”

“yeah.”

he kisses you slow this time. lazy and passionate. his thumb brushing your cheek like you’re something precious.

“love ya,” he whispers. barely audible. like he’s scared the words will break if he says them louder.

you smile against his mouth. “love you too, tsumu.”

he makes a tiny, wrecked sound. almost sound like a whimper.

then he rolls his hips again— gentle this time. just testing at first.

“gonna make ya cum now,” he promises. voice hoarse but determined. “gonna move again, yeah? gonna fuck you so hard you’ll cum many times.”

“promise?”

he grins. that same grin from when you were twelve. except now it’s softer. fonder. stupid in love. “promise, shortstack.”

and then he starts moving again- slowly but oh so deep, already whispering the nastiest, sweetest things against your lips.

osamu’s never gonna let him live this down when he finds out he fucked his beat friend.

but right now?

right now atsumu doesn’t care.

he’s finally home. so close to the only person he’s ever really wanted.

and he’s never leaving.

for this req! i wrote this while i was out so its a little messy haha but i rly miss writing for hq so tysm for this idea ^_^ #goingbacktomyroots

[oomisluvr]

DO YOU THINK OF ME? (IN THE WAY I THINK OF YOU)

SYNOPSIS: falling in love after falling out of it. he’s still your kiyoomi after all this time. 

WARNINGS: ex-boyfriend!sakusa, lame!sakusa, awkward!sakusa, light swearing, references to sex but nothing super graphic, a little sad ngl but the ending is happy (or is it??), 4k words, MINORS, YOU KNOW THE DRILL

You’re not sure what started the break-up. The beginning of the end. You only know that it’s been eight months since you’ve last seen your ex, and the sight of him now feels like looking at a ghost.

Kiyoomi was obsessed with perfection. Still is, probably. Constantly drove himself to the brink just to achieve it, then wore his suffering as if it were a prize. It was all part of his look, the illusion of being put-together. 

In a lot of ways, he treated your relationship like that. Part of an illusion; a specific look. Like you were an accessory to his image. Yet another thing for people to covet about his life.

You, however, are not perfect. No one is. Hell, no relationship is perfect. You know that. Everybody knows that. 

Kiyoomi hated it. Some days it felt like he hated you. 

Life felt so good when all you did was dress up for galas and fall into bed with one another. When all you had to do was look pretty and smile for the media.

It made it easy to avoid your problems, until it wasn’t. Until so much resentment built up that you wanted to hit him with a car. Kiyoomi preferred to avoid your problems, while you faced the situation head on. He loved you, sure, but it felt like he always had one foot out the door. Ready to run when things inevitably went up in flames. 

It exhausted you – trying to reach a person who didn’t want to be touched. You wanted more, and Kiyoomi was scared of what you might see if you got too close. Did you ever really know him? Maybe it was easier to cut things off. Maybe you could have worked it out. 

The last few months of your relationship had been a blur. Fuzzy memories that feel so distant you can’t tell if you made them up or not. You can recall his general fear towards life, despite how hard he tried to overcome it. You remember how… tired he was. All the time. About everything. Including you. 

How do you help someone who doesn't want to be helped? You can't. You can only love them, but Kiyoomi didn't let you do that either.

Months later, you still don’t know what happened. Who pushed who away? 

You blink, remembering where you are.

He’s with his friend now, the rowdy one with the bleached hair. He gives you a once-over and visibly recoils, clapping your ex on the back with a mumble you can’t hear. You haven’t moved. Neither of you have. What is there to say? 

He’s still got that same piercing stare, studying you like one of his opponents from the court. Your heart thrums, remembering the nights he used to look at you like you were the only woman in the world. The memory burns, but you can’t seem to look away. 

He looks good, but he always looks good so that’s not really saying much. It’s the smaller details in his appearance that give him away. The dark circles under his eyes are more noticeable, now a deeper shade of purple in contrast to his sickly-pale skin. His face is a little slimmer too, clothes that are usually well-fitted are now draping loosely over his frame. It’s a small enough difference that any other person in his life probably wouldn’t notice. 

But you aren’t any other person, are you? 

He’s hurting. Bad. The irony makes your gut wrench, fills your bones with lead then tells you to take a dive off a pier. You ignore the voice in your head that whispers that you caused this; you did this to him. You broke him. 

“Hey,” he clears his throat, clearly rattled by your presence, “It’s… been a while. You look well. Nice to see you.”

“Yeah, uh, you too.” you chuckle, mindlessly scratching an itch on your elbow just to give your hands something to do, “How have you been?”

“The usual, y’know,” He’s strikingly good at evading even the most direct questions. “You look like you’ve been doing well.”

“You…” You suppress a grin, poking fun to make light of the situation, “Already said that.”

“Right, sorry.” Your sentiments fly right over his head. Kiyoomi looks… distressed to say the least. This is painful to watch. From your peripheral, you see his friend gag.

“I was actually wondering if we could catch up.” He forces the words out, the words clumsy when they leave his mouth, “Maybe do dinner or something. Catch a movie whenever. Bowling? Only if you want to, though. Whatever’s best for you.” The words are clipped and short, trying much too hard to be casual. 

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” You mumble, because it’s true. It’s 100% not a good idea to spend time alone with your ex-boyfriend. That damn itch on your elbow is back again, “New job has been hounding me all hours of the day.”

“Uh, yeah, sorry,” He looks crushed, the light in his eyes from initially seeing you now gone entirely. “I didn’t mean to make you… uncomfortable or anything. I just–yeah, sorry. Congrats on the new job, though. I told you that you could do it.”

You nod in agreement at his praise. You remember the night he told you those exact words, after comforting you over a bad day at your previous job. You remember how he took it upon himself to make your resume, sending it out to every employer in the city. It was invasive and honestly a little weird, but that’s just how he shows his love. 

Overprotective. Overbearing. It used to be so sweet before it felt suffocating. Like flowers that were nice in the vase on the windowsill. Until their pollen started closing your throat. Like a swim in the ocean on a Summer afternoon. Fun, until you're miles out from shore with no way home, saltwater clouding your vision and burning your lungs. 

You feel the waves wash over you. You clear your throat, like you can feel some pollen, too. 

“Actually,” you can’t stop the words from coming, you’ve lost sight of the shore already, “I think I have some time Thursday night. Maybe we could do something together then.”

“Yeah, sure.” He amends, eyes brightening slightly, “That works. I’ll, uh, text you?” 

“I got a new number recently,” You don’t know why you lie to him, “You can just DM me on Instagram. If we decide to do something.”

(You didn’t get a new number, but iMessage feels too personal. Social media feels like the perfect amount of distance.)

“For sure. I’ll text you. So we can do something.”

“Sounds good,” you offer a tight-lipped smile, “See you around, Sakusa.”

You can see something die in him when he hears his surname on your tongue. You used to call him Kiyoomi. Ki. Omi. Kiyo. Baby, but only sometimes. You used to call him sweetheart, when you really wanted something. Fuck, you used to call him yours. He blinks wildly, like you just struck him across the face. He stumbles a bit when he comes back to reality, rushing to get the door for you and holding it open, “See you around.”

He watches you the whole way, still standing at the door as you drive off, his figure disappearing in the rearview mirror. 

He texts you immediately. 

@s.kiyoomi [7:47PM]: It was great to see you again. Are we still down for Thursday??

You suppose that’s why it’s so easy to fall into bed with him, the familiarity of it all. Your body remembers his touches, had missed it. You writhe and moan and claw at his back before you’re both reaching your peaks, honey-slow and all-encompassing. It echoes to the furthest corners of your body and you feel it everywhere. He kisses your forehead after you both come down, even mumbles a breathless thank you against the skin there. It’s good, the familiarity. Good, good, good.

He leaves after that, when you don’t ask him to stay. He takes the hint. Good.

He comes back a few days later, though. Somehow he forgot his gloves. You guys fuck then, too. It’s good.

The next time he comes back to your apartment, it’s you who calls him. Not good.

You hadn’t meant to lurk. To make a burner account to follow all the Jackals for signs of Kiyoomi. You hadn’t meant to tap on Atsumu’s Instagram story. Hadn’t meant to keep tapping through it.

It’s a group picture with Atsumu and three other people including Kiyoomi. The one with the orange hair has a makeshift crown scribbled over his head, with a tag to his account and a sweet happy birthday message. The one with the gray hair is there, too, captured mid-sentence with a Heinekin in his hand. You had met him a few times. You remember he was sweet. Loud, but sweet. You smile at the photo, studying all the faces. Kiyoomi looks especially good, a small smirk on his face as he stares at the camera. Everyone is dressed handsomely. Good for them.

The next story is taken with the flash on, a short video of a packed club, sweaty bodies pressed on each other as they bump and grind to the music. There’s a figure that looks an awful lot like Sakusa, occupying a dark corner and talking to a smaller, thinner figure. Good for him. If that even is him. Good, good, good.

It’s the next story that has something ugly swelling in the pit of your stomach. It's a bigger group picture, with maybe 15 people. Everybody looks a little gone, probably wasted from so many complimentary shots and discounted birthday beers, so nobody is paying much attention to the camera, their minds elsewhere. Including Sakusa. Well, that, and the fact that he’s got an arm around that same girl from the previous story, captured mid-laugh as they whisper about whatever the hell they’re whispering about. 

It shouldn't bother you. It does. It has you sifting through your contacts to find his number. 

“Hello, Kiyoomi?” It’s loud when he picks up the phone, wherever he is at this point in the night. 

“Hey,” He sounds concerned and a little surprised, the commotion in the background slowly drowning out until you hear a door slam and it’s silent. The audio quality changes to staticky echoes. He must be in a bathroom, “Sorry, it was a little loud back there. Are you okay?” 

“Yeah,” You don’t know where this surge of embarrassment came from. Or why you’re reacting this way. “I was just calling if you wanted to watch the new season of You with me tonight. If you’re busy, don’t worry about it, I just thought—“

“Yes,” It sounds like a prayer, like something worthy of celebration, “Of course I do. I’m just a few blocks away. I could be there in fifteen minutes. Eight, if I run.” 

“Oh,” Part of you knew he would react like this, that he’d come running to your every beck and call. Part of you knows it's why you even called in the first place. You don’t know what that says about your character. You don’t care to know. “You don't have to rush over, we could always–”

There’s a banging on his side of the line, with a muffled demand to hurry the hell up, “Sorry,” he apologizes, though you aren’t sure to who, “I’ll head right over.” 

The call ends. 

You bite your cheek in anticipation, watching Atsumu’s instagram story again and again. 

He comes running, breathless as he pounds on your door. 

Eight minutes pass. Have you been watching his story all this time?

“Hey,” You greet him warmly, opening the door to fully let him in, “You look nice.” 

“Thank you,” he tries not to let the compliment get to his head, but he’s already dizzy from seeing you, “It was Hinata's birthday yesterday, so we all went out to celebrate with him for the weekend.” 

“I saw,” you comment, “Atsumu is very active on social media.”

“I took some pictures, come look.” 

It’s alarming how casual the two of you are, laughing on your sofa like old friends.You never gave it much thought, but there’s bits of him strewn around your apartment. His old highschool sweatshirt he never picked up. Throw blankets he brought over one night and never got back. There's a faded popcorn stain on the couch from when the two of you would binge movies together, the blemish etched into the fabric like a memory.

The grin he’s wearing tonight mimics the one from months ago, when you were choosing between centerpieces for a wedding reception. Your ribs ache.

“I thought the nightlife wasn’t really your thing?” You tease, a little bit of truth behind your words. You used to fight about this, too. Why couldn’t he be one of those “normal” boyfriends that go out with their partners? Couldn’t he do this one thing for you? Your fights were so petty – throwing tantrums just to get the other person’s attention. In hindsight, the issue hardly feels like an issue at all. 

“It wasn’t. Still isn’t, if I’m being honest.” His eyes find yours like he wants you to hear this. He’s different, somehow. He’s trying. “But I'm, uh, learning to try new things. Getting outside of my comfort zone and all that. It’s been fun, for the most part.” 

As he swipes through his camera roll, you see that girl again. She’s terribly pretty, soft cheeks and even softer lips. Big, doe eyes and high cheekbones; something in you withers, then rots and dies. 

“This is a good photo,” You can’t help the smile on your face at the sight of Kiyoomi and the blonde, throwing up the signature Jackals paw and grinning drunkenly at the camera. You tell the truth despite the words burning on your tongue, “She seems really sweet.” 

“She is,” He confirms, oblivious as ever, “Talks a lot, but she means well.”

“You two look good together.” Somehow it hurts more to say aloud. Makes it real, somehow. “You guys seem really close.”

“Yaichi? I mean, yeah, she’s a friend from college. She’s new to the team and I’m the only one she really knows. She tends to follow me around since we’ve known each other the longest.”

You hum, as he continues swiping. The thick atmosphere feels all too familiar to Kiyoomi, and suddenly he’s rushing forward with an explanation.

“She’s just,” nervousness bubbles out of him, “Our team manager, or something. She’s been shadowing that guy you think has weird hair.”

“Kuroo?” you laugh, remembering. You’re glad the conversation has shifted. “I never said he had weird hair!”

“You definitely did. On several occasions, actually.” He prods, “It’s alright – everyone thinks he has weird hair.”

Kuroo always looked out for you. Got you free tickets, never made you pay for merch, let Kiyoomi sneak you into the beautiful foreign countries they played in – that sort of thing. 

You feel your grin fade. That connection was severed after the breakup, “How is he, by the way?”

There’s a lot to catch up on – characters in Kiyoomi’s life that you are no longer a part of. It’s a bittersweet feeling, but you’re glad everyone is doing well even if you aren’t around to see it. The conversation spans late into the night, branching off on wild tangents about nothing in particular. You’re almost sad when you feel yourself getting sleepy. You don’t want it to end.

You truly have missed him. His company. His friendship. He’s still you’re Kiyoomi after all this time.

“Sorry for keeping you up,” He apologizes after seeing a yawn slip past your lips, checking his watch with a chuckle. It’s black. Sleek. Probably a Rolex. Very Sakusa, “I should head home and let you get to bed.” 

“Okay,” You rub your eyes, too tired to protest, “Let me walk to the door.”

Kiyoomi is silent as he helps you clean up the space, folding your throw blankets and fluffing the decor pillows. He lets you get his coat for him.

“Goodnight, Y/N.” His keys are loud as they dangle in his hand. He lingers in your doorway.

“Goodnight, Kiyo.” You sigh. 

Neither of you move. Time seems to slow. It still ticks by too fast. You open your mouth to speak, but he beats you to it. 

“I, uh, really missed this.” He swallows, “I really missed you.” 

“Yeah,” You’re tired of fighting. Physically, mentally. You want him, still. He’s still your Kiyoomi, after everything, despite everything, “Me too.” 

He chuckles, “You called me and I just. Ran over.” 

“Yeah,” You find the energy to smirk at that, “Why did you do that?”

“Because you asked me to.” he breathes, and you read between the lines. I’d do anything you asked me to.

You’re suddenly flustered at his proximity, looming in your doorway like a ghost. You almost can’t believe he’s here. Ditched his teammates – his friends – to come spend time with you. Ran several blocks at midnight because you wanted to see him. You, his ex-girlfriend. You, who broke his heart. He must be some kind of a masochist. 

(He must be in love. The thought scares you, so you stop thinking it).

“Can I–?” His voice raptures you from your thoughts, his sharp gaze flicking between your lips and your eyes. You can feel it radiating off him – the longing. He wants this just as bad as you do.

“Yeah.” You breathe, reaching up to kiss him. 

The kiss is gentle. Unsure. It’s more like two lips pushed together than an actual kiss, but the sentiment is still there. He kisses you like it’s the first time, like it might be the last. You don’t want it to end. It does. 

There’s so many raw emotions, so much hurt shared between the two of you. Looking in his eyes, you don’t allow yourself to think, to feel, before you’re pulling him in by his collar and slamming your lips against his for the second time. He reacts instantly, deepening the kiss with a and a supportive hand to the back of your head. He walks you backwards and lies you back on the couch like you’re made of glass, and fucks you like he means it. Like it really might be the last time, because neither of you know what the hell you’re doing. He goes slower. Deeper. Savors it just a little longer. Makes your toes curl and your voice twist up in pretty cries of his name. You shower together after. He sleeps beside you. 

(It’s been months since he slept in your bed. You ignore how it’s the best sleep you’ve gotten in a long while.)

You wake up the next morning to empty sheets. 

It doesn’t surprise you. It does hurt though, but you aren't sure why. You distance yourself from the feeling entirely. You start a load of laundry instead. 

Twenty minutes pass and there’s a commotion at your front door, the sound of crumpled paper bags and the soft jingle of keys alerting you of another presence. 

“Oh, you’re awake.” He shyly smiles, bags in hand, “I wanted to have something ready for you before you woke up. I took your keys, if that’s alright. Hungry?”

You hum sleepily, a faint smile on your lips, “I could eat.” 

“Perfect,” he mumbles under his breath, rushing to your small dining table to lay out his goods, “I wasn’t sure what to get, so I kind of got everything.” 

It’s french bread from the bakery down the street, and a few pastries because Kiyoomi has a sweet tooth. There’s still steam rising from them – they must’ve just been made. There’s fresh cheese from the deli, too, and whatever fruits he could find. You grab one of the tangerines and start peeling.

Kiyoomi’s occupied himself with making the two of you coffee. You watch as he navigates himself through your kitchen in a domestic rhythm. He’s probably spent more time in it than you have. 

He hums quietly to himself as he puts just the right combination of creamer and sugar in your mug, swirling the contents softly as he makes his way over to your small dining table. 

You take the mug from his hands and take a sip. It’s perfect because of course it is. 

“Good?” He asks, but the tilt of his head tells you he knows the answer. You roll your eyes. He offers a satisfied grin in return. “Muscle memory.”

The two of you dig in, eating quietly in each other’s presence. 

“I thought you left.” You surprise yourself at your forwardness. 

He stops chewing, politely wiping his mouth with a napkin before answering, “Why would I ever do that?” You blink.

“You used to be so rigid. Afraid, maybe? I don’t know.” You shrug, not really knowing what your own words mean, “But it’s nice to see you like this. You seem lighter. Happier. More comfortable with yourself.”

“Yeah. I, uh,” he averts his gaze, suddenly entertained with the buttery flakes of his croissant, “I realized some things after our break-up. You were right. About everything, really. I didn’t allow myself to be vulnerable with you. All you wanted was to love me, and I refused to let you in. You didn’t deserve that.“

“You didn’t deserve that either–” his honesty blindsides you, “–To feel like you couldn’t be vulnerable. I know I didn’t create the safest environment for communication. I caused a lot of petty fights just to get a reaction out of you. I should have been more honest with how I was feeling.”

“Is that…” He swallows, looking pained, “Is that why you pushed me away?”

“I…pushed you away?” You frown, heart breaking from hearing his side of things, “I wasn’t trying to push you anywhere. I missed you, is all. I just wanted us to get back to where we were.”

He smiles solemnly, eyes empty, “I’m sorry, Y/N. Truely, I am.”

You nod your head softly, “I’m sorry, too.”

Silence fills the air, but there’s nothing awkward about it. It’s light. Forgiving. With all cards on the table, there’s nothing to hide. The two of you continue eating. Breakfast nearly finished, you take another clementine, peeling away the tough rind and chewing softly. “Do you, uh,” he scratches the back of his neck, “Do you think we can try again? Try us again?”

You hum, peeling off another segment.

You offer him a slice, hand outstretched.

get this out of my sight

[bfbkg]

thinking about your habit of not closing the curtains when you change. never have never will. if someone sees you then oh well. it’s not like anybody ever has. until one time you’ve just come out of the shower, skin soft and dewy and you’re about to lather yourself in cream, when you see a very handsome man on the street outside your apartment staring up at you.

your silk robe you put on after your shower isn’t tied around your waist. the fabric that should rest on your left shoulder has fallen to your elbow and your breast is showing. nobody is usually outside, there, looking. but you can tell this man has just got out of his matte black car, sunglasses on due to the beaming sun and upon noticing you now looking at him, he spins around like you gave him the finger, overcome him with swears and insult. you’re still just staring back. you can tell something’s itching in him because he looks from his car window, tapping his pockets anxiously to check if he has his keys and wallet, then he’s flicking his eyes up to you to check if you still notice him staring. you do. and now you’re even closer to the window.

closer, you can confirm the man is attractive. you reward him by removing the fabric off your other shoulder, the fabric at your bent elbows like you would a shawl. your chest is revealed, you’re aroused by his attention.

now he knows you’re doing this on purpose, after looking around the street to check if anyone else notices you, the man does stare. he stares and doesn’t look away. your naked upper half for him and him only.

he inhales deeply when your hand brushes over your perked nipple. chews on his lip when you pinch one. he forgets completely why he has driven to this area in the first place when your hand splays across your stomach.

he’s not sure why he’s been given this show. why he’s been chosen this random morning when he’s just supposed to be doing his job. the gift of seeing a beautiful woman’s body.

it’s risky, inappropriate and erotic. especially, when you decide to drop the robe to your feet and reveal yourself completely to this stranger outside your apartment. he knows he’s not supposed to see this, you know you’re not supposed to be exposing yourself but your hand dips into your open tub of cream and you smother the white all over your arms. down the length of one, then the other.

it’s a rather methodical process, a boring one you dread and wish it wasn’t necessary when you came out the shower. but this man still hasn’t shifted from his spot. his eyes are unable to be pulled away from you. another dip in the cream and you’re rubbing your chest. your stomach. your body is catching a glow from the sunshine and you’re golden every time your body shifts and contorts. back bending to rub cream into your shins, then your thighs. kneading your flesh because the result requires this daily effort.

when you are finished, after a show of ensuring all is absorbed into your ass cheeks, you wonder if he too is aroused. this stranger standing by his car. if his cock is hard against his shorts. you can only assume shorts in this weather because he is still behind his car. you can guess his height since you can see the majority of his upper body.

you wonder if he finds you attractive. doing your daily morning chore, now sexual with the eyes of a voyeur. or perhaps the attraction is in the fact that this isn’t something that is allowed and upon noticing him staring you should have slammed your curtains shut.

though he is still there. unmoving minus his mouth. his teeth sunk into his bottom lip. then his tongue running across it. tongue poking his cheek and his upper lip brushing against his septum.

you cock your head at him, then grab panties from your drawer. it’s one of your normal hipster navy pairs. nothing sexy about them unless you make it so. you shimmy your hips when you pull the fabric up and you spot a clean tee to throw on top. so girl next door. you want to believe you look like a fantasy. it feels like you are from how he’s yet to do a thing. so you wave.

three waves of your hands back and forth and it is only when your hand is down that his rises. he gives you two waves, then his hand drops.

that seems to wake him up. as if he realises you are in fact real and he is alive. he can now feel the burn of his cheeks and the vibration of his phone in his pocket. you think he is reading something on his phone. he shoves the device away, then circles his car to make his way to your apartment building.

shorts. he’s wearing shorts. you wonder if he’s crazy, if he’s about to find you, search every floor for your door and if your show was an invite for more. it wasn’t. you don’t think it was?

he’s gone. you pull on some shorts of your own.

it’s about ten minutes later and somebody knocks on your door. you’re flicking your radio to put on some music whilst you start your breakfast. you enjoy choosing the station but not the songs like those apps.

you swing open your door. careless. not closing your curtains and not checking your peephole. it’s the guy from outside. up close and personal. though less personal than when he was across the street.

he doesn’t expect it to be you. you can tell from how his eyes widen and his mouth drops. same plush lips. the berry red of his cheeks have sprung back, or maybe never left.

“oh, shit, oh… i didn’t think…,” voice gruff, every word slightly mumbled. he’s looking at your clothes like he’s shocked they’re there. like he’s used to them being off.

“your neighbour isn’t in.” he completes.

you blink a few times, then reply, “really? she’s elderly, she rarely leaves unless she’s going to the bodega.”

he’s attractive. blonde, which isn’t your type but everything else he’s got makes up for it. stubble across his jaw. biceps the size of your head. you wouldn’t predict that he’d be nervous.

“fuck,” he sighs, rubbing his forehead roughly. you notice the scars on his hands. “she must have forgot i was seein’ her today.”

“what’s it for?” you reply, because now you’re curious.

he doesn’t seem like he’s lying about wanting to see your neighbour, but you don’t know the guy.

“i’m a hero, i do checks on citizens if they were about during an attack.”

that wasn’t what you were expecting. it does, however, explain the scars and the build. you wonder what colour his eyes are behind those sunglasses.

“oh. well do you have a business card? you can pop it in her letter box or i can give it to her when i see her next.” you offer.

“yeah, i’ll do that.”

he nods like a solider, grabbing his wallet from his pocket and grabbing two from the sleeve. one for your neighbour and one for you.

“you’re beautiful. i dunno if you do what you did to everybody—,” you gasp like you’re the pinnacle of innocence, “but, fuck.”

“i don’t.” you blurt like you need to defend yourself and it’s the right time for him to pull of his glasses. pretty ruby gems meet your eyes. you can’t sense any judgement from him.

you’re rewarded with a slow smirk. so slow that he manages to bite it down half way. “i’m not sayin’ you wanted anythin’ from me but if you ever do, then here’s my number.”

you snatch the business card out of his hand. it’s that expensive card with pointy corners and rough, reminiscent of the tree it came from. he is a hero, that wasn’t a lie. you get his hero name, his real name, an email address and a phone number.

“huh.” you breathe, “and if i happened to want anything… this won’t go to your receptionist? i assume you have one?”

he shakes his head, a little amused. “i have one but it’s my personal number.”

“okay.”

he allows the smile to break out. all sharp canines and a singular gold tooth. did he break a tooth or is it purely cosmetic? you’d love to know how it will feel against your tongue.

“nice.” he replies, then backs away from your door. “see you later possibly. i’ll be back in a few days again for your neighbour so you don’t think i’m a stalker. i can take rejection.”

that makes a laugh burst out of you. “okay.” you repeat because what else is there to say.

“good.” then he begins to walk down the corridor, “see you. possibly.”

“see you.”

you pin the orange and black business card to your fridge, pairing it with your hometown place magnet.

[fiftypiercings-deactivated20220]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Chapters: 1/1

Word Count: 2,045

Rating: General Audiences

It’s rare for her mother to act like this. Even at the age of six, Maki knows this. She knows there’s something wrong with her and Mai, and she knows that her mother cannot love them the same way someone like Naoya’s mother loves him. But she’s also only six, and so when her mother leaves her with crumbs of affection, Maki holds onto them without question.

It’s ok if it’s only within the privacy of their own bathroom. It’s ok if she at least gets to feel her mother’s touch when she washes Maki’s back.

ALTERNATIVELY, perhaps there was a time when Maki’s mother loved her.