Flora

Eight years out of UA and somehow you're still around. Still in the group chat. Still showing up to Kirishima's birthday parties and Sero's terrible karaoke nights. Still completely unaware that Katsuki Bakugo — the number five hero, walking explosion, a man who has never once backed down from anything in his life — has been quietly losing his mind over you since roughly your second year of school.

Everyone else figured it out years ago. Kirishima figured it out first, mostly because Bakugo made the mistake of getting drunk at his own agency's holiday party and saying your name four times in one sentence. Mina figured it out next. Even Todoroki figured it out, which says a lot, because Todoroki barely notices when buildings are on fire.

You did not figure it out. You are, according to every single person in that group chat, the last person on earth who has no idea.

So one night Bakugo sat down with a receipt from a ramen place and a pen that was almost out of ink and wrote himself a list. Not because he needed help — he would tell you he did not need help — but because eight years of doing nothing had clearly not worked and something had to change.

Here's what he came up with.

Rule #1: Don't call her pretty. That's weak. She'll see right through it.

You've been called pretty before. Plenty of times. It rolls off you like water because it means nothing coming from strangers. So the first time Bakugo actually looks at you — really looks, across a table at a group dinner while everyone else is arguing about something stupid — he doesn't say pretty. He says your hair looks stupid pushed back like that and it takes you a full three seconds to realize that's the nicest thing he's said to anyone all night.Kirishima kicks him under the table. Bakugo kicks back harder.

Rule #2: Don't let her see you get soft. Save that for when nobody's watching

You broke your wrist on a mission six months ago and Bakugo showed up at the hospital before your own agency finished the paperwork. He didn't say much. He sat in the corner with his arms crossed and glared at every nurse who walked past like they'd personally wronged him. You thanked him for coming. He said he was in the area. He was not in the area. He is never in your area.

Rule #3: If she teases you don't react. Reacting means she wins.

You have exactly one move against Bakugo and it works every time. You call him Kacchan in that flat unbothered voice of yours, the one that makes it sound like an insult and a joke at once, and he goes red before he can stop it. He tells you to shut up. You don't. He never actually wants you to.

Rule #4: Don't stare. Staring is for losers who can't say what they mean.

He stares anyway. Across bars. Across meeting rooms when your agencies do joint operations. Across the space between his couch and yours when the whole group crashes at his place after a night out and you fall asleep first, curled up small and unbothered like the world isn't currently on fire somewhere. He tells himself he's just checking you're breathing. He checks for a very long time.

Rule #5: If she steals your jacket let her keep it. Don't be a bitch about it.

It was cold outside a bar in October and you didn't bring one. He took his off without being asked and put it around your shoulders before you could even shiver a second time. You tried to give it back at the end of the night. He told you to keep it, said something about not needing two jackets anyway, which made no sense, and walked off before you could argue. You still have it. He knows you still have it. Neither of you has ever mentioned it again.

Rule #6: Don't get jealous. Jealous is for weak men.

A guy from a rival agency spent an entire mixer talking to you last spring and Bakugo spent that same mixer setting three separate small fires with his quirk completely by accident, according to him. Kirishima said it wasn't an accident. Bakugo told Kirishima to shut the hell up in front of everyone, which everyone agreed was extremely on brand and extremely obvious.

Rule #7: If she's tired let her sleep on your shoulder. Don't make it weird.

You fell asleep on the train back from a joint mission once, head tipping slowly toward his shoulder like gravity had made a decision without asking you. He went completely still. Didn't move for forty minutes. Told everyone later he just didn't want to wake you up. That was true. It was also not the whole truth.

Rule #8: Compete with her. Don't let her win just because you like her. That's pathetic.

You beat him at darts once, at a bar, fair and square, and he demanded a rematch on the spot. You beat him again. He demanded a third round. By the fourth round he wasn't even trying to win anymore, just trying to make you laugh at his increasingly unhinged trash talk, and you were laughing too hard to notice you'd stopped keeping score.

Rule #9: Play it cool when she touches you. Don't be obvious.

You have a habit of grabbing his arm when you laugh too hard at something, quick and unthinking, gone in half a second. It means nothing to you. It means everything to him. He has thought about that half-second more times than he'd ever admit under torture.

Rule #10: If she's cold under the table don't offer your legs. That's insane. Nobody does that.

He does it anyway. It's a slow dinner, everyone's talking over each other, and your foot brushes his under the table by accident. You don't move it. Neither does he. What starts as an accident turns into something else entirely — your foot pressed lightly against his shin, his ankle hooked loosely around yours, both of you carrying on two separate conversations with the rest of the table like nothing is happening below it. He nearly chokes on his drink when your foot slides slow up his calf, just once, just to see what he'll do.

He does absolutely nothing. Which is how you know it worked.

Rule #11: Don't ask about her ex. That's weak and clingy behavior.

He asks anyway, once, badly, wrapped inside a completely unrelated sentence about something else entirely so it wouldn't sound like what it was. You answered honestly and briefly and didn't ask why he wanted to know. He spent the rest of that night in a genuinely foul mood that had nothing to do with the mission report he'd claimed was bothering him.

Rule #12: If she gets sick you're not worried. You're just making sure she doesn't die. There's a difference.

You caught something nasty last winter and didn't tell anyone because you hate being fussed over. Bakugo found out from Kirishima and showed up at your apartment within the hour with a bag of groceries he refused to let you see the receipt for. He made soup badly. He stayed anyway sitting stiffly on your couch like he'd rather be anywhere else until you fell asleep on his shoulder for the second time in your life. He didn't move again. This time you were awake enough at the end to notice and you didn't say anything either.

Rule #13: Don't remember small stuff about her. That's obsessive.

He remembers everything. Your coffee order. The exact way you take your eggs. The name of the street you grew up on mentioned once years ago in passing. He tells himself it's just a good memory. Kirishima tells him that's not what a good memory looks like for anyone else in the friend group.

Rule #14: Don't get quiet around her. Quiet means she'll know something's wrong.

He gets quiet anyway sometimes when it's just the two of you left at the end of a group hangout and everyone else has gone home. You've noticed. You've never asked. You've started noticing you kind of like the quiet too.

Rule #15: If she insults your cooking don't take it personal.

You told him once that his katsudon tasted like it was made out of spite. He told you to make it yourself then. You did. It was worse than his. He has never let you live that down and somehow still makes you a plate every single time you come over unasked like it's not a big deal.

Rule #16: Don't let her see the soft stuff. Like the notebook. She can never see the notebook.

There is in fact a notebook. Bakugo would deny this to his last breath. It is not a diary. It is a training log that occasionally accidentally includes things like *she laughed at something dumb I said today* written in the margins in handwriting too small for anyone to notice. Nobody has ever seen it. It stays that way.

Rule #17: Don't dance with her at Mina's stupid parties. Dancing is for saps.

He dances with you exactly once badly at Mina's birthday both of you a little drunk and laughing about how neither of you knows what you're doing. His hand sits low on your waist the entire song. Yours rests flat against his chest close enough to feel his heart going faster than the song's tempo would explain. Neither of you comments on it. Both of you notice.

Rule #18: If she calls you at 2am for no reason answer immediately. Don't overthink it.

You called once at 2am half-asleep just to complain about a case that was bothering you and needed someone to talk it out with. He picked up on the first ring even though he'd been dead asleep three seconds earlier. Talked you through it for forty minutes in a voice rougher than usual low and half-awake until you finally calmed down enough to sleep. Neither of you brought it up the next day. You both remembered it anyway.

Rule #19: Tell her the truth eventually. Stalling makes you look like a coward.

He almost doesn't. Eight years of almost. Eight years of jackets and soup and 2am phone calls and a notebook nobody's supposed to see all adding up to exactly nothing because Katsuki Bakugo — who has never once in his life backed down from a fight — has apparently decided this is the one fight not worth having.

Kirishima finally sits him down and tells him flatly that watching this has become genuinely embarrassing for everyone involved. That you deserve to actually know. That you're not going to figure it out on your own because you're the single most unbothered person either of them has ever met and unbothered people don't go looking for things they've never been told to look for.

Rule #20: Ask her out. Just say it. Stop being a coward about it

He shows up at your apartment on a random Tuesday with no plan and no speech prepared which is unlike him in every possible way. You open the door in an old shirt and no makeup unbothered as always and ask what's wrong like something must be wrong for him to be standing there.

"Nothing's wrong," he says and immediately looks like he regrets starting that way. "I just — " He stops. Starts again. "You're coming to dinner with me Friday. Not the group. Just you and me."

You blink at him. For the first time in eight years something in your carefully composed face actually slips just a fraction just enough for him to see it happen in real time.

"Is this a date Bakugo?"

"Obviously it's a date," he says too loud the way he gets when he's covering for something. "What else would it be. Are you always this slow or is it just with me?"

You don't answer right away. You just look at him for a long moment the unbothered mask cracking wider by the second and something like a smile starts pulling at the corner of your mouth.

"Friday," you say. "Pick me up at seven. And Katsuki—"

"What."

"Wear the jacket back. I've had it long enough."

╰┈➤ [katsuki bakugo was an asshole.] everyone knew that. and when it came to shindo yo, he was even worse. the two had never gotten along—never would. 

which was exactly why, when katsuki walked into the bar and spotted you, nursing a drink, frustration etched across your face, he couldn’t help but smirk.

it didn’t take a genius to figure out why. probably your boyfriend getting a little too damn close to another "friend" again. just like always. this wasn’t the first time, and knowing him, it wouldn’t be the last.

this was the kind of moment he lived for, a rare opportunity to get under shindo’s skin. sure, maybe katsuki didn’t hate shindo that much, but you? you were a different story.

he sauntered over, leaning an arm against the counter, eyes never leaving you. "rough night?"

you glanced up, instantly recognizing the pro hero standing beside you. with a sigh, you swirled your drink in its glass. “you could say that.”

“lemme guess... your idiot boyfriend givin’ you trouble again?”

“…something like that.”

“don’t know why you put up with him, honestly," he chuckled, the sound low and knowing. he tipped his drink toward you, watching your reaction carefully. "you deserve better than some asshole who doesn’t know how to appreciate you.”

your lips quirked, a mix of amusement and exasperation. “and you think you can appreciate me?”

katsuki had no shame, never did. so he grinned, a flicker of something dangerous in his crimson gaze.

"want me to show you, sweetheart?"

one thing led to another and soon enough— you were in his bed, limbs tangled, gasping his name, making sure you see the stars in the sky as he fucked the frustration right out of you.

and after that night, fucking you became katsuki's favorite way to piss shindo off.

you weren’t stupid. you knew exactly what this was. but did you care? not one damn bit. he had you in his bed more than your shitty boyfriend ever did. and yeah, maybe it started as a way to get under shindo’s skin, but somewhere along the way, it became something neither of you wanted to stop.

because katsuki? he was fucking obsessed with you.  

some nights, he’d pull you into his lap, hands splayed over your hips as he buried his face in your neck, pressing lazy, open-mouthed kisses to your skin.

“fuck, i missed you,” he groaned, voice thick with something dangerously close to vulnerability. his grip tighten, fingers digging into the softness of your thighs. “shouldn’t let you leave my bed, y’know that?”

you chuckled, tilting your head back as his lips trailed lower. “you’re never satisfied, huh?”

“so what?” he nipped at your skin, making you squeak. “i like my woman soft. more of you for me to grab.”

and grab he did. he was clingy in the worst way—always needing to have a hand on you, whether it was squeezing your ass, gripping your waist, or just absentmindedly tracing patterns on your thigh while you laid in bed together.

katsuki just loved how you felt in his hands.

then there are the nights when he'd lie with his head on your lap, letting you comb your fingers through his hair, one arm thrown lazily over his chest.

his eyes were shut, his expression relaxed, but every so often, his brows furrowed as he grumbled about his day.

like now.

“dumbass intern nearly blew up my whole damn office,” he muttered, eyes closed. “and kirishima kept laughin’ like it was the funniest shit he’d ever seen.”

you hummed, dragging your nails lightly over his scalp. “i mean… you do blow things up all the time. bit hypocritical, don’t you think?”

his eyes cracked open, leveling you with a glare. “tch. ain’t funny.”

you bit back a smile. “a little funny.”

he exhaled sharply through his nose but didn’t argue. he never really did when you played with his hair. it was his weakness, and he hated that you knew it.

your fingers trailed down to his jaw, tracing the sharp edge. he leaned into your touch instinctively, like it was second nature. and maybe it was.

“you’re really pretty, you know that?” you murmured.

his eyes flickered open again, red irises locking onto yours. there was something unreadable in his gaze—something so raw and vulnerable.

“oi,” he muttered, shifting slightly, ears turning pink. “quit it.”

you grinned. “quit what?”

“saying dumb shit like that.”

“but it’s true.”

katsuki scowled, but the way he pressed his cheek into your palm gave him away. he huffed, eyes slipping shut again.

“…whatever.”

and he loved it. the times he's spent with you, whether he was fucking you or just talking about each other's day, he loved all of it. not just because it was a middle finger to shindo, but because katsuki got to have you all to himself. 

honestly? it stopped being about shindo a long time ago. but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t rub it in the bastard’s face.

"she was beggin’ me to keep goin’ last night," katsuki bragged, arm slung lazily around your waist, knowing full well that shindō was fuming. his hand drifted lower, fingers trailing over the curve of your ass. “bet you don’t even know how to handle all this ass, huh? shame. guess that’s why she keeps crawlin’ back to me.”

shindo clenched his jaw, knowing exactly what katsuki was implying. he knew. knew there was truth in katsuki’s words. knew that every time he and you argued, you’d disappear for a while, only to return looking a little too satisfied. "you really think you're some upgrade?"  

"she does. especially when she’s whining my name into the sheets.”  

"shut the fuck up, bakugo."  

katsuki barked a laugh, shameless and sharp. he was pissed, good. that was the reaction he wanted. but he wasn’t done yet.

“she’s a greedy lil’ thing, too. always wantin’ more," he grinned, eyes flicking over to him before locking back at yours. "but look at her. how could i say no? she looks so fuckin’ perfect under me."

your face burns, heat creeping up your neck before he scoffs and turns back to grilling your ex, like you weren’t just standing there, completely flustered.

"did she ever tell you how much she loves it when i grab these—" his fingers trailed down your side, giving a firm squeeze and earning a small yelp from you. "—and i slam my dick into her? fuck her real nice and deep? moans so pretty for me, too. you ever heard it?"

and if shindo so much as opened his mouth, katsuki would throw in another dig.

"nah. probably not. bet she asked you if it was in yet.”  

"well, she's all yours," shindo said, fists clenching, clearly seconds away from punching him. and katsuki lived for it.  

"yeah, figured you’d say that," katsuki taunted. "she’s been stress eatin’ too much to deal with a weak-ass like you."  

and then, just because he was an absolute bastard, he'd go in for the kill.

"fat ass like hers needs a real man to fuck it."  

shindo looked about ready to swing, but you pulled katsuki away before things got too messy.  you could still feel the heat of shindo’s rage burning through the air. it thrilled you more than it should have. 

but behind closed doors? the same man who ran his mouth would spend hours pressed against you, whispering things he’d never admit to anyone else.

"c’mere," katsuki grumbled, tugging you onto the bed after another long day of antagonizing your ex. his arms wrapped around your waist, face immediately pressing into your soft stomach.

he worshipped you—every inch, every soft curve, but nothing captivated him more than your stomach.

he was obsessed, utterly entranced. he’d bury his face against it, his hands kneaded your sides, gripping, squeezing—memorizing, pressing lazy kisses to every dip and curve. he held your body with a reverence that bordered on possessive, like he was terrified you’d slip away.

"fuck, baby," he groaned, nuzzling into you like he wanted to disappear into your skin. “love your body so goddamn much. s’perfect.”

you chuckled, threading your fingers through his hair. "thought you said i was stress-eating."  

"yeah, stress-eatin’ on my dick," he muttered, pressing kisses against your tummy. "he doesn’t deserve to see you like this. doesn’t even deserve to breathe the same air as you."

“then why do you still do it, hmm?”

he looked up at you, red eyes dark with something almost desperate as he presses hot, open-mouthed kisses along your stomach.

"tch, you know why i do that. pisses him off. makes him realize he ain't shit. ‘cause he ain't."  

you shivered at the heat of his lips against your skin, biting back a smile as you run your fingers through his hair. so that’s what this was about. "you sure you’re not just obsessed with him at this point?”

he scoffed against your stomach, his grip on your waist tightening. “the hell i am. only thing i’m obsessed with is you.”

it was the side of him no one else got to see— the way he nuzzled into you, the way he pressed his lips to your skin over and over, like he couldn’t get enough. he'd grumble if you tried to move, holding you tighter to keep you in bed, murmuring "stay here. wanna hold ya."  

he loved how soft you were, how warm—how no matter how much he grabbed, squeezed, or traced his fingers over you, it was never enough. he needed you. it was like he was drunk on the feel of you, the scent of you. and truthfully, he was.

"love this shit,” he admitted lowly, voice thick with something almost vulnerable. he nuzzled into your tummy again, letting out a deep, satisfied sigh. "could live here."

you raised a brow, fighting back a grin as you looked down at him. “oh? you wanna live on my stomach now?”

“yes, baby,” he muttered almost desperately, eyes half-lidded with satisfaction while pressing another lingering kiss to your skin. “soft. warm. smells like you.”

you laughed, dragging your fingers through his hair. “so what, you’re gonna quit being a hero and move in here?”

he let out a gruff chuckle, turning his head to rest his cheek against you. “tch. would if i could. wouldn’t need a bed, a couch, nothin’. just this perfect spot.”

“oh yeah?” you hummed, tilting your head. “should i start charging you rent?”

he huffed against your skin. “tch. smartass.”

you giggled, brushing a thumb over the shell of his ear. “i mean, if you’re gonna move in, might as well contribute. utilities, groceries… maybe even a tummy tax.”

his red eyes flicked up at you, narrowing. “the fuck is a tummy tax?”

you grinned. “unlimited kisses. daily.”

he snorts, pressing another slow, open-mouthed kiss to your skin. “already payin’ for that, pretty."

and you laughed, because for all his big talk, katsuki bakugo adored you. as long as he had you, nothing else mattered.

and despite the way he ran his mouth, he never let you feel insecure. if he ever caught you looking at yourself too long in the mirror, he’d grab you and pull you onto the bed, hovering over you with that intense, fiery gaze.  

"the fuck are you thinkin’ about?" he’d demand, hands gripping your thighs, squeezing, leaving marks. "you’re mine. this body? all mine. and i fuckin’ love every inch of you. don’t ever fuckin’ doubt how much i want you."

and god, did he prove it.

he didn't just tolerate your body—he adored it. and thats why you found yourself looking down at him lying comfortably on his back, eyes dark with anticipation. he was waiting—no, expecting—you to sit on his face.

you shake your head, heat creeping up your neck. "i can just lay down, 'suki..."

katsuki scoffs, sitting up slightly, his hands already reaching for your thighs, clearly impatient. "tch. and deny me a great view? cut the crap and get up here, sweets."

you shake your head again. "i just- what if i’m too heavy?"

he lets out a sharp, exasperated scoff. "for who? me? well that’s rude."

"it’s not..." you hesitate for half a second, but that’s all the time he gives you. 

he yanks you down onto his face with a low growl, his mouth immediately sealing over your cunt. "stop stallin’ and just give me what i want..."

you hesitate, subtly hovering just above him instead of lowering yourself onto his face, holding onto the headboard for support. his eyes flick up to yours, and the second he realizes what you're doing, his expression darkens.

"the fuck do you think you’re doin’?" his grip on your thighs tightens, his voice a low, dangerous growl. 

“i don’t want to crush you—”

“are you fuckin’ serious?” his voice drips with pure offense, like you just insulted his entire existence. "you really think i can't handle you? think you're doin’ me a favor by holdin’ back?"

you try to protest, but he’s already yanking you down on his face, forcing you to sit properly. his growl vibrates against you as he buries his face between your thighs. the way he looked up at you—pissed off and starving—sent a shiver down your spine.

your face burned, heart pounding in your chest. "i just— i don't wanna make you uncomfortable."

katsuki let out a sharp laugh, the sound vibrating against your folds, lifting you by your hips to give him room to speak from time to time. 

"uncomfortable? sweetheart, the only thing makin’ me uncomfortable right now is you not sittin’ on my goddamn face like i told you to."

your lips parted in protest, but a startled moan escapes you as his tongue flicks over your clit, sharp and demanding. his grip on your thighs is punishing, locking you in place as he devours you with obscene hunger.

"katsuki—" you try to lift yourself, but his hands hold you firm.

"nah. shut up," he murmurs burying his tongue between your thighs without warning. a moan escapes you as he groans against your heat, his fingers digging into your skin to hold you firmly in place. 

"fuckin’ ridiculous," he mutters between licks, voice muffled. "ain’t takin’ this disrespect. you ain't doin’ me no favors by holdin’ back. told ya before— i want you—every fuckin’ inch of you." 

your breath hitches, and katsuki smirks like he knows he’s got you. his crimson eyes flicked up at you, glinting with mischief as he devoured the fuck out of your pretty little cunt, tongue glazed with his spit and your slick. 

"so don't you ever pull that hoverin’ shit again,” he warns, his tongue licking a broad stripe through your folds "or i swear to god, i'll make you sit here all fuckin' night—"

his words were cut off by the way he devoured you, lips and tongue working so hungrily that your legs nearly gave out then and there. his crimson eyes burned into you, daring you to try that shit again.

you whimper, thighs trembling, and he doubles down, tongue curling inside you before dragging back up to your clit, sucking just to hear you whine.

"fuck, baby," he groans against you, his voice thick with need. "taste so fuckin’ good."

your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging on the soft strands, but it only spurs him on. his hands slide to your ass, forcing you to take everything he gave you. he’s lost in it, completely drowning in you, and he likes it. loves it. wants more. 

"you drive me fuckin’ insane," he murmured, sucking your clit into his mouth with a filthy slurp. "you’re too damn perfect, and it pisses me off."  

your fingers tightened around the headboard, thighs trembling around his head. “how is that my fault? you're the one who—"

katsuki let out a frustrated growl against your cunt, cutting you off before you could finish. without warning, he flattened his tongue and dragged a slow, deliberate lick through your folds, making you gasp.

"its your fucking fault," he went on like he couldn’t believe you had the audacity to act so damn innocent.

his lips brush against your pussy as your legs threatened to close around his head, but his grip was firm, keeping you spread open for him. "prancin’ around, bein’ so goddamn pretty. takin’ up space in my head. gettin’ under my fuckin' skin and you expect me to act normal?"

you tried to answer, but he didn’t give you the chance. a sharp suck on your clit had your head tipping back, a needy whine escaping before you could stop it. his tongue slid through your folds again, swirling around your clit, and the sudden sensation made you choke on your words.

"katsuki—"

"nah. told you to shut up." he cut you off, voice muffled against your dripping cunt. "if you're gonna talk, you can fuckin’ moan."

your noises only spurred him on. your fingers found their way into his hair, gripping tightly as pleasure pooled in your stomach. his tongue worked you over with precision, switching between sucking and licking until your hips were rolling into his face, chasing more. 

"that's it," he muttered, sucking your clit into his mouth again, hard, and the moan that tore from your throat was anything but coherent, fucking you with his tongue. "you wanna run your mouth? do it like this." 

you could barely form a response, your mind going blank as he sucked hard on your clit, his tongue relentless. the only thing that left your lips was a desperate, broken moan.

"fuckin' knew it," he groaned, his voice sending another wave of heat through your body. "knew you’d sound so fuckin' pretty when you just shut the fuck up while riding my face. could watch you like this all fuckin’ day."

you let out a shaky breath, barely able to focus as his tongue flicked over your clit again. katsuki pulled back just enough to suck in a breath, his lips slick and glistening with your arousal. his crimson eyes burned into you, half-lidded and desperate, but still sharp with command.

“fuck,” he groaned, voice thick with hunger. “touch yourself, pretty girl. play with those pretty tits for me.”

your breath caught in your throat, and you hesitated, already feeling overwhelmed by the way he was devouring you. but his grip tightened on your thighs, his fingers digging into your flesh in warning.

“c’mon, sweets,” he rasped, his tongue flicking out to tease your clit before pulling back again. his eyes dragged up your body, the heat in them making you dizzy. “be a good girl and gimme a show, yeah?"

with trembling hands, you reached up, cupping your tits, teasing your own nipples the way you knew he liked. you kneaded them softly at first, rolling your thumbs over your nipples, but the second you pinched them, katsuki groaned, his eyes locked onto you like you were the only thing in existence.

“fuck yeah,” he muttered, running his tongue through your folds before sucking your clit into his mouth again. “just like that, baby. play with those tits— keep puttin’ on a show for me while i eat this pretty little pussy.”

his tongue worked you over with hungry, unrelenting strokes, the obscene slurps and groans vibrating against you as he devoured you like a man starved.

you tugged at your nipples, your head falling back as pleasure rippled through you. your breath hitched, your fingers tightening around your nipples as the combination of your own hands on your body and his mouth wrecking you from below had your head spinning.

“katsuki—” you gasped, thighs trembling around his head. “i’m— i’m close.”

that was all it took. katsuki groaned deep in his throat, the sound vibrating against your cunt as his grip on your thighs tightened. his tongue worked even faster, flicking and circling your clit with devastating precision, like he needed you to fall apart for him or he'd die.

"yeah?" he rasped between licks, his voice thick and wrecked. "then fuckin’ give it to me, sweets. wanna feel you cum on my face."

he didn’t slow down, didn’t let up for even a second. his hands urged you down harder, forcing you to really sit on his face, and the pressure—his tongue, his mouth, the way he sucked on your clit—sent you careening straight into your orgasm.

your back arched, a broken moan spilling from your lips as pleasure crashed over you, white-hot and overwhelming. katsuki groaned against you like he felt it, like he was the one cumming, and he didn’t stop licking, didn’t stop devouring you, even as you trembled above him.

he finally pulled away, his lips and chin glistening with your slick as he sucked in a breath, eyes dark with hunger. he gave your thighs one last squeeze before gripping your waist.

“get up."

you blinked down at him, still trying to catch your breath. “what?”

“i said, get up,” he growled. "need to be inside you. now.”

you whined, shaking your head weakly. “katsuki, i just— i just came…”

“and?” he scoffed, sitting up slightly. “the fuck that got to do with me?”

before you could protest again, his strong arms moved, flipping you onto your back like you weighed nothing. a surprised yelp left your lips, but katsuki was already on top of you, pressing you into the mattress, his body burning hot against yours with his lips on yours.

"don't care if you just came," he muttered against your lips, biting down on your bottom one before sucking it into his mouth. "wanna feel you squeeze the cum outta me this time."

your head spun as he hovered over you, his weight pressing you down into the mattress. his hands were everywhere—gripping, kneading—like he couldn’t stand being apart from you for even a second.

"katsuki—"

"shut up," he growled, shoving your legs open with his knee. "you think i’m lettin’ you off that easy? nah. you got one, and now i’m gettin’ mine.”

you gasped as his hands grabbed your thighs, spreading them wider as he settled between them, his cock already hard and leaking against your folds. he positioned himself at your pussy, the tip of his cock pressing insistently against you.

"look at you," he murmured, rubbing his throbbing tip through your slick folds. "all fuckin’ messy for me already."

you gasped, legs twitching from overstimulation. “i— i need a second—”

“the fuck you do,” he muttered, lining himself up with your entrance. “you’re fuckin’ soaked. you’re fine.”

and before you could say another word, he thrusted into you, stretching you open in one slow, deep stroke.

"don't care what the fuck you say," he rasps. "bein’ so fuckin’ sweet, it makes me wanna ruin you."

your hands scrambled against his shoulders, nails digging in as you let out a choked sob, overwhelmed, tears pricking at your eyes as he kept moving, his cock dragging against your already-sensitive walls. “k-katsuki—'s too much—”

he didn't stop. didn't even hesitate. he knew better. knew you. if it was really too much, if you truly couldn’t take it, you would’ve said the safe word. and since you hadn’t? that meant you loved this—loved how he was using you, pushing you past your limits, making you take every inch of him.

“yeah? then why’s this pussy still fuckin’ suckin’ me in, huh?” he leaned down, his mouth brushing against your ear. “you know what to say if you really wanted me to stop, sweets.”

you whimpered, blinking up at him, your face hot and damp with tears. your breath hitched when he rolled his hips deeper, making your back arch off the bed.

“you like it, don’t you?” he murmured, dragging his lips along your cheek, tasting the tears running down your face. his hands pinned your wrists down beside your head, locking you in place beneath him. “fuckin’ cryin’ and takin’ my dick so good anyway. knew you’d let me use this sweet little pussy however the fuck i wanted.”

your body shook with every thrust, overstimulated and overwhelmed, but the pleasure was so sharp and dizzying, that all you could do was moan through the tears. you sobbed, back arching, hands clutching at the sheets. it was too much, but it felt too good. 

 his thumb swiped at your tear-streaked cheek, his other hand pressing down on your lower stomach, feeling the way he stretched you open. 

“c’mon, sweetheart,” he rasped, voice husky as he fucked into you harder, deeper, making sure you felt every inch. “be good for me. just take it. let me use you, yeah?”

you could barely think, barely breathe, and yet you nodded. and that was all he needed before his grip on your hips tightened, his cock stretching you wide, and he really started fucking you.

his hips snapped forward, burying himself deeper inside you, groaning as your walls clenched around him, still fluttering. his hand came up to grip your jaw, tilting your head to make you look at him.

“look at you,” he murmured, taking in the sight of you, tears spilling down your cheeks, the way your lips trembled. “so fuckin’ pretty like this. cryin’ for me. takin’ me like a good fuckin’ girl, squeezin’ me so tight, shit—”

your body trembled beneath him, your sobs mixing with broken moans as he fucked into you relentlessly. your arms struggled against his grip, desperate to reach for him, but he only pressed you deeper into the mattress, keeping you pinned.

“k-katsuki—” you gasped, tears slipping down your cheeks. “please—kiss me—”

he should’ve been satisfied with how wrecked you already were, with the way your body clenched around him so tight—but fuck, hearing you beg for his kisses?

that only made him worse.

“tch. still so fuckin’ needy, even when i’m ruining you.” 

his grip on your wrists loosens just enough for you to reach up. the second your hands touched him, you yanked him down, crashing your lips against his, desperate for the closeness, for the warmth of his mouth against yours.

katsuki groaned into the kiss, deep and hungry, swallowing your cries as he kissed you hard. his tongue pushes past your lips, claiming you just as much as his cock did. his thrusts didn’t slow, didn’t soften—if anything, he fucked you harder, like he wanted to ruin you completely.

“that what you needed, pretty girl?” he murmured against your lips, his breath heavy, your sobs melting into whimpers. “that why you’re cryin’? ‘cause you needed me to kiss you while i fuck you?”

you nodded frantically, another broken whimper slipping past your lips. “y-yeah—needed you—”

“yeah?” he smirked against your mouth, nipping at your bottom lip before kissing you again—sloppier, deeper, making sure you’d never forget exactly who you belonged to.

his rhythm starts to stutter, hips snapping into you harder, sloppier, and you felt the way his body tensed, the way his grip on your hips turned bruising. he forced another helpless cry from you, and he groaned against your lips, drinking in every sound.

"fuck—fuck," katsuki whined, voice raw and desperate as he buried himself deep inside you, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath hot and ragged, his lips brushing against your own as he lost himself in you. "you feel so goddamn good—s'fuckin’ tight, baby—"

you knew that tone—knew the way his voice cracked when he felt needy, when he was so fucking close to cumming. you loved when he got like this, when all his control slipped away and he was nothing but whiny, desperate need.

"katsuki—" you gasped, nails digging into his back, legs wrapping around his waist to pull him deeper. "i'm—i'm close, i'm so close, wanna cum together—"

his grip tightened, a strangled groan ripping from his throat as he snapped his hips into you, his pace turning desperate chasing both of your highs. "fuck, yeah? c'mon, baby— wanna feel you cum, wanna fuckin' feel you all over my cock—"

his next thrust sent you over, body locking up as the heat coiled tight in your belly and snapped all at once. your moan shattered into a cry as your whole body trembled, clenching around him so hard its about to break him.

“oh, fuck—” katsuki choked, eyes rolling back as he lost it completely, slamming into you one last time before burying himself into your warm, wet pussy. his whole body shook, breath stuttering as he spilled inside you, groaning out your name like a prayer.

he kept thrusting—shallow, drawn-out rolls of his hips, like he never wanted to stop feeling you, even as he came down from his high. his forehead pressed against yours again, his breath heavy, his body spent.

for a moment, the only sounds in the room were your ragged breaths, your bodies still tangled, clinging to each other as you both came down from your highs. katsuki was still holding you, his grip tight but no longer desperate—just grounding. 

then, with a deep exhale, katsuki finally pulled out, rolling onto his side and gathering you against his chest. his arms wrapped around you securely, his large hand rubbing slow, lazy circles into your back. you felt his eyes scan over you with something softer than before—something almost tender.

“you alright, sweets?”

you nodded, still catching your breath, but the way your body trembled slightly didn’t escape him. he scoffs, sitting up just enough to lean over and press soft kisses to your damp forehead, then your cheek, then your lips.

“liar,” he muttered, but there was no bite to it. only warmth. “you cried, y’know.”

you let out a breathy laugh, snuggling closer. “you were relentless.”

he clicked his tongue, one of his hands finding the back of your head, his fingers slipping into your hair, the other resting on the small of your back, holding you close.

you melted into his chest, sighing against his skin. “you’re so warm…”

he smirked, pressing a lazy kiss to your temple. “duh. i’m literally made of explosions, dumbass.”

you lightly smacked his chest, making him chuckle. but his teasing quickly faded as he tilted your chin up, crimson eyes searching yours. his thumb brushed over your cheek, wiping away the last remnants of your overstimulated tears.

“seriously, though,” he murmured, quieter now. “you okay?”

your heart squeezed at how gentle he was being. how, despite how rough he could be, how demanding, he never once forgot to take care of you afterward. you leaned into his touch, nuzzling his palm.

“i’m perfect,” you smiled sleepily. “because of you.”

“tch. sappy little shit," katsuki exhaled sharply through his nose, looking away. his ears definitely got redder.  “you sure, though? i didn’t—y’know… go too hard?”

you hummed, tilting your head to press a lazy kiss to his jaw. “i'm fine, katsuki. i promise." 

he just huffed, shifting to grab a towel from the nightstand. “yeah, well, you better be. was holdin’ back just for you.”

you snorted. “that was you holding back?”

katsuki shot you a look but didn’t argue. instead, he started cleaning you up, his touch uncharacteristically gentle. he was quiet as he worked, his brows furrowed in concentration.

“…was it really okay?” his voice was quieter now, hesitant in a way he rarely was.

you cupped his cheek, running your thumb over the sharp line of his jaw. “yes. i’d tell you if it wasn’t, katsuki.”

his crimson eyes searched yours for a long moment before he finally exhaled, tension melting from his shoulders. “good.”

he kissed your forehead, then your nose, then finally your lips, lingering there as if he never wanted to pull away.

“cause next time, i’m makin’ you cry even harder.”

you groaned, shoving his face away as he laughed, the sound deep and full of warmth. 

katsuki didn’t say anything for a moment after—just stared at you, his expression completely unguarded. no sharp smirks, no cocky grins—just raw, unfiltered devotion.

he stared at you like you’d just hung the damn moon. like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.  

you reached up to brush a few stray strands of hair from his forehead, and he caught your wrist midair, holding it for just a second before bringing it to his lips. the kiss he pressed against your palm was barely there, but it sent warmth blooming in your chest.

“you’re lookin’ at me funny,” you murmured, voice drowsy.

katsuki huffed a quiet laugh, but he didn’t look away. “yeah?”

“yeah,” you smiled lazily back at him. “like i just saved a bunch of kids from a burning building or something."

his smirk was faint, more of a ghost of amusement than anything. he pressing lazy kisses along your wrist, trailing them down to the inside of your palm. “you didn’t save a bunch of kids. you’re just—you. and i dunno what the hell i’d do without that."

your chest ached at the raw honesty in his voice, but before you could say anything, katsuki pulled you in even closer, pressing his face against your shoulder, like he was trying to hide.

“go to sleep,” he grumbled, voice muffled against your skin. “say any dumb shit about it, and i’ll smother you.”

you couldn’t help but smile as you curled against him, feeling the way his arms locked around you just a little tighter. “mhm. goodnight, katsuki.”

and then you smiled—sleepy, content, completely at ease in his arms.

katsuki stiffened. just for a second. just enough for you to feel the way his breath hitched, the way his hold on you tightened like he was trying to keep himself together.

fuck.

that damn smile. that look on your face. like he was your whole world. like you trusted him. like you loved him.

he clenched his jaw, exhaling slowly through his nose, like that would do anything to calm the way his heart was fucking pounding.

"goodnight." 

he was fucked. absolutely, completely, and hopelessly fucked.

because thats when katsuki bakugo realized he was in love with you. and he couldn't do anything about it.

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia ! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

“hey gorgeous. i missed you,” you reply, then, “hey izuku, you kids just hanging out?”

you giggle at your own words, eyeing the glasses of alcohol they have. then bakugou who looks so gorgeous. like it’s your first time meeting him. your hand wafts up to stroke his cheek.

“hmm,” midoriya hums, “always lovely to see you, yn.”

“i was expectin’ you later, otherwise i woulda kicked him out.”

midoriya only rolls his eyes, taking a sip of his drink.

you grin, “i was going to… i was having fun but then i thought of you here and then i remembered you gave me your key even though you didn’t have to and… i dunno i just missed you.”

you’re slightly wobbly on your feet, eyes shiny with intoxication. you steady your hand on the office chair bakugou is on but alcohol and your quirk never go well together, causing your hand to fall through the object. bakugou is quick to catch you with his hands on your hips. your scream stills in your throat and even midoriya chuckles in the background. bakugou shifts you to sit on his lap, your legs hanging across his legs. lastly, he reaches around to pull your jacket off.

“i missed you too,” bakugou whispers, because midoriya is right there, looking at him, with a goofy look in his eye.

“fuck off. wait until you get a girlfriend,” he curses and midoriya just laughs.

you lay back on bakugou. your head on his shoulder, your hands running up his chest to keep warm. bakugou hikes you up onto his lap by your thighs and you instinctively peck his neck.

“no i get it kacchan. you two are a beautiful couple.” the number one hero tilts his head at you, his hand gripping his thigh then releasing.

bakugou can’t translate it.

“oh my gosh, kacchan. kacchan. wait and deku. i love how you guys have nicknames for each other. it’s so cute. kacchan,”

bakugou looks down at you at the sound of his name, though odd coming from your lips.

“you call me ‘ki,” he rumbles. you can feel the vibration of his words from his chest.

you nod slowly, sitting up slightly. “can i have a kiss ‘ki?”

bakugou bites down on his lip, your hand flying up to his stubbled chin. he wants to, obviously. but he can feel his best friend’s focus on him, even as he pours himself another shot.

“katsuki please,” you push and you’re not going to cry but suddenly he can imagine it. hot tears streaming down your face if he doesn’t give into you, just a simple little kiss. but the room feels warm, he’s sure you can smell the sweetness from his sweat.

you’re only asking because you’re drunk. you both are sorta the same with pda, especially in a room where there’s only one person watching. a front row show.

he gives in, obviously. “yeah, yeah,” though it’s just a peck. press of his lips on your pouted ones. two pecks. he licks his bottom lip after, chasing after the cherry taste of your gloss.

you look needy. you’re peering at him like deku isn’t even in the room. eyes slightly darkened, lips permanently pouted for more. you did come home early after all.

then he switches his gaze to midoriya, who is in no action to move right now. he doesn’t know what midoriya izuku looks like turned on but green eyes are flickering to his hand on your thigh and your hand on his chest. then your lips brushing against his neck.

what the fuck is happening here? he isn’t about to have sex with his girlfriend in front of his best friend, his colleague. isn’t this supposed to be a conversation or at least something he knows beforehand? again, what the fuck?

“a proper kiss,” you sniff, sitting up like you’re trying to crawl over him. your braids are tucked behind your ears, revealing the ruby earrings he got you at his week long work trip. “when do you ever peck me, dynamight?”

you poke his chest and he pulls you into him, a hand sneaking up to grip you by your ass under your skirt.

“baby.” he states like he’s reprimanding you. tilting his head to the other man in the room who is now sipping his vodka with his phone glowing in his other hand.

“oh, don’t mind me. i’m barely paying attention.”

but he is, bakugou can tell he is. and maybe for a split second bakugou wonders how far he can go with you until it’s enough. until someone gets up to leave or he can’t deal with his best friend seeing him and you like this.

“i know you fuckin’ are.”

you’re practically pawing at his chest now so bakugou saves you. slotting his mouth against yours in a kiss. a peck that parts your lips easily, your arms wrapping around his neck and crushing yourself to him. your breasts pressed against him, even your legs twitching to wrap around his waist instead of just being over his lap.

his tongue swipes against yours and you’re so quick to moan in your state. you suck all the left over burnt whiskey from him, making the hero grunt and squeeze your ass.

it’s you who pulls away, back of your palm at your lips. your eyes are ablaze. only mouthing his name because sound forgot to come out.

now midoriya is just holding his glowing phone screen but he’s staring at you and bakugou. his face neutral but everything else about him interested. bakugou can’t note down how midoriya is different right now but he can feel it.

you blink at bakugou before turning to midoriya, “what were you guys talking about before i got here?”

bakugou looks at midoriya’s crotch then to his eyes.

“work shit,” bakugou grunts in your ear, kissing your shoulder but keeping sight on his friend.

“yeah! we have a mission to prepare for soon.”

“no reminiscing about the old days then?” you say, your hand cradling bakugou’s neck. you’re like glue kissing the corner of bakugou’s lips.

midoriya studies you actions. how your ass shifts on bakugou’s lap. you fingers linking with his.

“nah none of that. we do that all the time.”

“are you guys drunk?” bakugou knows you want him. bad. your breathing is slow, relaxed, like you want to take your time with him. “you don’t look like it.”

bakugou hums, kissing your palm, “no. we’ve had less than half a glass. not like you, i can taste all the margaritas you’ve had.”

you giggle again, “stop katsuki.” you’re all floaty and sweet, clinging onto your boyfriend like your life depends on it.

“do you have a girlfriend yet, izuku? i have some friends that think you’re cute.”

bakugou watches how midoriya looks away, then shrugs and then looks at your hand on his chest. does he have a crush on you? would midoriya want to watch him and you have sex?

“no. i don’t think i’m looking for anything now. i don’t know how kacchan has time for you and work.”

bakugou sneaks his hand up your skirt, slipping his hand between your tight thighs. he’s right near your heat. he swipes a single finger over your clothed intimates and you shudder. it’s as if you don’t realise midoriya can see you both right now.

you flustered on top of bakugou. bra strap fallen, top revealing your stomach and your cleavage at once. your thighs and ass all revealed to him yet your crotch covered by your skirt. though he knows where bakugou is touching you. how you clench bakugou’s shirt like you want to rip it off him. you want to rub yourself over bakugou, dry hump him until your patience wears off and your slick crotch is over his dick.

midoriya can see this. he’d watch the rest. he can look and not touch. he is such a lightweight. the vodka bottle beside him isn’t the cheap kind he tried in his early twenties but an expensive flavourful imported bottle that makes the rancid medicinal taste of vodka lean smoother. tasteful. it’s currently a quarter gone.

“it’s ’cause he loves me. he’d do anything for me, really.” you say to midoriya looking at bakugou.

bakugou needs to clear the room. give you what you want. then you do move but to wrap your legs around bakugou’s waist, seated on his lap. he begins to harden beneath his black slacks, especially when you seat yourself over him.

“you need to go, deku.”

you start to rock your hips over bakugou and his hand grips your waist as his other hand goes to hold his glass of whiskey. he just wants to throw back whatever is left in the glass.

“ten minutes.”

that snaps bakugou out of his lust for you, just for a minute. “hah? you wanna watch my girlfriend come? you’re not seein’ her.”

“i don’t mind,” you say to your boyfriend, “i just want you.”

bakugou’s looking at your wanting face, that damned damp patch on your panties and his needy best friend seated before him, watery eyes just like his drunk girlfriends. for fuck sake.

“cmon kacchan,” midoriya whines, almost uncharacteristically and bakugou just wants to do what he wants.

the whiskey splashes down his throat and the buttery after taste makes him slouch further in his chair.

“fuck,” bakugou slurs, “whatever.”

you laugh, beginning to rock your hips over bakugou’s crotch. your hips flick beautifully, hands clutching at bakugou’s shoulders.

“i don’t wanna see your fuckin’ dick, deku. you’re just watchin’.”

he pours another shot of whiskey in his glass. he offers it to you first which you happily take. but as soon as it’s swallowed you wince, your face scrunching up like you drank poison.

“nasty, ‘ki.”

bakugou responds by yanking you to him by the chin, pressing a wet kiss to your mouth. “i like it on you.”

“and that’s the expensive stuff. we need to make you a cocktail.” you smile sweetly resuming your grinding on his crotch. you pull your top up over your head and put his hand on your bare waist.

midoriya groans behind you and you flutter your eyelashes up at bakugou.

“he can shut the fuck up ‘cause you’re fuckin’ beautiful. even when you’re drunk fallin’ through chairs.”

“obviously,” you reply.

bakugou pours another glass and drinks it in one go. then he gets to work, biting and nibbling over your breasts in your grey push up bra. you gasp, arching into his face.

“fuck!”

his tongue swipes after a harsh nibble and the pain shoots into pleasure to your clit. your fingers claw through his wheat blonde locks, clutching a tuft of hair.

midoriya knows deep down he shouldn’t be here. it’s perverted watching another couple be so in love and not be involved at all. his wrist twitches involuntarily, dying to touch himself. he just rests his hand over his crotch. what even are the benefits to being number one hero when number two gets this?

“you guys look so good.”

“shut up, idiot.” “thanks deku!”

two fingers sneak into your underwear as spit covers your breasts. bakugou’s a little drunk, he’d admit that now. or tipsy, like you’d say. it’s causing him to be messier than usual but the teeth marks on your chest are so satisfying.

bakugou does one swipe between your legs, collecting as much wetness to rub over your clit. then you truly crumble. the touch is exactly what you’ve wanted this whole time. the reason you left your friends early to see your boyfriend. it soothes your whole body, pleasure rising like heat through your limbs.

“oh, oh. i wanna come so bad,” you mumble, bringing bakugou into a kiss that’s only tongue. loud and wet, smiling into it when bakugou slides his fingers into you. then you’re bouncing up and down till the squelch between your legs is just as loud as your mouths. “yes, yes. this is exactly what i needed. fuck.”

you fling your head back like you did when you took the shot yet this time your mouth stays open, hums and whines and moans falling out all at different times.

a rough hand squeezes your ass and the pain only makes you wetter.

“my baby loves it doesn’t she. fuck, she loves everythin’ i do to her.” he keeps his fingers curled, sliding in and out against your walls, “you don’t even give a fuck he’s there.”

bakugou chuckles, sexy and harsh. you laugh too because he is, “no, i don’t. you feel too good inside me.”

midoriya clutches his dick beneath his trousers, frowning but still hard despite what you both say. he slides his hand under his trousers just on top of his boxers. he’s still not touching himself really. you both aren’t paying attention to him anyway.

then you gasp sharply, your forehead lightly coated with sweat. your breasts are falling out your bra now both your straps have fallen. your skirt has shifted awkwardly, all the fabric at the back so bakugou can see exactly what he’s doing.

“i’m gonna come, baby.”

“go on. then i can kick him out.”

the permission drives you crazy, making you clench around bakugou’s thick fingers and your hands bunch up the fabric on bakugou’s shoulders. it’s as if another version of you takes over, one who’s just chasing for the high despite the burn in your knees and one who enjoys there being an onlooker. someone watching you fall apart because of your boyfriend.

you both look sexy. the soft curve of your ass and his chunky biceps. the pretty slope of his nose and the shape of your lips. you’re even partly aware of how your back must look, arched and smooth with your bra straps fallen down.

then you’re mindful of how you look to your boyfriend with your skirt flipped up and his fingers thrusting inside of you. how intimate it is when he looks down at the gloss on your thighs and back into your half lidded eyes. you’ll realise later how there are hickeys on your tits like you’re in college again.

the release feels like fireworks beneath your skin, then being doused in warm soothing water. you keep riding him throughout, the sweet hums of bakugou coaching you through it.

“so beautiful baby. yeah, all on my fingers. c’mon now.”

then you collapse in a heap on bakugou’s lap and bakugou is careful to make sure all your limbs are on him so there’s no issues with you falling off the armrest. he needs to do some more quirk practice with you.

“fuck, you guys are something else.”

bakugou snaps to reality, cradling your back as you catch your breath. “can you get the fuck out now?”

midoriya rises to his feet, adjusting his t-shirt and trousers in the process. he can barely make eye contact with his best friend and definitely not you. “we… uhh, like i’ll give you the documents next week—,”

bakugou groans, running his hand over his face. “bro get out. we won’t mention this again, yeah?”

“bye deku,” you mumble, nuzzling your nose in bakugou’s neck. then you whisper something to him that midoriya can’t hear.

you’re enamoured. bakugou katsuki has dug a hole in your heart and made it home. that little voice in your head, the one that was always weary, telling you to be careful has been quiet. laid to rest and you think it’s a sign. he’s probably going to ask you to be his girlfriend again and you think you’re going to say yes.

very quickly you find out that voice was only dormant, not dead. you google the restaurant he sent and you panic. it’s a fancy one, one for people that are nowhere close to your tax bracket. you know katsuki isn’t but he’s normal, he’s not flashy aside from his coffee machine and maybe his porsche but you spend so much time at your apartment that you don’t think about the difference in your pockets.

expensive fine dining, michelin star restaurant definitely means you need a dress to play the part. and playing the part it is because since you don’t own anything that suits that trust fund vibe. you have to buy something.

you feel like an idiot in this tight purple dress and you feel like a fraud when katsuki loves it on you.

your katsuki stands at the front door to your apartment in a black suit with these shiny gold cufflinks and you don’t have to be rich to know that it’s expensive. it makes him look imposing, the way the fabric sits on his shoulders, how his white shirt doesn’t carry a single crease like he steamed himself down when he got out of his car. his belt is a subtle branded one, a ‘if you know you know’ brand and you don’t. but your body warms when you peek up at his face, the creases by his eyes and the glint of his gold tooth when he grins at you.

his hand reaches for your face, chunky watch at his wrist before he backs off, grabbing your hand instead.

“fuck, sorry just wanna touch you. don’t wanna mess up your face,” his kiss on your lips is light. you love a hello kiss. “you look gorgeous, doll. don’t deserve you on my arm tonight.”

you don’t feel like yourself in this dress but it fits standing beside him looking like that. you won’t mention you got it from the charity shop across the street.

“shut up,” you swat at him but he just grins, unable to look away from you, “thanks, katsuki. let’s go, don’t wanna miss the reservation.”

you think you look like a woman dynamight should be on a date with. nobody has given you odd looks when you stepped through the doors of the restaurant. the doorman didn’t frown at you when he asked for your jacket. you’re used to tap water for the table and excusing yourself to wash your hands in the bathroom. not a bottle of sealed mountain water being poured into your glass or a bowl of lemon water with a damp towel that katsuki had to tell you it’s for cleaning your hands.

you’re a fish out of water. blinking to take in the place but your eyes are still dry. 

once you’re settled in your seat, wondering who would get crushed first if the impressive diamond glass chandelier falls, your sweet katsuki nudges his knee with yours under the table. “what d’you think? i know it’s not what you’re used to but i thought it could be somethin’ different f’us?”

you hope your smile doesn’t look forced, you’re trying here, you really are. “it’s beautiful. i’m a little overwhelmed honestly.”

you laugh, awkwardly and bakugou grabs your hand. kisses your knuckles and his ruby eyes snatch your breath, “don’t be. after this we can get ice cream from that place near yours. wanna show you how fuckin’ good food can get, aside from the frozen shit you eat.”

you don’t like that comment. your throat constricts and you’re unsure if you’re overreacting. usually you’d laugh it off, he’s always telling you about healthier options but when you’re on the go and on a budget, it’s not always the easiest. it’s worse when you can’t say anything because a waitress hops over.

a pretty girl, around the same age as you and she knows exactly who katsuki is.

“hi i’m your waitress for tonight—,” she looks at you first then bakugou, then again at bakugou. she gasps, covering her mouth and then fixing her hair. her whole face blushes red and you swear you can see the cogs turning in her head, “dynamight, wow you’re my favourite hero! i’ve always wanted to meet you.”

bakugou pulls his hands out of yours, opting to rest them in his lap and lean back in his chair. you’re not thinking rationally here, it feels like he’s pulling away from you, situating himself like the bachelor pro hero he is.

he nods at her, solemn and appreciative, “thanks for the love. i’m always tryin’ my best for the country.”

she’s staring at his face, his plush pink lips that are usually found on your neck and then down his body. does he not fucking see that?

“yes, dynamight. wow! i can’t… sorry, let me take your order!”

she says only to him, body and the tablet she’s holding only facing him. 

bakugou recalls his order with finesse, not even having to look down at the menu and when the waitress remembers you’re still at the table, it’s as if you do too. limbs jump starting as you flip the menu back open and run your finger down each option to find what you originally wanted.

“i can’t find which one…,” you mumble and katsuki sits forward.

“i can come back later if you still need some time, miss. i can get dynamight’s ready.”

you feel like cursing. how the fuck would that make sense, both eating at different times?

“no, here it is!” you read it from the menu, pretty sure you’re butchering the pronunciation, “could i have the sauce on the side?”

she frowns at you, looks at your dress and your hair before meeting your eyes. “the point of that meal is that the sauce is all over.”

bakugou nods but turns to the waitress, “if it’s possible to get it on the side, we’d appreciate it.”

the waitress’s smile blooms across her face, “of course dynamight! anything for you. i’ll get those ready and be back with your drinks.”

once she grabs your menus and is off, you have to mention it.

“i don’t like her.”

bakugou gapes at you, that confused boyish stare that makes you feel like you’re being irrational.

“hah? why?” you’re grateful he puts his elbows on the table. you know that’s a thing rich people say is impolite.

you scoff, crossing your arms across your chest, “she was only facing you, forgot i was even at the table… she looked at me weirdly and was all over you. only listened to you when i asked for a change to my food.”

bakugou laughs softly, like you’re a baby doing something that’s cute but would be embarrassing if they were an adult. yanking off their sock or burping in public. “she was just a fan, baby. i’m sure you just misread her look.”

you do what you swear you wouldn’t do with men, you let it go and believe what he’s saying. that voice at the back of your head is louder than ever before. you don’t belong here. you’re an idiot to think somehow you match the people surrounding you. with their wrists full of bracelets that cost your undergraduate degree, masters and phd combined. he loves the attention from women, he’s just a man after all.

you sit up straight in your chair, “yeah, maybe.”

then he grins at you, “so tell me what else you found in my office that day?”

the food is amazing, so good you find it irritating. probably would have been better if the sauce was poured over like the waitress said. a woman with massive emerald earrings walks by the table, compliments your dress and your first thought is that she’s laughing at you, an elaborate story builds in your head that she was the one that donated it to the charity shop you bought it from.

“sorry ladies, we’re tryna eat here so i’m not takin’ photos right now.”

you haven’t been able to get through a conversation without getting interrupted by the waitress refilling your drinks the second it’s half empty or a child nervously walking over asking bakugou to sign his napkin. you turn around and see the boy’s parents egging him on, waving at katsuki. as cute as it is, you just want to talk to him. 

but these two women, probably born with a silver spoon in their mouths and four forks on the table, are giving your boy— katsuki, bedroom eyes. a—fucking—gain.

they pout at him, “dynamight! oh well. you’re much bigger in person,” one says.

“is this your girlfriend?” she waves at you and you smile, trying to eat your meal like you’ve been here before.

“no but—,” you feel like he’s just stabbed you in the chest and twisted it. there’s a few more words exchanged after that but you can barely focus. obviously he said no, he’s not your boyfriend, you both have confirmed that all the time. but it’s always felt like a thing you say, not him. 

you feel like crying and you can’t justify why. everything has just been too much, the zipper of your dress is poking you in the back and you don’t like the wine bakugou chose for the table. you prefer your mixers, juice and liquor or the cheap wine your friends buy for the purpose of getting drunk. not to pair the fruity tones to your specific meal.

when bakugou asks if you still want to get ice cream, once you’re buckled in his car, you say you don’t feel too good.

“shit, d’you think it’s the food?” he asks you, squeezing your thigh before pulling out of the parking space.

“no i’ve got a headache, not sure where it’s come from,” you lie, facing the window. “would be best if i go home.”

bakugou notices the lack of we there. his plan was to ask you to be his girlfriend whilst you’re eating ice cream. the little local family owned shop near your apartment that you always drag him to because for some reason it closes late into the early morning. you’ve had many sugary kisses outside that shop, in the rickety blue seats as you force him to try a new flavour every time. 

“okay, baby,” he knows there’s something up with you, “we can watch a movie in bed, if you wanna? order in dessert.”

you hum, barely a response and bakugou racks his mind to find where this all started. he could tell you were nervous at the beginning which makes sense considering you’re not used to restaurants like that. you’re more mini skirt and little top than fancy long designer dresses, he knows this, but he thought the change would be fun. 

“you sure you’re okay? just the headache?” 

you force yourself to meet his eyes. you give a small smile, not linking your fingers with his like you usually do, “yes, katsuki. that’s all.”

bakugou’s completely sure he’s absolutely fucked it. the car ride home was practically silent, only replying back in short sentences, no witty comments from you like usual and you didn’t even make a joke about how hard he tried tonight. no usual comment about rich people have no taste or a laugh at the couple across from you who ordered everything on the menu for the sake of it.

he’s out of his suit now, in one of his t-shirts and basketball shorts in your bedroom as you wipe off your makeup. your hair is out of the style you had it in earlier and he knows it’s cheesy to say but he prefers you like this. even out of the tight dress and just in an oversized tee like usual.

he still wants to ask you to be his but currently, he feels exactly like the last time he mentioned it to you. outside of your world, here but not exactly welcomed. at least visibly, there’s signs of him around the room. his heroes weekly cover is on display on your magazine rack, the first one, in front of all the ones he purposely left in your apartment. it’s the one you took from his office and put there yourself. he had to travel back home to japan a few weeks ago and he brought you back a load of things but you keep the postcards he got you out on display. one is a drawing of a cat that you have framed and another is a line up of traditional japanese houses that you have standing up on your bookshelf. his favourite addition to your room is the photo booth strip of you both on your desk. you haven’t decided where to put it and he’s waiting.

there’s visible differences, which is exactly what he wanted but still, he’s not let inside your head.

you’re quieter since your roommate is sleeping next door, “i’m going to change in the bathroom. brush my teeth and wash up.”

bakugou fucking hates this.

he yanks you to him as he sits on your bed, grabbing your hand so you fall into his chest. 

“katsuki! my clothes—,”

your expensive second hand dress is pressed against his clean white t-shirt and bakugou tucks his chin in your breasts to look up at you.

“talk to me, baby,” he whines at you, “let me in. tell me you hated the place. too many fuckin’ forks on the table. it was a shit date. i’m sorry for the people that came to the table. explain why you didn’t like the waitress. somethin’.”

you look familiar, his yn with your bare face and your jewellery all taken off. once this dress is off, maybe he’ll get you back completely.

you sigh, you don’t know where to start but you register the pain and frustration in his ruby pupils. you would much rather roll in bed with him, have him kiss your thighs to sleep and wake up beside him in the morning.

but you’re partly annoyed at him and you hate to say it but for the first time ever, bakugou reminded you of your ex.

the dismissing your feelings, the comment about the food, choosing somewhere he likes instead of considering you and the women. allowing the flirting, the comments, him saying that you weren’t his girlfriend. which you’re not but…

“i’ll wash up and we can talk.”

bakugou grunts to himself, smacks his lips against each other in disappointment, “didn’t even say it wasn’t a shit date.”

you pull away from him, sighing, “hold on, i’ll be five minutes.”

if tonight couldn’t get any worse, your phone buzzes on the sink as you brush your teeth. you’ve shimmied out of your dress, even kicked it for good measure once it landed on the floor and pulled on your pjs. cotton shorts and one of katsuki’s t-shirts he’s left at yours.

you assume it’s a funny relatable video your friend has sent but the caption beside the notification feels as if you’re being strangled.

@/friend: Post from @/heronewsnow

@/friend: girl wtf is ur man doing

@/friend: i’m gonna murder him for you

you spit out the toothpaste, wiping your face of anything left over and take a breath. you’ve been in this situation before with your last boyfriend. you swore you would never be in it again but how the universe loves to laugh in your face. 

you tap the notification, your phone going straight to the post that your friend sent.

DYNAMIGHT SEEN WITH PINKY ON HIS TRIP HOME. TWO HEROES TOO CLOSE FOR COMFORT?

the loud bold text from this hero news page is paired with a photo of them at a restaurant, much like the one he took you to today but across the world. bakugou is in his gorgeous black suit, while this hero, pinky, looks beautiful. she doesn’t look like she’s playing a part in her teal dress, she looks as if she belongs. she’s got her hand over his on the table as he laughs and her smile looks like it’s worth thousands.

you gulp, turning off your phone and placing it face down on the sink. you refuse to look at yourself in the mirror, you can already imagine the word idiot painted on your forehead.

you’ve been cheated on twice. go figure. if it even counts considering he’s not yours.

you walk back into your bedroom exhausted, finding katsuki under your covers reading the blurb of a book you left on your bedside table.

“you took ages in there,” he opens the duvet so you can slip in, “c’mon i wanna cuddle.”

you want to cry. you want to scream into your pillow and write off dating for the end of time. this is why you shouldn’t have let yourself get close to this man. tomorrow you’re throwing out his magazine covers, the new hand painted bowls he got you and you’re going to get your tool kit to take apart the advertisement at your nearest bus stop where dynamight is pictured half naked telling you to buy new underwear.

you really want to wrap yourself in his arms and have the night you were supposed to have together.

“you have to leave.”

“hah?” he blurts, though he doesn’t move, “the date wasn’t that fuckin’ bad was it?”

“i’m serious, katsuki. leave!” you screech, clenching your fists. the tears that have been dying to fall all evening finally do.

you spin away from him, taking deep breaths and wiping your eyes. you can’t let him see you cry. bakugou pounces up from your bed and he risks it all by placing his hands on your waist, your back to his chest.

“what the fuck is goin’ on with you?” he mumbles, leaning his cheek against your head. “why’re you cryin’? the date was shit, yeah? then talk to me.”

he went back to japan on a work trip, he told you he was on a work trip but he was on a date with a woman. another pro hero who looks perfect with him and fits his life, the girlfriend he’s supposed to have. 

the warmth of his chest is a comfort you need to learn to hate.

you step away from him, taking a deep breath. you decide to face him once you’re sure no tears will fall and his face breaks your heart. his fingers are twitching to touch you, but since you won’t let him, he anxiously rakes them through his hair.

your voice is scratching your throat, dry and raw, “i didn’t like the restaurant, i felt uncomfortable. the waitress was flirting with you, so were those women that wanted photos with you. i never got to finish a sentence we had so many distractions. i felt like an idiot, a child playing dress up in a world that wasn’t made for me. y-you told those girls i wasn’t your girlfriend and… and i know i’m not but it felt like shit.”

then you half laugh, it’s an awkward one, “the food was good though. better than my shitty frozen food.”

you sigh, rubbing your eyes and you’re not even finished.

“baby, yn, i just wanted to try somethin’ new for us, that was my bad. shoulda kept it to what we know,” he tries, “and i guess they were flirtin’ but i didn't do i back?”

you shake your head, “that’s not the point. i don’t want to be on a date and witness that. you should have shut them down from the beginning.”

“they’re fans, i can’t shut down every fan—,”

“but you can.”

“yn, c’mon now.” bakugou grits his teeth, “i’m sorry about that and i didn’t mean to sound like a dick when i was talkin’ about food.”

“you think i’m being sensitive? dramatic?” you offer because you rather just have the words out before he can throw them at you later.

“fuck no, today was a lot. everythin’ combined, it makes sense that what i said sounded like that.” he frowns, so understanding it annoys you more. 

you sigh obnoxiously and bakugou feels his blood boil. he knows when he’s fucked up but what was wrong with what he said? “what?! is that the wrong thing to say?”

“no it’s not!” you throw your hands up in the air.

“then what?” he presses and bakugou has to because he never presses you. “you never talk to me. i’m always walkin’ on fuckin’ eggshells tryin’ to figure out if i’m comin’ or goin’ with you. you decide you like me one day and the next you want me to fuck off. i’m sorry i wanted to impress you with an expensive restaurant. yes, i should have dealt with all the fans differently. i should have been more aware of how you’re feelin’ but you don’t tell me shit.”

his chest heaves, out of breath and now he’s started he can’t stop. “you’re… you’re willin’ to drag me along knowing how much you have me wrapped around your finger. i’ve been down from the first week i met you but i was careful not to be too much so i don’t scare you. it’s been months, fuckin’ months and you still won’t tell me why you won’t let me in. why you don’t want me the same way i want you.”

he’s careful not to shout, so his words keep wobbling in pitch. “i haven’t done anythin’ wrong but i’m payin’ for your exes goddamn mistakes!”

you don’t want to see where he’s coming from, face your own mistakes in your relationship with him. you know he’s right but today proved you guys wouldn’t even work together. it feels like oxygen is slowly leaving the room, your chest heaves while bakugou grits his teeth at you. you handle accusations the only way you know how, you throw one back to him.

“well i guess you don’t have to deal with me anymore.”

“what?”

he didn’t rant for you to walk away from him, he doesn’t want to leave you. 

“your trip back home, going on dates with heroes. you both look good together,” you scoff, “even when you take precautions, even though you’re not my boyfriend, it still feels like being cheated on.”

you step away from him, wiping your eyes before tears can fall. your heart beats against your chest like a drum and you just want him out of your space. you want to be curled up in his arms. you wish that you were a clean slate meeting him for the first time, perhaps the version of you that didn’t get your heartbroken but now you come to any lover after with precaution and warning.

“the fuck are you on about? what date?” bakugou spits, not bothering to keep his voice down for your roommate.

he towers over you and despite his burning annoyance at how terrible the day has become, he can’t help but feel bad. especially at how you’re unable to meet his eyes, how you hug around your body and clutch your phone tightly.

you’re tapping your foot like you’re too busy for this conversation but it’s just a nervous tick, “the hero accounts are talking about you going on a date with another hero back in japan. i’m not mad, we aren’t together.”

it’s true, you’re not mad. you’re devastated. your tiny whisper, “please leave, katsuki.” is a physical punch in his stomach.

“i didn’t go on a date. i met up with a friend, mina right? that’s who you’re talkin’ about?”

your breaths come out as little hiccups and he knows for a fact you hate that he’s perceiving you like this. you’re distraught, refusing to let him see a tear slip and whilst telling him to leave, you still want to hear what he has to say.

“pinky. that pink hero,” you reply quietly.

“baby, yn, listen,” he notices your jaw clench at the name but you glance up at him. your eyes are blood shot, sending him daggers.

“she’s my friend from school. we grew up together. we had a hero event, the one i texted you about and then we went out to eat after. it wasn’t no fuckin’ date,” bakugou keeps his voice levelled, risking it all by lifting his palm to your cheek.

you lean into it like a kitten, “then why is her hand over yours in the picture?”

you’re embarrassingly wailing at him, lips in a sad pout and you swore to yourself months ago you wouldn’t end up like this again in front of a man. how the mighty have fallen.

bakugou coos you gently, so tender when he brushes a tear from you cheek, “what picture, baby?”

he’s shocked when you unlock your phone and the picture you’re talking about is the first one on the screen. along with the stupid headline and yes, her hand over his.

bakugou grunts, then sighs.

you’re a firecracker, quick to pull his hand off your cheek but he’s faster yanking you into his chest so you can’t escape.

“let me go, you dick,” but you barely fight, resting your face between his pectorals as he sits his hand on your waist.

“i was talkin’ to her about you. how you don’t want me back and i’m obsessed. she laughed and felt bad for me so she was just comfortin’ me.” he says it slowly, speaking at your bookshelf. 

your room is coated in silence. about five seconds worth, before you look up at him from where he’s got you squashed.

“how am i supposed to believe you?”

bakugou rolls his eyes, running his pointer finger in circles on your lower back, “that’s all up to you, babe. have i ever lied to you? i’ve only ever been honest with you.”

the words fall out of your mouth before you can even register them.

with your cheek pressed against his chest, your arms wrapped around his waist and your eyes closed, you say it so fast it’s barely coherent. “my last boyfriend cheated on me while i was dating him. the whole time. i liked him for about a year before we made it official and he cheated. practically everyday.”

finally, an explanation, bakugou thinks. but it’s not as satisfying as he hoped it would be. he demands the burning rage to simmer, he’s not here to be angry for you, you’ve done enough of that over the years. he kisses your temple and sits down in your bed. he pulls you onto his lap and you’re grateful that you don’t have to maintain eye contact. 

“how’d you find out?”

you sigh, wiping your nose with his t-shirt, “i knew for a fact for two weeks but still continued seeing him. i saw texts on his phone, then i got dms from girls asking if i was his girlfriend because he was with them last night.”

he can’t help it, “i wanna murder him.”

“same,” you laugh wetly, running your finger down a vein in his forearm, “i still haven’t let it go, i still hate him.”

“so that’s why you’re so careful with me gettin’ close to you.”

“that’s why you’re paying for my exes mistakes,” you try to joke and bakugou throws his head back in a huff.

“i didn’t mean that, i was just—,”

“i’m sorry.” you blurt, pressing your thumb into the thick muscle in bakugou’s arm, “i know i’ve been difficult and you’ve always come back.”

bakugou doesn’t know how to accept your apology, without the niggling knowledge that you’ve been aware of how much pain you’ve caused him. he holds you tight against him, hand holding your thighs to him and his other around your back.

he takes a shaky breath. when he looks up, directly forward he notices a photo booth strip of you and him, the same one on your table. he forgot that you picked up two while he took just one. turns out you did find a home for the photo. the solo photo booth strip you had attached to your fairy lights above your wardrobe now is replaced with you and him.

the first includes his grumpy face frowning at the camera while you grin with a peace sign.

the second he’s somewhat happier, his arm around your shoulders, smirking at the camera while you knock your head with his.

the third is when you put your hand on his jaw so he faces you and you kissed him. your eyes are closed while he looks at you surprised for initiating.

the fourth and last is just you both smiling at each other, his hand over yours on his cheek.

bakugou knows now, finally featured all over your room, a part of your life, what he must do.

“i was going to ask you to be my girlfriend again today,” he sniffs, staring at the strip, “while we ate ice cream at the little place ‘round the corner.”

you half laugh, wiping your face with the bottom of your tshirt, “i thought as much.”

“would you have said yes?” he tests and he doesn’t mean for his grip on you to get tighter but he’s preparing for the slow burn through his body at the rejection.

“i…,” you breathe softly, “i think so? i want you to be my boyfriend but today was all over the place and it made me question things.”

bakugou’s already nodding before you finish your sentence. he picks you off his lap and stands up, running a large palm over his face.

“what? what’s wrong?” you blubber and for someone who was just begging him to leave, the pendulum has swung on the opposite side. telling him your demons, why you’re so hard to love is supposed to make him stay, kiss you to sleep and live happily ever after.

“i’m gonna go home,” bakugou says and you’ve never seen the pro hero defeated. not in his career, on those clips on the news or when he comes to you after a villain brawl. but now, you can tell. he’s reached his limit with you.

his eyes droop with tiredness, physically and mentally. there’s a crease between his eyebrows because of his constant frown tonight and he’s no longer fidgeting with his hands. once they’re off his face, he stuffs them in his pockets and looks away from you.

“but… but i want you to stay now,” and you don’t want to cry again but you can feel it, fuck you can feel the burn of your throat with every word.

“you’re still not sure about me. one date couldn’t have been enough to completely change your mind about me. i’ve been sure for months about you, with every-fuckin’-thing you’ve thrown at me,” he grunts, chewing his bottom lip. forcefully rubbing his forehead like his mind will soften after. nothing works, “i’m gonna go.”

he opens your wardrobe, pulling out the suit he wore earlier, perfectly hung up with a black cloak over it. then he grabs his phone off your bedside table.

panic takes over you, your breathing stuttering, your thoughts jumping to the extremes, your hands clutching anything for purchase. you sit up on your knees. “are we over? are you breaking up with me?”

that makes him pause. he feels like punching himself in the throat for making you sound how he imagined your ex boyfriend made you. katsuki doesn’t want to lose you, that’s the last thing he wants to do here but it might be necessary now.

“we’re over,” he mutters yet loud enough for you both to hear.

you freeze, slumping down onto your ass, “no… but i don’t want to be over.”

“you don’t know what you want yn. some days you want me, others you don’t. some days you’re okay with pretending i don’t exist and others you’re all over me,” bakugou looks at you, sunken into your mattress, tears pouring down your cheeks. “it’s not fuckin’ fair.”

“please don’t go,” you tremble. pleading for a man, you’d rather die than admit you’ve ever done this but bakugou katsuki is different. he’s always been different. that’s what scared you.

“i’ll come back to pick up my other stuff. but i’m leavin’ for now.” he nods at you. he’s surprised at how calm he feels, as if he’s finally making a decision with his best interests in mind. he’s taking the wheel here, for the first time he’s in control of where your relationship is heading. even if it’s in the burning fire. “goodbye, yn.”

“i’m not saying bye to you,” you wipe your eyes with the back of your hands. “i don’t want you to go.”

katsuki knows he shouldn’t, but he does anyway. he steps over to you, cups the back of your head with his hand and kisses the top. 

“bye,” he mumbles into your scalp, “you’ll always know where i am.”

back in his greyscale apartment. lacking life, lacking you.

with that, bakugou leaves you alone in your bed and only when your front door clicks shut do you fall back onto your pillows. loud wails unleash out of your body and like you always do for each other, your roommate knocks on your door.

comments and reblogs are appreciated. I delete comments asking for the next part.

that’s the first thing you say to him. no hello like you saw him two minutes ago. bakugou swipes the phone out of your hand, grinning like a madman at the familiarity of it all. the video is of you swaying your hips, admittedly drunk but it’s not a bad video at all. you look gorgeous, sexy, one with the music. he cringes inwardly at that thought but it’s true.

“you don’t at all. send that to me.” he hands you back your phone. you’ve got the covers up to your ears and you look miniature, just your head popping out, sunken into his goose feather pillows.

“i’m definitely not and your bed is insane. why don’t we spend more time here?” you drawl shutting your eyes slowly, “thank you for leaving out water and a tablet for me.”

“no problem, doll,” he drops the breakfast he got for you on his bedside table then he strips off his jeans so he can sit on the bed beside you. he begins to unwrap his sandwich.

“doll?” your laugh is smothered by the duvet, “that’s new?”

“you looked like one yesterday,” he says with a mouthful of bread, chicken and salad, “what do i have to do to get you lookin’ like that for me?”

you start blinking at him slowly like a purring cat, “we could go to a bar? i know you know fancy ones.”

bakugou doesn’t drink but he’s got friends that do. he can ask them.

“also i woke up to good reviews about you.”

he makes a noise of confusion, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“hah?”

“my friends liked you. said you were a gentleman. i said you’re not usually like that.”

his little plan worked. he was on his best behaviour, you weren’t completely lying here. opening the car door to let them out. not driving away until they were all inside. dropping everyone to their doors instead of the bus station, even when you were fast asleep in his car. kept the conversation light, let the girls chat amongst themselves and he was just happy to be there. even answering questions about his career and noticing how you were quieter than usual, listening intently throughout your slowly fading drunkenness.

“i am a gentleman. you just don’t let me be one to you.” he stuffs his face in his sandwich. then he points to the paper bag by your head. “i got you breakfast.”

“katsuki,” you whine, “you didn’t have to.”

he chuckles, “that’s what i mean.”

you sit up on your forearms, still looking like a bus just hit you. your hair's a mess, the neckline to the t-shirt you’re wearing has dropped over your shoulder and you’re doing this confused pout when you look around the room. bakugou thinks you’re insanely beautiful. like they grew you in a lab just for him or nicer, the gods in the heavens created you with him in mind.

“you haven’t kissed me. you just started eating your sandwich.”

bakugou’s chewing slow down, he’s only perched on his bed, not wanting to lay back on his pillow because he’s been outside in this t-shirt.

the pout is for him, that he needs to kiss you to make you feel better. this is where the lines blur between the play pretend relationship and something real. you guys both don’t just fuck when you’re bored. there’s more here that means something and he’s just waiting for you to realise.

“you wanna kiss from me?” bakugou asks, smirking slightly, using his tongue to get some lettuce out his back teeth.

it doesn’t turn you off, at all. it only makes you frown because you’re immediately not getting what you want.

“i just said that. no hello kiss like we usually do.”

bakugou’s smile becomes a million watts, “that’s cute as hell, doll.”

but he takes another bite of his sandwich despite. he wants  to see how long it would take you to beg, to start whining and kicking your feet to get one from him. he rarely sees you somewhat vulnerable, hungover, craving physical touch and asking, or demanding really, for a kiss.

turns out it doesn’t take you long to give up completely. you flop back onto the bed, the memory foam catching you in a way your old ass mattress doesn’t. “fine. i have morning breath anyway.”

he’s sure you’re crossing your arms under the duvet, about to turn over to pull out your phone.

“wait, wait, wait. so fuckin’ impatient.” he mumbles, neatly tucking his sandwich back into the packaging to discard on his bedside table, grabbing one of his tissues to wipe his hands. you look at him with wide eyes, like you’re the sleeping beauty who needs a kiss to cure you of your hangover.

to your surprise but never disappointment, bakugou pulls off his t-shirt, leaving him in only his boxers. you sigh delightedly but, “why’d you take your top off? not that i’m complaining.”

“sounds like you are. i wore it outside, don’t want it touching my bedsheets,” he cages you under him as you shrug your arms out under the covers. he lays a kiss over your lips.

you smile immediately, closed lips, refusing to open your mouth.

bakugou’s handsome, painfully so. especially knowing he’s just done half a day of work whilst you’ve been asleep and he came back just to see you. it all overwhelms you a little, drives you crazy enough to beg him for a kiss. even if you did give up after asking twice. 

it’s just a peck at first, your cheeks round and bakugou’s pulling away, to bite down on his lip. you love the scar in the centre of his chest. the size of his biceps as he hovers over you. your fingers rake through the hair on his nape and you wonder if he’s ever done anything wrong during your time together. but he could. is what the heartbroken you whispers at the back of your head.

“open your mouth for me. kiss me properly,” he breathes and you don’t care he’s got sandwich breath because yours is probably worse. he kisses along your jaw, in the meantime, your whole body warms up like you’re about to catch a fever.

“morning breath, ‘tsuki.” you’re already breathing heavy, especially when he dips down to nibble at your neck.

“y’really think i give a fuck?” he shoves the duvet off your body, just so he can sneak underneath. “c'mon, make my trip on my lunch break worthwhile.”

he sounds like a horny teenage jock off those american shows. it’s because you know he’s not serious, that your legs turn to jelly. his gravelly whisper as your legs wrap around his waist. you sharply exhale when he presses himself against the gusset of your panties. he’s half hard now but will definitely be at full mast with a single brush of your tongues.

everything about bakugou katsuki, the rich ass pro hero who for some reason puts up with you, is endearing. your breakfast beside you, dropping your friends home, needing to know what you’ll say to anyone that flirts with you.

it’s like a stupid roleplay, “how long’s your lunch break?”

he smirks, boyish, confident and enamoured, “i’m the boss. whenever i want.”

he can max do two hours with you realistically, he’s got a load of meetings today.

you hate how that turns you on.

“you win.”

your lips meet for the second time but apart, with enough space for bakugou to slide his tongue into your mouth. your moan is instant, arms wrapping around his neck to drag him as close as possible. your tongues brush, he sucks on yours. he twists his head slightly for a better angle and a grunt bursts out of him, an involuntary grind between your legs next.

your body is alight, electric bursting under your skin. just over some making out, half undressed in his sheets. but it’s because of katsuki why you get like this and you like him more than you care to admit.

“fuckin’ loved thinkin’ about you in my bed while i was workin’,” he says with his lips over yours, “you were safe, exactly where i left you.”

“course i would be,” you rock against him, grabbing his wrist by your head, “touch me. want to feel you.”

“touch you where?” he breathes against your neck, a kiss under your ear.

“don’t be mean,” you mewl, tightening your legs around his waist. “‘tsuki baby.”

that’s one of your usual tricks to make him do anything, a sweet little pet name that gives you the reaction you want, a thrust of his hard cock against your clit. bakugou’s the biggest you’ve ever been with, knows how to use it too. another reason why you can’t let him go.

“nah, tell me.”

you huff, “your fingers, inside me. rub my cunt.”

his smirk is cocky, a winner. “why didn’t you say the first time?”

but you’re rewarded swiftly, his large calloused hand sneaking under the covers and under your panties. “so wet. this for me?”

your exhales are already fluttering, hips jolting when he gathers the wetness from your hole and rubs it over your clit. you’re fixated when he pulls away from you for a second to spit on his fingers, keeping eye contact the whole time. 

“you’re so annoying,” you mumble, because everything about him can be too much. too skilled with his hands, too attractive with his face and body. knowing exactly what to do and how long to make you wait.

“but you’re still here.” 

with the added wetness, he rubs circles into you, finally allowing your body to just relax. your eyes shut and bakugou sits on his knees to drag his t-shirt to sit under your chin.

“all this waitin’ for me. no way i couldn’t come home early,”

“feels so good, ‘tsuki.” you say, rolling against his fingers. 

then, you give him those eyes, your needy watery desperate ones, “i want your cock.”

bakugou’s been fucked since the day he saw your photos on that stupid dating app kaminari suggested him to download. he’s never cared for dating in his circle, or someone in the same tax bracket as him but this celebrity rich kid dating app only meant that. till it gave him you with the little detail that you’re working on your phd at the nearby university.

bakugou thinks he loves you, he’s never felt this way about anyone before. this incessant need to protect you, have you around him at all times. to want to know every detail about your life and be fully integrated. he needs to know why you don’t want him to be your boyfriend.

your palm runs down his chest, fingers dipping in every dip and curve, only stopping when you moan with the arch of your back.

“patience, baby.” he should be going back to work soon, he doesn’t even have time to be saying this to you.

“pull out your cock, let me see.”

he huffs like he’s irritated but he’s anything but. he shifts his weight to yank off his underwear, his cock slapping against his stomach, pre leaking onto his tanned skin.

you croon at the sight of him, always so beautiful. thick and long, a cock men would only dream of. with three veins along his shaft and you only get flashbacks of when it was in you less than fifteen hours ago.

“did you do what you told me last night?”

your mouth is salivating. you force yourself to look away from his crotch. your friends would say you're dickmatised right now. or maybe all time. the way you ran to bakugou when you saw his car pull up carries a month's worth of ‘i told you so’s from your friendship group. you have definitely downplayed how much you like this man.

“what?”

you reach forward to touch him and although he twitches, he slaps your hand off him.

“katsuki!”

he drags his fingers off your clit to slide two inside of you. already you’re bubbling in pleasure when he rubs against your walls, curls his fingers just where you like.

“you sent me a text that nobody spoke to you. did anyone try after that?”

you like that he believes you, that your text wasn’t a lie to make him feel better. it was true, it was early in the night so nobody had. but after…

it’s the insecurity that makes bakugou ask, that makes him sit at his desk in his office and wonder what you actually said to these guys.

“t-three guys,” you say quickly, rushing to get it out before another moan tumbles out. the wetness of your cunt is loud at this point, the gushing of his fingers inside of you, the squelch when he pulls out and thrusts in a third finger.

“yeah? what happened?” he sounds measured and controlled, looks it too, but bakugou’s heart races against his chest. he pinches your left nipple to get you to pay attention again.

“i wanna come, baby,” you plead, “please.”

“after my question. you can do it.”

you roll your eyes, locking your legs around his waist and trying to pull his cock closer to you. bakugou stays exactly where he is though, moving to no avail.

“they all just complimented me. said i was beautiful, if i liked the dj. then t-they asked if i was single— fuck,” he prods a sensitive spot. you want more, you want him, “i said i’m seeing someone. i t-told you i’d say that!”

“then they all fucked off? they didn’t try harder?”

he knows how iridescent you usually are, even when you fucking wake up in the morning, when you’re walking around your home in old joggers and a toothpaste stained tee. but he knows how men get once they see legs and breast. he knows how he got when he saw you like that before he dropped you off. paired with you drunk in your element, bakugou knows he’d be all over you.

“one did. i told him—,” you stop yourself, glancing away.

“what? tell me and i’ll let you come. fuck you how you want.”

you grit your teeth, “you’re so annoying, katsuki.”

“that’s okay with me, doll. you still want me anyway.” he's back circling your clit, puffy and so much more sensitive than before. “come on.”

“i said i had a b-boyfriend.”

bakugou’s a car engine and you just twisted the key. has him fisting his cock to angle into you.

“but you don’t have one, do you?”

that has you whipping back to him, but his attention is on sliding his cock slowly into your pussy. it’s a gargle of noises that come from you. moans and whines and words of confusion. your back arches in delight, hands grabbing touch any part of him. once he’s flush into you, bakugou grumbles a deep, “motherfucker.”

you’ve always been too intense for him, from the week of back and forth texts on the app to slightly ghosting him on the second week after he asked to take you out. you were funny in a way he doesn’t find in his friends, pretty in a way he thought was unbelievable and this was all through a screen. part of him was terrified to even meet you. he first offered to take you to a restaurant, a fancy steak and caviar one which you said no to after a few minutes. you googled the name of it and upon checking the prices, refused. then he offered a coffee date after your class and you reluctantly agreed.

“you lied to him, you don’t have a boyfriend,” he says between gritted teeth, beginning to start thrusting. his hands treat you with care, kneading your thighs but his hips move with sharp, precise finesse. he knows to angle himself exactly to hit your softness points, how to have you gushing around him.

you’re unsure what he’s getting at, why he’s doing this now, why you feel upset at the idea that it’s true. he’s not your boyfriend because you won’t let him be.

“no i don’t,” you whisper to him, “knees.”

he pushes your knees by your head so you’re in a mating press. everything’s deeper, more intense, your body yearning for a release.

he rocks into you. dick prodding everywhere that feels good, tucked warm in your walls.

“you’re so fuckin’ soft. you drive me insane all the goddamn time.”

you know you do. you see it in his face when you kiss him goodbye.

“when are you gonna let me in?” he moans, the sound of slapping skin and your merged wetness louder than his words. “i’d treat you better than the fuckers before.”

you know he would. that is what makes this worse.

“i’m going to come,” you warble, reaching down to touch your clit. “let me come.”

you’re both sweaty, overcome by emotion that bakugou wasn’t even planning on unleashing today. but being around you with his dick hard, he struggles to control what comes out his mouth.

“i want you so bad, doll.” more than sexually, more than this stupid purgatory you’ve got him stuck in.

you say it because it’s what you’re genuinely feeling. because you do want him, you want him so much that it scares you and only makes you imagine the feeling of it all falling apart.

“i want you too, katsuki. so much.”

your orgasm is unexpected even to you, shaking your body with an unconfined squeal. bakugou keeps rolling his hips, touching your clit because your fingers have gone tense. he can see the waves of pleasure shake you, your eyes closing to take it all in.

he thinks he understands what you mean. but still it’s not enough, he needs you all.

bakugou spills into you with a couple jolts, knees shaky and arms weak. he keeps going till he’s done, watching the shared liquids spill out of your pussy and around his cock.

bakugou pulls out and flops on the bed beside you, yanking off the duvet so he’s exposed to the cold air. his chest heaves like yours, staring at the ceiling blankly.

“how the hell am i goin’ back to work after that?”

you giggle beside him, rolling into his open arms and sniffing his armpit.

“you need a shower too.”

he scoffs, “so do you.”

you swat at his chest, “annoying.”

he’s mindful that he needs to clean you up, kiss anywhere he was particularly rough and head back to his agency. he can shower there.

though only thing racks his mind, “i know you know but i meant what i said.”

katsuki wants all of you.

“i know.” you exhale, “i meant what i said too.”

you want him too.

you reach up to give him a peck then stretch to grab a few tissues from his bedside table. he snatches them from your hand. “i can do that.”

he swipes between your legs then over your ass for good measure. he’s careful where you’re sensitive, kissing your thighs and pulling down the t-shirt you’ve got on.

“i’ve gotta go,” he grunts.

“can’t you just stay? you said you’re the boss.”

bakugou’s never had you like this. wanting more from him. he feels like a mouse following a line of cheese though he doesn’t know if it’s a trap or paradise at the end. are you toying him around or is he close to you becoming undone for him?

“got a mission soon baby, if i could i would.”

then he rolls back over you, rewarding you with kisses on your cheeks, forcing you to push him away when they get sloppy. “katsuki!”

you study every scar and beauty spot when he climbs out of bed. how he stretches and grumbles, “stop lookin’ at me.” 

but you continue, especially when he pulls on his underwear then his jeans. you’re fixated when he tucks himself behind his zipper, and then his t-shirt last.

“you’re not showering?”

he grabs his half eaten sandwich, shrugging, “gonna shower at the office.”

you balk, “you’ve got a shower there?”

it won’t ever get old seeing you surprised by what he has, “'course baby. a sauna too.”

“wow!”

“i’ll show you when you’re free. give you a tour.” it’s as if he’s going to war. leaving his pretty lady to fend for herself in his luxury double shower head apartment.

“okay, ‘tsuki.” you smile softly, “text me.”

he smirks, chest full of butterflies, “you text me when you’re leavin’ or stay if you want.” 

bakugou didn’t kiss you hello, but he remembers to kiss you goodbye. a hard peck on your lips with his hand at your jaw, “see you doll.”

“bye, bye.”

GREYSCALE MASTERLIST

likes are appreciated but reblogs, comments and asks mean the world! i delete comments asking for the next part. thanks xox

“She’s hot, right?” Comes one of his teammates, Satoru instantly gives him an irritated glance.

“She is pretty,” Suguru says then, smirking over at Satoru. “Oh shit, I know that look of yours.”

“What look? She’s… talented, mmkay?” They’re laughing just a bit, when Satoru sighs. “Fine, she is hot.”

“She’s my niece,” all of them turn around to see their hockey coach Sukuna skating up, crossing his arms and glaring at them now.

“Shit, your niece is hot-”

“Toji I’ll fuck your face up more,” Sukuna says, raising a brow and glaring at all of them. Sukuna used to be a hockey player himself, but now he coaches in his early thirties, he was pretty notorious for training the winning team. Everyone found him intimidating due to just how huge and angry he was, but Satoru simply raised a brow himself.

He knows he’s damn near better than Sukuna was. Sure, maybe he’s cocky, but… it was accurate.

“She’s your niece? Where’s she been?” Satoru asks curiously, you’re skating over, your eyes locked on Sukuna for a moment until you see his stance.

“Kuna –”

“Don’t call me that in front of them!?” They’re snickering, you pout just a bit, and are apparently so cute Sukuna sighs, ruffling your hair. “Don’t pull the puppy dog eyes on me, brat.”

“Be nice, hmm?” He sighs, Satoru has never seen Ryomen Sukuna soft whatsoever.

“Fine, they were saying how talented you were, right?” They all stand at attention nodding quickly, you look down shyly at all the attention, hugging your arms a bit, before smiling and looking at Satoru.

God you’re pretty.

The minute your eyes hit his, he can hardly handle whatever the fuck you’re doing to him, holding your hand out now. “You’re the captain, right?”

“Yeah that’s me,” he takes your hand with a cocky little smile, it swallows your tiny one as you tilt your head back a bit to look at him. “You are really talented out there.”

“Oh thank you so much,” a pretty blush dances across your cheeks now, your eyes looking back down. Fuck you’re cute. “You’re talented too, I’ve seen your videos all over.”

“Yeah?” Satoru grins now, skating a little closer. “You have?”

“That’s enough,” Sukuna cuts in, practically unclasping your hands now. “Let’s go talk for a minute, kid. I’ll be back to coach you little shits in a bit.”

“Sure, it was nice to meet you,” you say to Satoru, smiling a bit at him and then skating off, but you peer over your shoulder for a moment at him.

“Get your jaw off the floor, buddy.”

“Fuck off, let’s get to work…”

“Uncle Kuna, you were rude!” You’re saying, eyeing the handsome white haired player who gives you a little smile. “He seems sweet.”

“Tch, you don’t know that boy, any of those boys,” Sukuna hands you a drink and you take it thankfully. “It’s my job to look out for you, just trust me.”

“All right…” But how can you focus, when eyes that blue peer at you across the rink?

Gojo watches as you begrudgingly glide across the rink, but he just can't get that dopey grin off his face, Suguru shakes him out of it, Sukuna skates up and fucking glares at him. Yet he can’t stop looking, how you glide along the ice, spinning in pretty little circles, waving a little when you think Sukuna can’t see, just to have him standing right in front of Satoru again.

“Get to running those, now.”

“Calm down Kuna,” Satoru smacks his shoulder, grinning as Sukuna turns bright red.

“Stay away from her.”

“Why tell me that?” He raises a brow at Sukuna now. “Go tell Toji.”

“I just know your type, fuckin’ act all sweet and then not be serious, you won’t hurt her if I have anything to do with it.” Satoru sighs, grabbing his hockey stick and skating back over to his group.

If anything is known – it’s that Satoru Gojo was an absolute slut, he just loved to fuck, loved women, he loved getting his dick sucked. Why wouldn’t he enjoy all the perks of being a famous hockey player? Which absolutely included partying, snorting coke up his nostrils, having a good blunt and letting girls make out over his tip.

That didn’t mean Satoru was somehow against the idea of love or dating – he just was enjoying himself, Sukuna’s right in that he would corrupt a cute, innocent little thing like yourself. Fuck corrupting you would be so pretty though, imagining how cute you’d look learning how to take his cock – the thoughts have him hard in the middle of the fucking ice rink.

Satoru wishes anything Sukuna threatened ever sunk in – it didn’t.

*****

It’s been a week since he first saw you.

How can Satoru not come in early to watch you practice every morning, just acting like he needs more time himself, when he’s literally in peak performance. How can Satoru not just peer at you before he gets on the ice, when no one else is there, watching you so cute as you focus, as you fall and get yourself back up.

You’re goddamn adorable, he can’t stop the smile on his face anytime he catches sight of you, but he doesn’t really say anything, just waves as he practices, and the two of you are in a comfortable silence on either side of the giant ice rink. Satoru relishes every time you come by him, when you’ll skate by and ask him a question, tell him you admire his form.

Admire his form.

Satoru admires yours too, those outfits leave little to the imagination, and you’re achingly pretty, the way he can imagine wrapping his hands right around your waist… even when you practice with someone he gets furious. He hates seeing his pretty figure skater have another man spot or spin with her.

His figure skater? Has he really lost it?

He loves when you answer his questions, your shy but reserved conversation – some of the girls he hears call you stuck up, but it’s clear you’re not – even if you don’t really make friends. It’s more you’re achingly shy, and he knows it takes a lot in those moments you talk to him, when you hardly talk to anyone else.

Satoru can't help but picture you every night after you give him a little wave goodbye, when you’re in your cute little tracksuit and he gets just a hint of your tummy in his sight, a little dip of cleavage. God just your collarbones and how your hair falls when it’s out of that tight bun fuck him up – so much so fuck he strokes it to you like it's his own form of worship.

Every time he thinks he can have just a few moment with you, fucking Sukuna is there. Stomping around all angry, scowling right at Satoru, he makes sure to leave no space for Satoru to even find out more than your name and where you’re from. He’s gathered that you love to skate – of course – and that you like to read, by the books you bring in.

Old books, too, ones he googles when he gets home so he can have a hope to talk to you. Wuthering Heights is the one you always bring, so of course he studies all he can about it, bringing up oh so casually what he thinks of Heathcliff. You brightened up so pretty this morning, and he thinks that was the first time he heard your laugh, a soft little cute one.

Your nose scrunched up, all fucking adorable, and your eyes lit up as you softly agreed with him about Catherine, Satoru’s acting like he read a goddamn book from the eighteen hundreds to impress a girl. He's not sure when he got so pathetic, nor when the sight of a cute nose scrunching up started making him leak pre - but oh, it did.

He catches a glimpse of you as you’re leaving today, almost bumping right into him, your hands on his chest, his on your waist, thumbs pressing into the nip of it, the two of you pausing, eyes meeting. You get lost in his, your heart hammering in your chest, the feeling of his fingers on your skin almost intimate.

You’ve not had anyone even touch you – thanks to Sukuna always being absolutely insane about protecting you – if it wasn’t him, it was your brother Yuuji. Sukuna had practically raised you both together. He’s been off at school for a bit but he was also extremely protective of you, even though he was actually your little brother by a year.

“Hey,” he says softly, your lips part as you look at where your hand rests, feeling the beat of his heart steady underneath it. “You all right?”

“Um, y-yeah,” you can hardly talk, you’re so damn shy in general but especially around Satoru Gojo and his pretty blue eyes just looking right at you. “I’m all right, sorry…”

“Don’t apologize sweets,” you blush at the little name, he eases his hand off and you realize yours is still on him, yanking it back, he laughs just a little at that. “Headed home?”

“I am, um… it was…” Shit, you can’t talk at all, it was a little different with everyone on the rink, but just Satoru made it more difficult.

You hate being awkward.

That’s the thing about figure skating – you can be elegant, delicate and lovely, but in real life you stammered, you couldn’t talk half the time, it was all just too much, too overwhelming. Then you overthought every single word you said, replaying it over in your head, sometimes the dumbest shit that would come out of your mouth when you’re nervous would keep you up all night.

Even now he’s looking curiously and you still can’t talk. All you can think of is that cologne he’s wearing, the scent of him, how he feels so warm against you. How tall he is especially without the boost of your skates, the way he looks at you. Uncle Sukuna said all these things about him, partying and this and that, but it doesn’t deter you like it should.

He just… seems like he has a good soul.

You think you’re a good judge of that?

“I’m just standing here oh god,” he chuckles again, brushing a little lock of your hair back delicately, your heart hammers faster at the brush against your skin, feather light. “I’m sorry I’m not that um… I don’t talk alot. I know you’re trying to be friendly this week, I hope you don’t think I’m rude?”

“Not at all.” You exhale in relief. “I talk too fucking much,” you giggle then, so precious Satoru can’t stand it, hugging your body just a bit.

“No, you talk just enough, it’s nice to… I like talking to you,” you would have thought you said you wanted to kiss him, how flustered you get, trembling.

“Cold?”

“We are in an ice rink.”

“Right, that, I’m always warm,” he swipes his brow, a hint of his abdomen showing, that little v cut that almost ruins your senses. “You look flushed.”

“Oh I guess I am,” you’re shivering from being near him, trying to play it off then. “You are so great out there, especially helping Uncle Kuna.”

“I still can’t believe he’s got a little nickname,” you smile, looking down just a bit, making Satoru ache to tilt your chin up, to have a look into your pretty eyes, he almost fucking does it too, barely keeping his composure.

Since when is he nervous like this?

“There’s a party tomorrow, you should come.”

“Oh, no, I don’t do crowds and parties.”

“You… compete in front of hundreds of people?”

“Yeah, but I’m kind of alone when I do?”

“That makes sense,” he murmurs, curious about you more and more, as you put a hand tentatively to his shoulder. “Maybe another time?”

“If Uncle Kuna would ever let me,” he rolls his eyes.

“Uncle Kuna goes to those parties,” you gasp, Satoru grins. “He does it to ‘watch us’ like he’s so much older. He’s only in his thirties.”

“I know it’s hard to remember, he acts so grown up doesn’t he?”

“Nah, I’ve seen him playing beer pong, he screams grown frat boy,” you’re laughing again.

“He was one!”

“Fuckin’ called that shit,” Satoru takes your hand then and presses a little kiss to the back of your knuckles.

He’s never done that but it feels like the right move, you’re so damn pretty and sweet like some girl at a ball in the eighteen hundreds, none of that really makes sense but it does in his own mind. Plus watching you blush and your eye lashes flutter is probably the cutest thing he’s seen.

“Uncle Kuna didn’t say you were a gentleman.”

“I’m so not,” he lets your hand go, smirking and slipping his hands in his pockets then. “I am probably not that bad as he says though. He always has it out for me.”

“He seems really proud of you too though! Don’t tell him I said it,” Satoru pauses, cheeks reddening a bit.

“Are you in town for a while?”

“I’m staying with him and my brother for a bit. Actually, I was living in the dorms during college, but I want to try to get more practice, more… professional?”

“You look like a pro,” you smile and giggle all fucking cute. “You do.”

“Thank you Satoru,” you both walk towards the front doors now, the air is even chillier with the winter breeze, both of you slinging on your jackets. Satoru looks almost ethereal with the way the moonlight hits his face. “Good night.”

“See you uh, tomorrow?” You smile and wave, and Satoru can’t take that damn dopey grin off his face.

*****

Satoru's snorting a line up his nose as the music hums and the room is filled with everyone dancing that night. He's got a girl on either side of him giggling, both of their hands just touching on him, they’re pretty and he enjoys them usually, but for whatever reason he feels…

Off.

“Gimme a line, shit,” Toji’s big ass sits next to him and Satoru rolls his blue eyes, snatching one of the girls right onto his lap. “Wanna snort one off her.”

“My premium coke? You owe me,” Satoru watches as Toji lines that snow up on the girl, the other one leaning close with her lips against Satoru’s ear.

“Mmm, can you do one off me?”

“I can,” he’s chuckling and sprinkling powder right on her, leaned over with his nose brushing her skin, hand on her waist.

That’s what you walk into – so nervous to go to a party, but your friends on the team convinced you how fun it would be, just to catch sight of Satoru Gojo’s tongue lapping up a pretty skater’s neck. You know her somewhat, she’s pretty and sweet, giggling so loudly you can hear her even over the music rushing in the large house.

Suguru’s house apparently.

“Hey there,” he is the one who greets you, standing in front of the view you have of Satoru and those girls, the feeling so odd.

You don’t even know Satoru, how could you care if he was with someone?

“Hi, Suguru, right?” He smiles and takes your hand, a little kiss on the back of it making you flush. “I don’t think we formally met.”

“We haven’t yet, I’m glad you came,” he gestures around. “Please help yourself to  anything at all, would you like a drink?”

“Yes please,” he nudges his head and you follow him around, Satoru’s gaze catching yours as he’s laughing, snorting another line off her, he falters just a bit, his lips parting. You just sort of give a small smile and avert your gaze – something about seeing him like that feels a little too intimate to witness.

You didn’t know he had a girlfriend or…

Two girlfriends?

“Here, something sweet,” Suguru pours you a little glass of wine, much different than the beer in everyone’s hands or the liquor lined up.

“How’d you know I’m not a drinker?” You ask, he just shrugs a shoulder, corking the bottle.

“A guess is all, I know these parties get a little crazy, just tell me if anyone bothers you, yeah? I’ll kick them out.”

“Thank you,” you place a hand on his shoulder, before clearing your throat and smiling, noticing Satoru walking your way, the girl tugging at his light blue jersey. “Is that his girlfriend?”

“Girlfriend? Oh, no he doesn’t…”

Satoru’s right in front of you, hands in his pockets, smiling in that way only he can, you see the smallest hint of residue on his plump lips, which he laps off with a flick of his tongue. “You came! I didn’t uh… think you would?”

“I did come,” you look down a bit nervously, clearing your throat and smiling now, sipping on the wine. “You look like you’re having fun.”

“Eh I guess,” he rubs the back of his neck, shifting a bit and looking at Suguru. “Got her the good stuff, huh?”

“Mhm, I’ll let you two talk,” he smiles at you as he walks away, Satoru is close to you – too close, you can inhale that scent in your nostrils, something just him.

You can’t be jealous of someone you don’t know.

You plaster on a pretty smile now, sipping the sweet drink. “You don’t have to come entertain me.”

“I invited you and it’s not… I don’t have to…” Fuck, why does he get tongue tied like this? “I uh… I really wanted to see you.”

“You did?” His big grin is your answer, leaning on the counter and ignoring the girls who try to call him over. “I think you’re kind of popular.”

“Yeah well they’re fine,” he takes your drink and sips it, putting his lips right where you had, his eyes darkening as they study you over the rim. “Mmm, yummy.”

Fuck.

Gojo’s licking his lips and doing insane things to your tummy, fluttering like there’s a million butterflies, he steps closer to you, brushing your hair back. “You really came.”

“I did,” you laugh softly when the music shifts.

“Wanna dance?”

“Oh um,” you flush and sip your wine, clearing your throat just a bit. “Are you sure you wanna dance with me?”

“That’s why I asked,” he sets his cup down, taking your glass and putting it in the fridge, you blink curiously. “Safer in there, a lot of people here tonight.”

You blink a bit curiously, tilting your head. “Safer?”

“From…” He trails off, taking your hand. “Guys can drug drinks, no one on my team would but other players? There’s some really horrible men, even if I haven’t personally seen it happen – I've heard shit.”

“You’re keeping my drink safe,” you melt as he shrugs as if that’s just something normal – so caring you ache.

Sukuna and Yuuji care for you but they’re family – Satoru is still a stranger.

“No big deal sweetheart.”

“It’s really sweet of you,” he gets a little flustered, tugging you into the enormous living room, with vaulted ceilings and fancy, modern chandeliers hanging. You look up in wonder at them, so pretty then, they’re glowing right along your face, and for a moment his breath is smacked out of his lungs.

Satoru could just stare at you all day.

“It’s so pretty,” you sigh now – blinking just a bit as your gaze is captured.

To be engrossed in a chandelier when everyone around him was just snorting coke, drinking, smoking…

“It’s very pretty,” he agrees, looking right at you. You catch sight of it and look back down nervously, biting your lip. “Hey, look at me.”

You raise your eyes, your heart hammering in your chest. “I suck at eye contact.”

“I’ll help you,” he turns you around in a little circle, tugging you against his hard body, making you melt. “It’ll help with skating when you’re competing, being able to look at the crowd.”

“That’s true, oh sorry!” You stumble a bit so he just picks you up, you gasp at that, you’ve had partners pick you up countless times but not like this, just spinning you and holding you up with your feet dangling.

“A figure skater who can’t dance? That’s insane baby,” you laugh as he sets you down on your feet, feeling the eyes of those girls now. “What is it?”

“I don’t think they like me,” you murmur, Satoru looks back at them and frowns just a bit. “They’re scowling.”

“Nah, they just…” He doesn’t even know what to say, he’s forgotten their names again. “Just curious about you.”

“You’re so different from what Sukuna says,” he snorts now, rolling his eyes and turning you, tugging your back against him. “He says you’re a menace.”

“Well I am,” you snort a bit, and he chuckles, feeling the curve of your ass pressing on his thighs. “You don’t think I’m a menace?”

“You just seem thoughtful and kind,” he pauses now, those words aren’t typically what people say.

Even though Satoru was kind, they typically just saw the confidence, the arrogance, the ego hiding so much. He pauses a bit and then grips your hips, moving them, his lips brushing against your ear as he bends down. “Move those hips like you do on the ice.”

You’re so nervous – people are looking at you two, if Sukuna found out he’d probably lock you up in your room, but you’re not going to tell Satoru no, you want to listen to him. His soft little commands are overwhelming, hips rocking back against him and then around with his guidance, your head falling back against his chest as you move with him.

“There you go,” his words are like honey, sweeter than the wine on your tongue, just those few sips already rushing through your body, heated up by him. “Turn and show me what ya got.”

You turn and look at him in those pretty blue eyes, earning his pleased grin, his lashes lowered as he leans down, tugging you against him again. “Everyone’s looking at us.”

“Mhm,” you start moving with him, finding his own rhythm, every little brush of his fingers igniting something inside you. “Feel the music, like you do in a routine.”

You close your eyes and feel it like he says, the music thrumming, the tingles that shoot out from the way his hands grip your hips, you’re rolling your hips without his help soon enough, body moving right with him. As if he’s your partner lifting you and guiding you during your moves, the way he spins you makes you dizzy, having you face him once more.

Your eyes flutter open and this pretty smile hits your face, making Satoru grin right with you, laughing softly just a bit, the girls are still murmuring about you, but at the moment you really can’t care. You feel so pretty with how Satoru just looks at you, though you wonder…

How much of this is just him?

Just charming Satoru Gojo who does this with everyone? Were others used to or immune to it? You find it nearly impossible to be.

“You’re doing it on your own, see? Look at you moving like that,” the way he’s talking hits something inside you, making your core burn up, your thighs clench together, every word shooting right between them. “Doing s’good.”

He’s muffling his words, spinning you again, lips now pressed against your cheek as he leans down, brushing against your skin. “You think so, Gojo?”

“Call me Satoru,” he corrects, his hand splaying your tummy, picturing how he’ll be able to see himself inside it, feeling fucking filthy. “Of course I think so.”

“I um… really…” The song comes to a halt and Toji steps up on the table, you swear it’ll break he’s so damn big, shouting at everyone.

“All right you drunk fucks,” everyone laughs at him, Satoru simply rolls his eyes, hands falling off your waist ever so slightly. “Time for us all to chug.”

“Chug?” You ask softly, Satoru sighs, fucking Toji ruining his moment with you for him to chug beer – Satoru hates beer.

“Yeah, I’ll be right back though okay?” You nod and he rushes over, as if he’s dying to get it over with, when the two girls who had glared daggers at you are on either side of him. He seems a little tense, but he doesn’t move, he just takes the can Suguru hands him, putting it to his lips.

You just met Satoru Gojo. You can’t go having all these feelings for a man who is a stranger, especially the gnawing jealousy as the girls all half naked are bouncing around, making you question your attire. Were you too prim and proper? Was Satoru into a more… bold woman?

Why do you care so damn much already?

Satoru, of course was in his element, he finishes his beer with a speed faster than everyone, slamming the can down before anyone else could – even Toji. “Hah, won like always.”

“Swear you take dick down your throat,” Toji grumbles, Satoru snorts in laughter, blowing him a kiss.

“You wish, baby boy.”

“Ugh,” everyone is laughing and cheering, you’re just watching ever curiously, smiling when his eyes find yours in the crowd, all twinkling and so pretty you forget the girls next to him.

The girl in the crop top on the left fists her hands in his jersey, pulling him down for a messy kiss.

You saw him kissing that girl earlier and… it was fine, you guess, but something about this one after he danced with you…

Fuck you think too much into things.

He was having fun, you’re planning some romantic love – you’ve always had your head in the clouds, you suppose now is no different, your heart just fucking hurts though. He pushes her off him and clears his throat as you rush over to the kitchen, dying to drink that wine suddenly.

What was wrong with you?

“Hey… easy,” Satoru’s annoyed as shit, but how can he explain to a girl he just had in his lap grinding on him that you’re here, and he only wants to talk to you, to look at you.

It’s insane, whatever it is you do to his mind, he feels bad for a moment when she pouts. “But Satoru, I was hoping you’d come home with us.”

“Both of us,” the other girl bounces over right next to her, and normally Satoru would be all about fucking two pretty women, seeing them fuck.

What was wrong with him?

His eyes go to find yours and he sees you over there talking to Suguru, who brushes a lock of your hair back, it’s nothing lewd or forward – it’s sweet if anything, but it stabs him right in the fucking chest. Your eyes meet his and lower when these girls kiss on him, something he’s never felt embarrassed or ashamed about. It’s not like Satoru has ever even dated a girl.

All he does is party, fuck, play hockey, repeat. Countless girls on him, underneath him, sucking him down, fighting over who could swallow his cum first, never has he had a moment to question it. Anything to fill those lonely times, those thoughts when he’s all alone in his home, and he feels that loneliness, that exhaustion.

Never has he felt so goddamn mad his friend is laughing with a girl, the friend he’s fucked girls with, he wants to smack his goddamn hand.

“I gotta go, not tonight,” he mumbles, rushing toward the kitchen, hands in his pockets and smiling at Suguru and you, as if everything is fine. “Sorry about that, they’re fucking clingy.”

“They like you alot,” you murmur, Satoru just blinks a bit, lips parted. “You don’t have to hang out because you invited me, have fun.”

“What!? No, not at all,” his phone starts buzzing like crazy, he puts it on silent, reading all the messages from girls asking him to come over.

“Satoru’s the most popular,” Suguru says, not in a mean way, it’s sweet if anything. “Me not so much.”

“What? Everyone was gushing about both of you,” Suguru blushes and you giggle, you’re not used to someone blushing as bright as you do.

“I am not as good with attention.”

“I love attention,” Satoru grins and you giggle just a bit, before noticing the lipstick stuck to his mouth – an obnoxious glitter. “Have something on my face?”

“Yeah,” you lean forward and swipe the glitter off his lips, he sucks in a breath at the act, before he sees all the glitter on your finger. “Your girlfriends are sparkly.”

“Not girlfriends,” he grabs another drink and downs it, cursing internally, feeling like he’s already fucked it up somehow, even if you’re smiling and just sipping your drink. Suguru is enamored with you, he doesn't even look Satoru's way.

Maybe when Suguru asked if he thought you were pretty he should have admitted it and not deflected.

“Well I'm glad if I didn't ruin your fun or anything,” he curses internally. He invited you here but he didn't take into account who you are.

You're different from anyone here and he'd never want to change that, but how did he think you'd fit into such a crowd? Of course you'd talk to a much calmer person like Suguru amidst the chaos.

Yet he wanted you here.

“Not at all, I'm always partying. I promise I'm not missing out,” he clears his throat now, when Choso walks over to them. He's related to Sukuna so of course he knows you, immediately giving you a hug.

“Hey! Oh god, Sukuna is gonna kill you,” you sigh and nod, covering your face.

“I know, don't tell him!” He holds up two fingers.

“Secret is safe from me, plus it'll do you some good to get out,” he looks at Satoru and Suguru now. “I'm glad you're with them and not some randoms though, in that case I'd have to snatch you out of here.”

“If you're Sukuna's nephew…” Suguru – stoned already – tries to put two and two together as he looks between you both. “And you're his niece… How many does Sukuna have?”

“A lot,” Choso admits, lips twitching up with amusement. “Our family is all over the place,” he sighs now. “You know Yuuji is joining the team soon?”

“Yes he's so excited! Choso you should come over for dinner sometime?”

“I can soon,” he tugs out a blunt then, smirking. “Do you partake or is this too crazy?”

“I haven't before,” you blush a bit. “Will it mess me up?”

“Nah it's more calming, but I'll leave it up to you,” someone starts shouting for him, Choso was absolutely the plug of the hockey team. “Here, give it to them or smoke it, no pressure. Just be careful when you get home. Sukuna used to cuss me out when he caught me.”

You smile at him and nod, taking the blunt curiously, looking at the two men. “Um have you all…”

They chuckle. “Maybe every night before bed?” Suguru says, you giggle at that, handing it to him.

“I also partake, but it can make you a little dizzy,” Satoru says softly, looking over at Suguru. “We should do this in private, she's already got a couple fan girls and I don't want any drama for her.”

“Fangirls?” You ask, Suguru tops off your wine then gestures for you to follow them both.

“As in – they're jealous of you,” Suguru answers, leading you up the stairs into his room. “Try not to let that all get to you too much.”

“I do feel they think I'm stuck up,” you mumble, heart racing when Satoru's hand rests on the small of your back for a moment, helping you avoid a very drunk partygoer stumbling all around. “Thank you.”

 “Of course,” his touch feels far too good – but a part of you tries to remember the kisses he got, the glitter on his skin. He is probably someone who doesn't date, and your heart couldn't take anything casual. Even if it's difficult not to react to any touch or look.

“It'll be quieter in here,” Suguru looks at you then. “Are you comfortable coming in my room?”

“Yes,” you murmur. You've heard only good things about Suguru – a gentleman by even Sukuna's words, and you already feel comfy with Satoru.

Sukuna would kill you if he knew you were gonna smoke a blunt at a party in their room. Something about that mixes you with panic and a little thrill – you're always such a good girl, a little fun is exciting as it is scary.

“Have a seat,” Suguru takes the chair, you and Satoru sit at the edge of his bed – your thighs brushing against each other as Suguru takes the blunt and lights it up, inhaling and tilting his head back a bit. “What do you think – first party and all?”

“I don’t know if it’s really my scene,” you admit softly, Satoru feels just a little bit of guilt for inviting you, but you’re quickly smiling at him. “I’m glad I came, though.”

“Yeah?” He exhales almost in relief when you nod, smiling a bit, your legs crossing, that cute little skirt slipping up your thighs.

“Good, though I’d suggest being very careful,” Suguru says, leaning forward and handing you the blunt. “I don’t want Sukuna to lose his shit, but also parties other than ours? Get really rowdy, especially Naoya’s.”

“Oh, is that the blonde guy? He’s…”

“A dick?” Satoru finishes, you blush now. “It’s okay, we all hate him too, just a hell of a player.”

“He was kind of lewd with his… he hit on me and…”

“What?” Satoru glares, Suguru clears his throat, standing and holding your hand in his, smiling.

“Want me to show you how?” You nod, realizing that you’re still holding the burning blunt in your fingers. “Put it to your lips and suck, just enough to fill your mouth – not so much that you feel sick, all right?”

“Yes,” with his help you wrap your lips around the blunt, inhaling just a bit, the smoke filling you too thick, you immediately cough. “Oh!”

“You all right?” Suguru and Satoru both touch your back carefully, you nod and pass it to Satoru, he takes a big drag of it, filling his lungs – even that is attractive honestly, your heart is racing just being so close to him.

“When did Naoya hit on you?” Satoru asks, passing the blunt back over to Suguru, blue eyes focusing on you.

“The other day, ‘nice ass new girl’ and he asked me to come over, got all offended because I didn’t respond… I was just too nervous and it made me…”

“Surprised Sukuna hasn’t beat him,” Suguru says, handing it to you with a frown.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“I’ll say something,” Satoru’s words make you inhale just a little too much of the blunt this time.

You’re coughing all delicate, even that’s cute, Satoru notices, Suguru curses then when his phone starts going off. “What is it, Sugu?”

“The same shit as always – speaking of the little shit, Naoya and Toji are fighting.”

“Again?”

“Yep, I gotta go break the shit up before they destroy my place.”

“Fuck,” Satoru tenses just a bit, seeing you still coughing a little. “Need me to help?”

“Nah it’s fine,” Suguru leans down a bit. “Are you all right here, love?”

“Yes,” you clear your throat and smile. “I don’t think I can handle smoking very well.”

“You took a hit like a champ,” he ruffles your hair affectionately, before doing the same to Satoru, making him glare. “I’ll see you two downstairs, but wait a bit – that shit is gonna get rowdy. Just let me know if you need anything, okay? Water, food, a ride – don’t be shy to ask me or Satoru.”

“Oh,” you blush at how thoughtful the two men are. “Thank you, Suguru.”

“Good luck with ‘em,” Satoru grumbles, Suguru walks out and shuts the door behind him quickly, you faintly hear just a bit of the rowdiness in the huge home Suguru has, muffled once more by the door.

You’re alone with Satoru Gojo.

“Are you all done, sweetheart?” He asks, holding the blunt to his lips and inhaling the thick plume of smoke, blowing it upward after holding it in.

“I think I suck at taking hits,” he smiles and shakes his head, a hand brushing back a little tendril of hair. “It’s very new to me.”

“You don’t suck at all, here you can… I can breathe the smoke in your mouth, it’s less that way? But only if you’re okay with it,” you blush furiously, and he notices.

“Wouldn’t that be a kiss?”

“It would be a kiss,” he whispers, leaning closer now, fingertips brushing against your cheek.

“I don’t want to kiss that glitter,” you glare a little and he laughs, shaking his head and slipping chapstick out of his pocket, swiping it on. “Hmm, I don’t know, I think I see a little bit.”

“I swear I don’t want their glitter on me,” he pauses, lips parted just a bit, taking your hand in his. “Wipe it all off real good, the slutty glitter.”

You giggle, the smoke and drinks rushing through your system, coming close and swiping the remaining sparkles off his lips, until you’re achingly close, your thigh almost over his on the bed. His hand brushes against it, swallowing nervously as you lean close to him, and the blunt is still in his hands, burning out slowly.

Should you tell him you’ve never kissed? What would he think, you in your early twenties and not a single one? A lot of it was Sukuna, but a lot of it was your shyness, the way you didn’t open up to people easily. Yet thinking of kissing those soft lips has butterflies rushing through your tummy, has you so dizzy as he looks into your eyes the way only Satoru Gojo can.

But could you remember that he’s not serious like that? Could you just kiss him to do it, when you’re a little hopeless romantic?

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want,” he murmurs then, hand slipping higher, thumb brushing little circles on your thigh, making you soaking wet – to the point it’s embarrassing. His gaze flickers down your body for a brief moment, sighing just a bit. “I didn’t invite you here to get anything like this from you, I get that you’re…”

“What, Satoru?”

He swallows again, leaning closer. “Innocent, sweet, off limits… I want you to have some fun but I don’t want you to think that’s what I asked you here for.”

“Why did you ask me?” You ask then, he sighs, nose almost brushing against yours.

“Call me very curious about you, who you are, what makes you tick… I am achingly curious about you, pretty little figure skater,” you blush even more, and he chuckles a bit. “Your cheeks are burning hot.”

“You think I’m…”

“Pretty? Yeah,” his lips press your cheek, feeling the warmth against them, and you ease even more onto his thigh, until he can almost feel your heat. “Who doesn’t think you’re pretty?”

“I um… wanna try the…”

“Shotgun?”

“It sounds like trouble,” he laughs softly, bringing the blunt to his lips and looking at you under those white lashes.

“I’ll inhale it and blow into your mouth, you keep it in as long as you can, but don’t make yourself dizzy,” you nod and he tugs you firmly on his lap now, your hands on his shoulders, breath caught at the proximity.

You’re on Satoru Gojo’s lap – you, top figure skater, achingly close against the top Hockey star.

But right now, you’re just a boy and a girl, and Satoru for all his experience looks very boyish right now, blushing himself as he inhales the smoke, and his hand entangles in your hair. You lean down, your lips against his for the first time, feeling the smoke blow into your mouth in a cloud, his hand snaking around to the small of your back as he blows.

Your first kiss is with Satoru Gojo.

He pulls back and you blow the smoke out, but his eyes are different – lidded and sultry, his lips parted just so, glossy from your own. He kisses you once more, tugging you even further on him, and your eyes flutter shut, rocking into the sensation of him, getting high off his kisses, when his tongue swipes in, you pause – pulling back and gasping.

“Too far?” He murmurs, setting the blunt on the ash tray near the bed, leaning just a bit as you cling to him, you fall just a bit further as he loses his balance, now on his back with you on him.

“I’m so sorry…” You whisper, he leans up on his elbows, hands on your thighs, taking them over. “I um… it wasn’t too far.”

“No, you sure?” He asks softly, you’re pushed to the center of the bed looking down at him, feeling just how hard he is.

You’ve seen things, read things, but you don’t know what’s real and what is for fiction or for show, suddenly so nervous, but you lean forward and kiss him again, intoxicated from his lips. The cherry chapstick seeps onto your tastebuds, when he flicks his tongue against yours again, moaning.

“I haven’t kissed,” you whisper, shutting your eyes in embarrassment, Satoru’s quiet. “I know, how haven’t I? It’s so… em-”

“It’s cute,” he cuts you off and answers softly, cupping your face with one hand as he sits up. “Hey, look at me.”

You do just that, and suddenly Satoru feels something he can’t place, some sort of protective feeling towards you – just as much as he wants to corrupt you, have you arch for him, ride his face. Another part wants to make sure you’re sweet like this forever, to not ruin that part of you, the little innocent one that’s looking at him so trusting then.

Was Satoru any good for you? Sukuna was right about one thing, he wasn’t serious about anything but hockey, but how can he not want to show you how to kiss? How can he not want to claim your lips first and drink your sighs, feel the gentle weight of you on his hips, your thighs pressing tightly – all those years of training he can feel underneath his fingertips.

“You’re precious,” he muses out loud, you giggle and shake your head. “Why’d you pick me, for the first kiss? Isn’t that a big deal to you?”

“Yeah it is,” your words are soft and breathy, he can feel your heat rushing against his cock, the one aching to slam inside you – but he can hold himself back, he has to hold it all down. “It feels right to kiss you, is that really odd to say? Am I sounding high already?”

He laughs softly, shaking his head and letting his lips brush against the tip of your nose. “No sweetheart, I think if you feel something you should be able to say it to me. Do you want me to show you how to kiss?”

“Could you?” You ask carefully, biting on your lip and drawing his attention to it. “I am afraid I won’t be very good at it like…”

“Yeah no need to compare yourself,” he already knows you’re beyond those girls – he should feel bad that he suddenly doesn’t care about the fun he had with them, maybe he will later.

Right now he just wants to kiss every inch of your cute little body – but for this very moment, he leaves it to your lips, pressing again and sighing, precum leaking and making his cock stick to his boxers. You exhale and lean into the kiss, rocking your hips and then pausing.

“I don’t know why they’re doing that,” he laughs softly, drunk off just the way you’re looking up at him.

“Dancing like earlier,” he whispers, hands coming to rest on them, his thumbs pressing against your pelvis and feeling you rock once more. “Does it feel good?”

“Too good,” you pause your hips with a shaky breath. Satoru looking at you like this, kissing you like this? How badly could it hurt you, if you fall the way you think you already are? “Um how do I… your tongue… I’ve only seen people do it.”

“Ah, you just move it along till we find a rhythm,” he kisses you again, tongue slipping in your mouth, tilting his head as his snowy lashes flutter shut, tickling your cheeks, they’re so long. “Try to move it.”

“Okay,” you tentatively move your tongue against his, matching the movements – his tongue is long compared to your little pink one, taking your mouth over like he’s drinking you. “Mmm…”

It's awkward at first when you try, going too fast, too slow, like a routing where you’re just learning the movements, but Satoru is patient, he doesn’t push it, pulling back and laughing softly, pressing kisses on the corners of your lips. He guides you, his tongue stroking yours in a slow, deliberate rhythm that takes your breath.

You’re mad that anyone ever kissed Satoru – and you know that’s toxic, you know it’s insanity when you both aren’t together, but you feel it anyway, as your hips start moving again, grinding against his cock which just keeps thickening. You can feel every inch of him through the thin fabric of your panties, already soaked, dripping onto his dark blue jeans.

Satoru groans into your mouth, his hands tightening on your hips bruisingly, pulling back to gasp for a breath, his pupils blown out. "Fuck…”

“Good? Bad?” He laughs and shakes his head.

“Little too good,” he winces when you move again, knowing he’s going to be aching when you leave, gonna have to jerk his cock to you.

Not like he hasn’t already.

Several times.

“You’re a natural at it,” he murmurs, kissing your chin, down your jaw, your lashes flutter shut when his lips touch the nape of your neck, making you cry out – this sexy sound that fucking ruins him. “You sound like that from a kiss on the neck?”

“Mnh,” you whine out again, his lips burning hot on your skin, like he’s kissing little memories all over them, your hands entangle in his white locks, soft and fluffy in your touch, his hand slipping up to grip a breast. “Ah!”

“You have no idea what you're doing to me sweetheart,” he’s damn near babbling, so lost in your natural sensuality, you don’t even realize the chokehold you have him in with every breath. The weight of your pretty tit feels perfect in his palm, thumb brushing a circle around your nipple as he teeth nip your ear. “Wonder how you sound if I kiss you here, and here, and here….”

Satoru’s lips trail down, your bare shoulder, his other hand slides up your back, underneath that top, his long, calloused fingers tracing patterns on your skin. You arch into his touch, your nipple so sensitive, you’re getting dizzy from him, head falling to the side for more of his hungry kisses, the flicks of his tongue, the scraping of his teeth.

“Satoru…”

“God,” he murmurs your name before he finds your lips, searing a kiss right on your mouth once more, until the both of you can’t breathe. “Do you want me to make you cum?”

“M-make me…”

“You don’t have to touch me,” he whispers, hands slipping back down to your thighs, eyeing the slick that’s dripping down them. “You’re soaked, baby.”

Baby.

Fuck.

You’re so dizzy now, it can’t just be Satoru – not when the room is starting to whir, and you gasp out, pausing with your nails pressing into his shoulders, Satoru looks up at you now, brows drawn together. “Hey, are you all right sweetheart?”

"Everything's... spinning a little,” you whisper, his hands are on your face instantly, his expression shifting from heady desire to worry immediately.

"Hey, look at me, I’m right here, yeah? Am I spinning too?”

You try to focus on his pretty blue eyes, but they even seem to be swirling. "Yeah, just... maybe the blunt? Or wine? I feel a little dizzy."

His thumb is stroking your cheek gently in little circles, as he takes a breath, willing his cock to go so he can focus on making sure that you’re all right. "Okay, that's enough for tonight, yeah?”

“Oh but I… wanted to…”

Satoru smirks now, easing you off his lap, little gossamer strands of slick pulling and dissolving from your panties to his cock where you’re connected. When you see the mess you made and cover your face, horrified, Satoru just looks at you curiously, brushing back your hair.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m so sorry, oh god,” he looks down at the wet patch you left and grins, a devious little grin then.

“That?” He uses his thumb to brush the slick you left, glistening with an embarrassing amount of your arousal.

“Don’t make it worse! It’s already – ah… hah you’re… um…” You can’t speak when he sucks your arousal off his fingertip, lips wrapping around it, moaning and shutting his eyes as his cheeks hollow.

He’s tasting your cunt right off his pants.

“Fuck,” he’s looking right at you again, lids heavy like he’s as fucked up as you are on him. “You’re so sweet.”

“I am?” He laughs again softly, nodding. “You tasted me?”

“Mhm.”

“Can I taste you?”

“Dear god,” you blush now as he groans, laying back on the bed for a moment and covering his eyes. “You can’t say that, looking all pretty and fucked out already, I’m trying to do the right thing.”

“I just thought if you taste me –”

“Come here,” he tugs you down for one more kiss, you land on his chest and he tilts your chin, exhaling, his breath tickling your lips. “Another time maybe, yeah? Driving me insane.”

“Am I?” You’re so fucking cute you clearly don’t know you have Satoru Gojo of all people about to cum in his damn pants. 

“Very,” his hand runs down your arm carefully. “Lemme take you home.”

“You’ve been drinking though?”

“I don’t drive,” you blink curiously and Satoru chuckles. “Driver, he takes me wherever. I can take you home and head to my place.”

“Is it out of the way?”

“Not at all, you’re staying with Sukuna, yeah?”

“For a bit, till I get my own place out here yeah,” he nods and soon he’s fixing your outfit so no one could tell you’d had it scrunched up, tugged down.

“Did you eat today?”

“Uh,” you frown when you all step into the cool air after leaving the party and saying good bye to Suguru. “I think I ate a string cheese.”

“What now?” He frowns at you. “And you trained?”

“I ate some cereal this morning!”

“No wonder you’re dizzy, your girl dinner shit,” you laugh at that, stepping into the back of the car with him. “You have to eat if you drink, and you really should eat with how much you train.”

“I kind of forgot,” you admit softly, fiddling with your skirt, you’re so close to him in the backseat, and you can feel those butterflies all over again. “So those girls… they’re not your girlfriends?”

“No sweetheart, and no deflecting from the fact I’m getting you food,” he leans forward and pulls aside the partition, telling him where to go.

“Do you um… date, Satoru?”

“I um,” he rubs the back of his neck now, sighing. “Not really, but it doesn’t mean I wouldn't, I just… haven’t.”

“Same I haven’t either,” he smiles softly at you. “Though I didn’t have fun quite like you.”

“That’s okay, no need to be a slut like me,” you giggle and the sound is so cute he thinks he’d like to hear it every damn day. “How about if you eat really good all week for me, we sneak a date next weekend? It will be a first for us both.”

“A date?” You’re a blushing mess now, his own heart is racing.

Satoru hasn’t gone on a date – he’s fucked so many women, he’s had drinks, gone to their place, had them over. Small talk, not just sex, aftercare of course, but he’s never just gone out. Where would he take you, what did you like? And most importantly, how the fuck could he not let Sukuna know?

He’s a walking dead man if he knew his niece had her cunt soaking Satoru’s clothed cock tonight.

“A date, I’d like it,” you frown a bit then. “But Uncle Kuna…”

“Yeah, we’ll have to be pretty discreet,” he mumbles, you two stop and he orders you both food out the window quickly. “I think he’ll kill me if he knows we take one.”

“He will,” you sigh and take the fry he hands you, nibbling it from his fingers. “Oh I never get fast food! Sukuna’s always making healthy, protein-filled blah blah.”

“That’s good but for the weed munchies? Greasy fries,” you’re giggle as he feeds you carefully, and Satoru doesn’t know how the fuck he’ll not take every bit of time you want to give him.

He wishes he felt bad that you’re Sukuna’s niece.

He really doesn’t though, not when you’re taking a little bite of a burger and he’s dabbing your lips, smirking at you. “You’re stoned, baby.”

“Shit, I am,” you sigh and shake your head, sipping on the coke now. “I don’t think I’ll smoke again.”

“That’s probably a good idea, especially if you’re not used to it,” he sips from the same drink, lips wrapping the straw, you swipe a little drop off his lips, making him pause. “Dangerous, sweetheart.”

“Dangerous, hmm?”

“Very,” he sets down the food and cups your face, kissing your lips, sighing. “Not much is stopping me from having you cum on my fingers tonight aside from you being dizzy.”

“Oh? Oh,” your mind is flitted with filthy images as the car stops.

“And Sukuna killing me, but I think it’d be worth it to hear you moan,” you bite down on your lower lip, earning his frustrated little moan, tugging it from the grip and kissing you once more. “Get some rest, yeah? No date if I catch you calling a string cheese a meal.”

“Yes, sir,” your words about fuck him up more, sneaking one little kiss and smiling. “Tonight was so much fun, Satoru, thank you.”

“Don’t thank me,” he shouldn’t be thanked when he wants to drag you right back on his lap. “Good night sweetheart.”

“Good night.”

You’re all giggling and blushing when you walk inside – just for Sukuna and Yuuji to be sitting at the dining room table, both looking at you. Yuuji, with worry, Sukuna is fucking scowling at you.

“Uh, Yuuji, you are here! Yay!”

“Yeah I flew in tonight,” you rush over and hug him, and get a little dizzy once more, he frowns, leaning back and looking at you. “Are you all right?” He whispers, as if Sukuna won’t hear.

“She’s drunk, are you drunk young lady!?”

“No sir!” You stiffen up and he snorts, rolling his ruby red eyes, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Are you lying, brat?”

“Yes sir,” you mumble now, shoulders falling just a bit. “I only had two glasses of wine, I’m just a lightweight.”

“Wine at that party?”

“How’d you know?”

“So you did!”

“Ugh,” you go over to the fridge and grab a cold water, downing it in greedy gulps, for your uncle to scoff. “What?”

“You’re stoned too?”

“How do you know!?” 

“Okay – I’m gonna sleep guys, aha,” Yuuji waves and rushes off, leaving you to the wolves, Sukuna walks right up to you, grabbing the water.

“Uncle Kuna…”

“Don’t Uncle Kuna me and bat your lashes,” his jaw tenses, filling your water with electrolyte powder. “I won’t have you hungover tomorrow.”

“Oh,” he shakes it up then hands it back, you take it gratefully, pouting and looking at the bottle. “I am sorry I went to the party, just I’ve never been to one, and I wanted so badly to see what it was all about.”

“And did you enjoy it?” You smile now, and he scowls again. “Let me guess – Satoru Gojo invited you.”

“No!” Sukuna raises a brow, making you roll your eyes. “I hung out with him and Suguru, but they were very polite.”

“Uh huh I’m sure, I swear if they harm a hair on your head–”

“I’m not a baby,” your words hit then, he frowns and looks away, making you sigh, shutting your eyes and hugging the big man tightly. “Uncle Kuna, I know you just care.”

“I have to take care of you kids,” you nod and swallow down emotions, as he pats your back. “You’re still a baby, you just think you’re grown.”

“Says such an ‘old wise man’.”

“I am.”

“You’re not much older than me,” he frowns and ruffles your hair.

“You smell like loud ass blueberry weed, I know that was fucking Choso, I’ll beat him too.”

“No you won’t,” you glare and he just tugs you tighter, squeezing you to death in his form of affection. “I won’t smoke again, but can I get credit for being twenty-two before I did?”

“No you can’t,” you’re unceremoniously shoved off him now. “Get your ass to bed, I will not let you sleep in, you have that new trainer.”

“All right, fine…” You kiss his cheek and he hides his smile, before he thinks of how he’ll kill Satoru tomorrow.

You lay in your bed and giggle, taking your phone out to see Satoru has texted you good night, you text him back with a little heart.

A date with Satoru Gojo.

The Satoru Gojo who couldn’t wait to get home, the moment he does he’s leaned against the door, he’s got his cock in his hand, spitting on it and moaning out, stroking it up and down in filthy motions, is picturing you. His thumb smears the precum drooling on his pretty blush tip, making him jerk, as texts from others go unnoticed, ignored – instead looking at the cute little heart you sent.

"Fuck, sweetheart," he whispers to nothing, his eyes squeezed shut, imagining if he did get to make you cum for the first time. God, imagine getting to have his mouth on you, to taste your cunt from the source, make you shake, tremble – fall apart on his tongue.

His grip tightens, his hips thrusting up into his slick palm, he’s embarrassingly close in a few strokes – whatever the fuck you’re doing to him, cum pulsing in white ropes, spilling down his palm, wondering if you’re touching yourself. You probably would need him to show you how, just that thought makes his cock twitch, has him whimpering as he lays his head back.

Fuck.

He wishes Sukuna’s threats would be some sort of deterrent, but as he’s looking you up like a batshit crazy psycho, not sleeping when he has practice in the morning, he knows he really doesn’t fucking care. When he’s jerking it again to your pretty little professional ice skater photos… Well, Satoru Gojo might just be obsessed with Sukuna’s niece.

He may be a walking – or jerking – dead man.

****

part two will be in a couple weeks, where things will get very complicated hehe, I'm going to have so much fun with hockey gojo! plz be respectful as this is a commission of the character/personality chosen in the comments <3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Right, pillows are filled with feathers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The rookie hero who debuts in the top ten!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The perfect weapons.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fine. So be it.

And that’s how the competition really begins.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dickhead has a dick piercing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They never do.

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

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

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

The mission comes before anything and everything else.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ready?” he murmurs, pushing himself upright before stepping aside slightly. You roll your eyes at him before pushing past him to make your way to the set. He flicks two fingers into the air to everyone in the dressing room before he turns to follow you. And, oh—oh now that’s unfair. The little heart cutout has his eyes drawn to it.

It’s cute, small enough to be inconspicuous, but enough for him to notice. And notice he does. His feathers bristle slightly before he has to calm them down. Memories of months ago filling his head. You pushed to the brick wall, your warm, wet walls clamping down on his fingers, on his dick—shit.

He flexes his arms in hopes to get the blood rushing to there instead of down there. And he already knows this is going to be a long day.

The director is absolutely delighted when he sees the two of you walk in, immediately shaking your hands and thanking the two of you for coming, since he knows how busy hero work is. He’s absolutely beaming when you start talking a bit more, but then remembers he has to actually put the two of you in positions for the shoot.

It starts out with Keigo sitting down, muscled thighs spread oud, and you have to perch on his lap. Of fucking course. This is a couples ad, after all. But that didn’t mean you weren’t hoping it wouldn’t be like this.

Still the shoot goes on, running through multiple poses. Sitting on his lap, standing in front of each other, standing in front of him while you were with your back turned toward the camera, one of his hands on you waist, which slid lower lower lower, until he was grabbing your ass—which the director absolutely loved to see.

‘Make it more sensual.’ ‘Good, good, look each other in the eyes like you mean in.’ ‘Oh, yes yes that! that’s it!’ ‘Put your hand on his chest—there we goo.’ ‘This is looking good guys.’ ‘Okay now I just need something that shows off the front. Ohhh that’s good!’

He was… energetic to say the least.

By the time the two of you are done with the shoot—having had solo shots done as well—it’s already late at night. Most of the people have packed up already with a promise to go to dinner together, while there are still a few people walking around.

You’re in your dressing room removing your makeup when the door opens. Looking up through the mirror you can see Hawks leaned against the door, crimson wings spread open slightly while his arms are over his chest. Still in just his underwear—same as you.

You’re not sure what happened next. One minute he was talking to you—taunting you, really—and the next the two of you are stumbling to the couch, fingers groping and touching everywhere your eyes can see.

You’re laying on your back, hair splayed out underneath you while Hawks stands over you, teeth in the wrapper of the rubber that he— “Where did you even get that from?” He walked in here in just his boxers, so unless he was hiding it in there you have no idea where he got it from.

“Sent a feather to retreat one from my wallet,” he chuckles before he drops the last piece of clothing, dick springing free and hitting his bellybutton. He’s already hard and leaking for you—a sight you cannot get used to—and the soft amber lighting of the mirror shows you the two barbells just under his tip.

Fuck, if that isn’t hot. Your thighs squeeze together while you feel yourself start to soak through your underwear, white fabric almost turning translucent, sticking to your folds that leaves nothing up to the imagination.

Rolling the condom on he positions himself between your legs, hand at his base tapping his tip on your clit over the fabric a few times. Each tap has your thighs jolt, almost clamping them shut before you feel multiple feathers on them, keeping you nice and spread for him.

“You always like to tease this much or— or are you trying to keep me here longer?” you ask him through your teeth, annoyance dripping from your voice. It just makes him chuckle, golden eyes trained on where you were dripping for him. “Hmm, just wanna get you nice ‘n wet for me, but seems like I don’t have to do much, do I?

You roll your eyes at the statement. It’s not like he’s wrong, though. There’s no hiding it, either, not with the way your spread out for him.

He finally takes your panties off, hooking his slender fingers into the waistband before he lets it snap against your skin once, having you jolt out, before he finally takes them off. He looks down at the way you’re spread open for him—wet slit spread open for him with the way his feathers are keeping you open, and he can’t help but pry your lips open ever further with his thumbs.

Your hole clenches around nothing, more arousal dripping out of you and down the couch. He’s just staring for a few seconds, pupils blown out at the sight, and it would’ve made you chuckle—taunt him about hypnotizing him with your pussy—if it wasn’t for him putting his thumb in your weeping hole.

“Fuck, Hawks. Wanted your cock,” you mewl out when he slowly moves his finger in and out of you, totally transfixed on the way you’re swallowing him whole. “Seriously, just g-get this over with.”

You grab the base of his cock, manicured fingers wrapping around the appendage, before you move it over your slit, head bumping your already-sensitive clit. That finally snaps him out of it, retreating his thumb from your snug walls with a pop!

Positioning him at your entrance, he finally moves his hips, pushing in slowly. The stretch is still overwhelming. Leaning down his teeth sink into the fabric of your bra before he pulls it down just enough to bunch under your tits. Your nipples pebble immediately after they get exposed to the cold air, which just makes him groan before wrapping his lips around one of them.

The dual sensation has you mewling out, hands finding purchase on his back, fingers skimming the base of his wings making them arch out, the red plumes the only thing you can see right now. He whimpers at the sensation, feathers bristling slightly before he folds them back in.

His cock throbs inside of you once he bottoms out, flushed head steadily dripping more pre. The feeling of the rubber is different, the layer between your walls and his flushed cock has you whining out. The little barbell also feels weird, not like last time.

“Stop clenching— fucking hell… like that,” his hand smacks your thigh, aa sharp sting running up your thigh and straight to your core, having the exact opposite reaction he wanted—walls clenching down on him further.

“Just move already,” you moan out when his tongue flicks over your nipple, still waiting for him to move. His hips start to move, pulling them back he thrusts forward again. A deep and brutal thrust that has you clawing at his back, leaving behind angry, red marks. The red that matches his wings.

Your hips move in tandem with his, skin slapping against skin, heavy balls hitting your ass while his mouth finally finds your other tit, peppering it with kisses and bites. “So good for me, love it when I fuck you, don’tcha?” he murmurs against your skin.

Your legs wrap around his waist before you flip the two of you around, his body hitting the couch with an ‘oomf’. Straddling him you grab him at the base before sinking down on his girth, weeping hole swallowing him greedily. “Hate you. Hate you so much.”

His hands come down to your hips, helping you move up and down his cock. His eyes are transfixed on where the two of you are connected, lips stretching around him. “Yeah, hate me? That why you’re bouncing on my cock right now?”

His thumb presses onto your clit while two of his feathers come down to play with your nipples—feather-soft brushes against your skin making you keen out into the air, not caring who could possibly walk by and hear the two of you.

“T-this doesn’t mean anything,” you moan out, ass slapping against his thick thighs with each fall of your hips. Your pace slowly dwindles down, hips not lifting as far up as they did before, which is a wrong move because Hawks tightens his hold onto your plush hips and starts moving you.

“C’mon now, birdie. Wanted to ride me so. ride. me.” he slams you down with each word, tip hitting your cervix every time he bottoms out. You throw your head back at the feeling, back arching to the point where your tits are basically smothering him. Not that he cares though, he just happily groans while licking off the sweat that’s beading down the valley of your breasts.

“You’re—shit—dirty,” is all you can get out while he’s bruising your walls, fingers digging into your flesh in a way that you know will leave behind marks the next day. Luckily your hero suit covers it, because otherwise people would definitely know what happened.

Your thighs are starting to strain, knot in your stomach coiling deeper and deeper until it finally snaps. Body trembling above his, walls constricting around him. “Shit— tryna milk me even when you know you can’t get filled?”

He holds your body against him while he plants his feet on the ground. Pummeling his hips into yours, he chases after his own orgasm. You’re whining out at the overstimulation, hips writhing above him trying to get away from the feeling, only for him to lock his arms around your waist, keeping you still for him.

With a groan he finally cums, rubber preventing you from feeling him fill you up. The only sounds filling the room is the two of you greedily gulping in some air, and his feathers twitching against his back—puffing up slightly with affection before they go down again.

That’s the way the two of you begin this… arrangement of sorts.

Instead of taunting about rankings, the two of you began doing… favors for each other. He ate you out after you shot up the rankings again, and you sucked him off when he was still the number two—above your ranking—the next year.

You can still remember the way he was teasing you about sounding hoarse during patrol. Your throat was constricting around him a mere ten minutes before you had to go out, so there was no time to even look for something to soothe your throat.

And then you had the times where he came over just to take his frustrations out on you, hips pummeling into your ass from behind, grunting about how overworked the two of you were. The Commission still on both your asses, giving you assignment after assignment.

Your ass was red and swollen by the time he was done, puffy cunt absolutely abused while he watched his cum drip out of you only for him to lick it out of there mere seconds later.

Sometimes he came inside of you, other times he pulled out just in time, painting your skin with ropes of white, rubber having been ditched after your third time together. You were whining about not being able to feel him, telling him that you were on the pill so he couldn’t get you pregnant anyway—thank you Commission for doing something good for once.

Which is leads you to today, you’re laid out on a bed. Not the small beds the two of you had in the safehouses, nor the couches backstage somewhere or the rough bricks scratching against your back whenever the two of you find yourselves outside again. No this is Hawks’ bed, massive, just to comfortably fit his wings onto.

He’s pounding into your poor, overstimulated pussy. His hips coming down to grind against you before he pulls back and slams back in. The headboard is hit hit hitting the wall behind you, luckily for the two of you he lives in the penthouse, so there will be no noise complaints.

“Fucking hate them,” he grunts while sweat is beading down his temple, wings spread out behind him in a brilliant, crimson arc. Your fingers are clawing at his biceps while he continues his rant. “No, Hawks, it isn’t enough. Nothing you ever do is enough. We’ll just keep on sending you on missions, because that’s why you’re here. To be a hero means to sacrifice,” he mocks one of the handlers.

It’s not often that he reaches out to you, much less when he actually calls you over. Hell, this has been the first time you were even in his apartment, and you had no time to actually admire the place before he had you pinned to the wall already.

Sinking to his knees he muttered out a, need this. need this pussy to suffocate me. before he all but yanked your shorts and panties down in one, swift movement. His lips immediately latched onto your sensitive nub, making your hand fly to his hair while your head thunked! onto the wall behind you.

“Fucking hell, what’s gotten into you?” you asked him through a moan. While he’s eaten you out before, he was never this desperate to get his hands—or in this case lips—on you. It was always filled with teasing and taunting remarks. But this time he just groaned into your mound like it was the answer to all of his questions. “Seriously, Hawks… what happened?”

You’re pulling on his hair trying to get him to at least acknowledge you, but all it did was make him whimper out into your slit while his wings shuddered behind him. Well guess you found out something new about him.

“Commission was on my ass,” he mumbles through licks, his tongue flitting over your clit while one of his hand is groping your ass like it was his personal stress-ball. “Fuck you taste so sweet.”

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, hips starting to grind down onto his face while he plunged his tongue inside of you, wiggling the muscle around into your tight walls. “Want me t-to talk about it?” you breathed out, swinging one leg over his shoulder—careful not to pin his wing to his back—to give him more access to your slit, which he happily takes, pressing his mouth further into your pussy.

“Jus’ need you right now,” he grunted out, continuing to eat you out. It was messy, spit dribbling past the corners of his mouth while the lower part of his face was shiny with your arousal. “Pussy loves me, doesn’t she?”

You couldn’t answer that, too busy trying to focus on your upcoming orgasm to even think of responding to him talking to your pussy like it was alive instead of just an organ. Gripping his hair even tighter you began gyrating your hips down onto his face which he happily let you, groaning out while he angled his face so his nose would nudge your clit with each roll of your hips.

Once you came on his face—thighs trembling, tummy clenching, moans flowing free out of you—he dragged you to the bed where he took no time to slide into you. You’re still not used to the way he stretches you out, despite it having been years since you first began fucking him.

He’d filled you up once already while you’ve cum three times, weeping pussy sensitive to each roll of his hips, and you can feel your stomach starting to tighten once more.

“Haven’t I sacrificed enough already?” He’s still talking, still asking rhetorical questions that you could answer—that you would answer if he wasn’t pounding you into oblivion—but all you can do is moan out at him. “D-did everything for them.”

Nodding your head you run your hand through his hair, trying to soothe him slightly, but you just tighten your grip once he finds that spongy spot inside of you again, bullying it when he realises he’s found your g-spot once again.

“F-fuck, Hawks. Wait. Feels weird,” you’re trying to get him to slow down, to get that weird feeling building up in your lower stomach to go away, only for him to continue babbling about the Commission and how they ruined his life. If you weren’t so busy you’d give your two cents on it, but you can’t. Legs starting to tremble around his waist while your toes curl.

He presses his thumb to your clit, and that does it. Your orgasm crashes into you like a lighting strike. Clear liquid gushing out of you and onto Hawks’ abs, thighs, balls and bedsheets. Your hands tighten in the sheets beside you while you sob out his name. “Fuck, Keigo— Kei. Pleasepleaseplease. Love you— shit.”

That makes him still. Just completely still against you. You don’t notice, though, too busy riding out your orgasm to even see the way his eyes are wide open, mouth agape. The pleasure shooting through you has you crying, tears rolling down your cheeks and disappearing into the pillows below you.

“What did you just say?” His voice is so small, unlike his normal, cocky self that you finally open your eyes. Blinking a few times you note the way he’s hunched over you right now, a few feathers suspended in the air while his golden eyes look at you like you’re made of glass. He says your name—not birdie, not dove, not your hero name, just your actual name. The one you haven’t heard in years.

“Say it again,” he breathes out, almost begging you. “Please.”

Gulping you look at those golden eyes you’ve seen your entire life, the ones that always meant that you were safe. The ones you’ve hoped to see beside you every day, but got taken away from you when you were a mere seventeen years old.

“I love you,” you murmur, trying to gauge his reaction. The next second his mouth crashed onto yours, plump lips groaning out after he finally tasted you. It’s been ten years. Ten years since the two of you last kissed. You two hadn’t kissed even once after debuting, despite the two of you having been fuck-buddies for years.

It’s filled with warmth and lust, his tongue clashing against yours while you drink up all of his sounds. The wings on his back unfurl and furl back in, almost as if he has no control over what’s happening to them.

“Love you, love you, love you,” he mumbles out against your lips while slowly starting to trust back inside again. The overstimulation has you keening out, but you just wrap your legs further around his waist while pulling him back in. “Mine, all mine.”

His pace picks up, hips snapping against yours once more. One of his hands gropes your breast while the other squeezes your waist, pulling you down to meet every thrust.

Your body is completely pliant against his, bones feeling like jelly with the way he’s made you cum multiple times already. The last sunrays catch your eyes, and it has him gasping out. You look like an angel beneath him—his angel.

He spills inside you not soon after, a second load filling you up. And you coax him through it, hands running through his hair while his lips latch onto your throat.

You thought he’d be done now, but you can feel him twitch inside of you. “Are you still hard?” you whisper, incredulous.

Keigo merely smiles down at you before he pulls out of you, his thick seed immediately bubbling out of you. He gives you no time to even realise what’s going on, picking you up into his arms and setting you down in front of the big window that overlooks the city.

Your body tilts forward, tits pressing against the cool glass while you turn your head to the side to look at the man behind you. “What are you doing?”

“Gonna show everyone you’re mine,” he growls before nudging your knees apart and slips back inside. Your mouth falls open when he starts moving again, the cool glass a stark contrast to your overheating body.

The streets below are still busy, and if someone were to look up they would be able to see the number two absolutely railing the number three hero. Your nipples brush against the smooth surface, adding all the more pleasure to your core.

Inner thighs are slick with a mixture of your and his cum, and you can see him in the reflection of the glass. The crimson almost getting swallowed by the burnt-sienna of the sky outside, but his eyes are transfixed on you. He chuckles when he feels you clench down onto him, walls fluttering uselessly around him. “You like the thought of people seeing you like this?” he murmurs into your ear, breath warm against the shell.

Your hips move back against him, knees weak with the way he knocks you forward with each thrust. Wrapping his arm around you, he lifts you up, feet dangling uselessly above the ground. You gasp out at that—at him using your body like you were merely a doll he could just pick up whenever he wanted.

“Shit— Keigo,” you whine out his name, forehead thumping against the glass, eyes fluttering close when that piercing passes over your sweet-spot with each pass of his hips. Nails leaving angry indents into his forearm.

“I know, dove. I know,” he murmurs against your cheek, he pounds into you from behind like a man possessed. “Let go for me. Show me how much you want me.”

Your eyes roll to the back of your skull, mouth opening in a broken moan that sounds so unlike you. White-hot pleasure shoots through your core, whitening out your vision for what feels like an eternity.

Keigo is not far behind, hips snapping against your ass like a punctuation. “S-shit, trying to milk me for all I’m worth.”

He spills into you for the last time that night. Hips ceasing their ministrations completely, his sweaty chest pressed flush against your back. Letting your head loll back against his shoulder you look at him, tired eyes blinking over his form.

He’s flushed from his face down all the way to his chest. Sweat beads down his body and he’s panting against your neck. His hair is plastered to his forehead, eyes blown out wide.

Moving the two of you back to the bed, he carefully lays you down before walking away, only to return with a washcloth seconds later. He carefully opens your thighs for him and begins to clean you up. You trash slightly at the sensation. “I know, dovey. Will be over soon.”

He throws the washcloth somewhere to the ground, and it lands with a wet schlap! somewhere in the corner of his bedroom—something you’ll probably reprimand him for when you have more energy, but right now you couldn’t care less.

Shuffling into the bed, he pulls you to his chest. One of his wings wraps itself around you—just like old times. It takes you right back to that too-small bed where the two of you would talk into the late hours of the night.

Feathers are twitching against your skin as if trying to kiss your entire body. It makes you relax, body sinking more into his chest while he traces small shapes in your skin.

“That was… a lot,” you mumble out, not quite sure if you should even address it, but you can’t stay silent any longer. The way he said your name, told you he loved you, gave you your old nickname back. It was, quite frankly, a lot. And even if that all didn’t happen, he also made you squirt for the first time. The memory has you flushing bright red.

“Mhmm, nothing I said was untrue, though,” he mumbles out into your hair, pressing his lips feather-soft against the crown of your head. It has you closing your eyes for a few seconds before opening them again.

“Why did you even leave in the first place, Kei?” It’s been bothering you ever since he walked out of that room. The way he was so fidgety, no longer wanting anything to do with you when the two of you only had a few more months before the debut. A few more months and the two of you could’ve just stopped sneaking around.

You can feel him lean back a little, head angled down before his fingers find you chin and nudges your head up so he can look at you. “What are you talking about, dove? You’re the one who told me that we couldn’t be together.”

Furrowing your brows you look at the golden eyes you’ve known your whole life. Shifting slightly—and hissing when you accidentally rub yourself against his thigh—you sit up a little, just enough to look at him.

“No, no. You came into my room telling me it couldn’t work any longer,” you start, eyes darting around his face, confusion settling over you. You can still remember that night vividly, and it was him who broke it off with you. “Said you didn’t have feelings for me and then just… walked out.”

“Now why would I do that when I’ve been in love with you for all of my life?” He asks you, bushy brows furrowed together. There’s a slight crease between them, and you want to rub it away, but you’re still racking your brain.

He continues, voice lower now, more sad, “I came back from that horribly long assignment and you were waiting for me on my bed. At first you were just… quiet. Then you told me that it was a mistake and that it was just the proximity that had made you kiss me.”

You chuckle at that, hollow and sad all at once. “Just the proximity? Keigo I’ve liked you ever since I realised what it meant to have a crush on someone.”

He just purses his lips at that, not moving an inch. The feathers that are still on your back twitch a few times, a shudder going through them that he doesn’t bother to stop.

“Then why would you—” he trails off, golden eyes almost bulging out of his skull with realisation. “The Commission.”

“Wait, what?” You’re confused now. What does the Commission have to do with any of this? It was just you two that knew about everything, the Commission has never even known that you and Keigo even knew each other outside of any assignments.

“Think about it, dove. You’re saying it was me who broke it of, I’m saying it was you—”

“I never broke up with you. God I was so heartbroken.”

“—and neither of us is saying we did that. Hell, we’re both saying we wanted to be together. So what else could it have been? You know how the Commission is, they could get their hands on any quirk user, and I would bet there’s someone who could shapeshift, or something like that.”

You’re still looking at him, mind racing now. You honestly can’t believe neither of you thought about this earlier, but then again the two of you didn’t really talk. Just played stupid games to be close to each other.

“The feather,” you finally breathe out, fingers ghosting over your ribs where he always put the small feather. The one you’ve been missing on your skin for years. “It didn’t float when I threw it back at you. It just… fell to the floor. And ‘you’ picked it up. Picked it up.”

How could you have missed it—that small detail that would tell you something was wrong. Sure he was acting strange, not letting you touch him and just being twitchy in general, but his feathers were the dead giveaway. They never could quite hide everything he wanted to, despite having been trained for years.

How did it never occur to you that he had telepathic feathers and he picked it off the floor rather than just bringing it toward himself.

“You gave that feather back,” he murmurs, his own thumb coming to your ribs. Then a small, sad chuckle falls from his lips. “Even after all the training we’ve had, we still got outsmarted by the suits. Purely because we couldn’t see past our emotions.”

Tears spring to your eyes, because it’s true, isn’t it? You let the emotions get the better of you, throwing out the small feather that could have solved everything. What would’ve happened if you never threw it back at ‘him’ in that fit of anger? Would the two of you still have been best friends? More than best friends? Or would he not have believed you?

“How did they even find out about it?” you whisper. His thumb comes up and wipes away some of the tears that are gathering on your waterline, the action so soft compared to how he used your body mere minutes ago. “We’ve never gotten caught in twelve years.”

“Must’ve been the supply closet,” he answers, pulling you back to lay on his chest. “Maybe they realised that us walking back took longer than needed.”

And how stupid could the two of you have been? Of course they would know how long it takes for the two of you to walk back—especially considering Keigo had left before you and went out of the supply closet after you.

That’s the exact thing the two of you were trained on noticing, patterns and behaviours. Yet it didn’t occur in your minds that they would be using it as well. Didn’t think about much but him at that moment, to be completely honest.

“Can’t believe secret kisses in a supply closet is what has gotten us caught,” you groan out into his chest, the words slightly muffled. And he laughs at that, a small breath through his nose that rattles his chest. “At least you were my first everything.”

“Wait what?” He looks down at you, looks at the way you’re burrowing yourself further into his chest, trying to find his warmth. His wing instinctively tightens around you, feathers whispering against your skin from where they’re puffing up slightly. “You mean to tell me that time on the rooftop was your first time, too?”

You hum slightly, a small, drowsy thing that comes deep from your throat. His words still have to catch up with your brain, but when they finally register your head snaps up. “What do you mean, too?”

“I never fucked anyone beside you,” he says, not even a tremble can be found in his voice. Looking at him for a little while longer, you let a small chuckle escape your lips. He never fucked anyone else?

“Then why do you have a piercing there?” Your leg shifts slightly over him, making him groan out, wing tightening a fraction. He grabs your leg with one hand, halting your movement, because he can already feel blood rush south again—way too sensitive from the multiple rounds the two of you had earlier.

“Got it so I could jerk off faster—why are you laughing, you out of all people should know that we don’t get any time to get any release. Especially with the way the Commission keeps throwing more and more missions at us.”

“It’s just… I thought you had fucked half the population here in Fukuoka City, and here you are telling me you were a virgin and just got a dick piercing to make yourself more sensitive?”

It’s ridiculous, honestly. And everything makes sense—the way he would never respond to your taunts about other girls, just like you wouldn’t respond to any of his taunts since you wouldn’t just tell him he was the one to take your virginity.

“Guess we have a lot of catching up to do, love.” There it is again, that nickname. Not a slip of the tongue as you thought it was ten years ago. He really did call you ‘love’ back then.

Your eyes close against your will, body finally going boneless against him. “Mhmm, but first we should go to sleep.”

“I don’t care what we do as long as I have you beside me,” he murmurs out against your skin, lips brushing your temple—feather-light, almost like it was never there to begin with.

You don’t know what’ll happen tomorrow. All you know is that you got the boy you loved back and that this time nothing will come between the two of you.

©CursedKisss do not copy, steal, plagiarize, or feed my works into AI. I will send Shigaraki after you if you do.

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

MHA tags: @mousedit @pukicats @yorikae

“and you are here again because..?” you hummed, stepping through the warped entrance of the abandoned inn where the special grade cursed object was rumored to be hidden, floorboards creaking softly beneath your feet.

behind you, gojo followed without a shred of caution, hands tucked behind his head like some sort of casual stroll instead of a mission for grade one and above.

he chuckled. “why can’t i? i just wanna spend time with my favorite girl.” his voice tilted into a teasing sing-song. “don’t act like you hate it~”

you stopped and turned to face him.

“im not acting. and since you’re here,” you began flatly, crossing your arms, “why don’t you ... go find whatever it is we’re looking for.”

he gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. “i came all this way and yet you decide to dismiss me? i guess they were right…” he sighed, shaking his head. “you truly are a cruel woman.”

your eyes widened and you slapped his chest. “what? whose they?!”

he let out that stupid familiar giggle of his before turning and dashing off in the opposite direction, disappearing down the dark hallway.

“stupid idiot…” you huffed under your breath.

you wandered through the inn for a while, your flashlight sweeping slowly across warped walls and half opened doors as the old hallways creaked with every careful step.

the place smelled like dust and rotting wood, the kind of quiet that made every little noise feel louder than it should be.

you walked endlessly, the hours blurring together as every room you entered stood just as the last—dusty, abandoned, and hollow.

and despite knowing satoru was somewhere nearby, you couldn’t help the small tension settling in your shoulders.

“satoru?” you called once, mostly out of habit.

no response.

rolling your eyes, you continued down the hall, pushing another door open with your foot and flashing the light around the empty room before stepping back into the corridor—only for a voice to suddenly appear right behind you.

“boo.”

you yelped. the sound tore out of you before you could stop it, your flashlight jerking wildly as you spun around to find gojo standing there, already laughing.

god you just wanted to slap that infuriating smirk off his face. or kiss it off. you weren’t exactly sure of anything whenever it came to him…

“satoru!” you snapped, slapping his chest again, warmth spreading in your face from embarrassment. your punches and hits always landed easily, because, for reasons you’d never quite questioned, satoru gojo never kept his infinity up around you.

you dusted yourself off, ignoring the crippling wave of embarrassment that washed over you. “have you seen anything?”

even behind the fabric of his blindfold, it felt like his gaze hadn’t left you. it was always so heavy, unwavering, like he could you and pin you in place with his eyes alone if he really wanted to.

“nope!”

“gosh.. you are seriously useless.” you muttered, walking toward one of the last rooms in the hallway. one where the cursed energy felt strongest.

“well you could try to be nicer to me instead of mouthing off to me all the time, maybe i’d be nicer to you.” he pouted, following right behind you.

“really? be nice? how old are you again???”

in the center of the room sat an old incense box, the wood darkened with age and wrapped loosely in forgotten talismans. you knelt down beside it while gojo leaned against the doorway behind you.

“seriously…?” you murmured, opening the box. a faint pink mist drifted upward, slow and almost pretty in the dim light.

“this is our cursed object? they couldn’t have sent one of the second years? ridiculous.”

the scent that followed was surprisingly sweet and warm, something soft and calming that made you pause for a second longer than you meant to.

you took a breath.

“uh..” gojo spoke suddenly from the doorway, his voice losing some of its usual laziness. “i don't think you should go around sniffing random cursed objects princess.”

you huffed, rolling your eyes. “whatever.. besides, what did i tell you about the pet names?”

“well, i think they're cute.” he hummed, taking the box from your hands, slender, cool fingers brushing briefly against yours before he snapped the box shut with a quiet thud. the sudden shift in his energy left you slightly confused, but he only gave you a reassuring smile like nothing had happened.

“i’ll call ijichi and we’ll be on our way, yeah?”

you nodded slowly, thinking nothing of it.

the two of you waited outside the inn with your arms crossed against the cool night air while gojo paced in loose circles nearby, talking loudly enough into the phone that you could hear half the conversation even from where you stood.

when he finally finished, he stuffed the cursed object into his pocket.

“good news!” he announced. “ijichi said it’ll be handled. bad news is he thinks it’s some weird—”

oh.

satoru's voice softened slightly. “hey.. you okay?”

you blinked at him slowly.

there was a warmth spreading in your stomach that wasn’t there before, a heavy, unfamiliar sensation making your thoughts feel a little slower, a little foggier around the edges. you pushed yourself straighter against the street pole, trying to ignore how your face felt slightly warmer than it should.

especially around gojo out of all people.

“m’fine…” voice small in a way he’d never heard before.

that’s when he noticed it properly.

you, who never slipped. you, who never needed anything from everybody, especially not from him. the weariness and hesitance in your eyes.

“you don’t look very okay..”

he frowned slightly, stepping closer, his hand rested lightly on your arm as he spoke. “you sure? you look sick. if you want i can get us to shoko and—”

and the warmth in your stomach sharpened, more intense than before.

“—no!” you blurted suddenly, louder than you meant to.

gojo blinked.

“sorry,” you said quickly, already turning away from him. “no. i- i’m gonna go home, you can wrap this up.” you huffed, breath more shaky and worn out than you’d like it to be.

the night air clung to your skin, biting and sharp, a stark contrast to the warmth still lingering in your body. the moment hung quiet, too quiet, before gojo shifted closer, spinning you back around gently.

his free hand lifted, cool fingers brushing your cheek as he gently angled your face toward him. the chill of his touch seeped into your warmth, but this time there was nothing casual about it. his movements slowed, more deliberate as he studied you.

his thumb hovered near your cheekbone, lightly turning your face side to side checking for any physical markings as for what was making you act so strange.

“how can you even go home like this? i'm serious, let me.” he muttered under his breath, the usual teasing edge in his voice replaced with worry.

a soft whine slipped from your lips, more reflex than intentional, and you immediately swatted his hand away—half protest, half instinct—breaking the contact as you huffed in quiet defiance.

“i’m serious too.” annoyance bubbled in your chest, turning on your heel and storming off into the night, leaving behind a very confused satoru.

+ ❤︎ ℘

as soon as you got home, you showered.

once.

then twice.

letting the cold water run over your skin until your fingers went slightly numb and your breathing felt slower under the steady hiss of the faucet. the warmth in your stomach didn’t leave. it only sat there stubbornly, dull and heavy like something pressing quietly beneath your thoughts.

you turned the water colder, leaning your forehead briefly against the tiled wall, trying to focus on anything else — the sound of water hitting the floor, the faint echo of your own breathing in the empty bathroom — but every time you closed your eyes you kept remembering the way he had touched your arm earlier, light and warm and far too distracting to shake off.

fuck.

it felt like your body couldn’t settle no matter what you tried, you changed into the lightest, thinnest clothes you had, hoping the strange heat under your skin would ease even a little bit.

but it didn’t.

satoru had been pacing the emptied out office ever since you went home, anxiety slowly gnawing at the back of his mind. it had been hours—no call, no text, nothing at all—and even though he told himself you were probably just resting.

the silence felt wrong.

so when his phone finally lit up with your name and his favorite photo of the two of you: where you had fallen asleep and slumped against his shoulder on the train back home, cheek squishing against his chest — his heart fluttered with a pang of hope before he answered.

“hey, i was just thinking of you,” he said when he picked up, voice instantly softening. “did you get home safely?”

he frowned when you didn’t answer right away. “uh, helloooo?”

on the other end of the line, you were clutching your phone tightly, his voice alone making the strange warmth in your chest feel sharper, harder to ignore.

“satoru—” you called, practically moaning out his name, breath uneven. body burning in embarrassment and taut with need as you buried your face into the arm of your couch, the scratchy fabric pressing against your sweaty forehead.

“i’ve tried everything. my fingers, my fucking shower head, my vibrator–” you whined, voice strained as you couldn’t stop yourself from blubbering everything out to him.

“i just— s’no use.” you wailed in defeat. the way your top brushed against your overly sensitive nipples each time you moved, the way your panties rubbed against your throbbing clit — it was all so overbearing, you couldn’t even think properly.

poor satoru couldn’t help but feel like a pervert.

the image of your legs spread, cunt swollen and fluttering around nothing, desperate to relieve the ache... just front and center in his mind, making his chest flutter. and well..

his dick throb in his trousers.

“hey, hey,” he said quickly, doing his best to ignore the slow strain against fabric. “it’s alright. what do you need me to do?”

“can you come over? please.”

the words were quiet, but they carried a weight he understood immediately.

not just any “come over.”

that kind of “come over.”

“be there in ten.”

“no.” you said immediately, voice stubborn and a little whiny. “five.”

he huffed quietly on the other end of the line.

“…fine. i’ll be there in three.”

you could’ve swore you heard the man smirking as he spoke.

truthfully, satoru wasn’t sure he had ever moved this fast in his life. he made a quick stop at a 24 hour convenience store on the way to yours.

if whatever this shit was had you asking for his help and using your manners???? it had to have been serious.

he avoided eye contact with the elderly lady at the register while she scanned his items, a faint beep cutting through the silence.

his items of choice?

a container of your favorite flavored mochi’s.

for you! post sex..

and a box of xl condoms.

also.. for you.. during sex.. if the two of you were to have sex that is.

soon enough, satoru was standing at your front door in just about two minutes, thanks to his inhuman abilities of course.

he was also a man who, annoyingly enough, did stick to his word.

he knocked once.

no answer.

he was about to knock again when the door suddenly swung open, revealing you standing there. a soft sheen of sweat on your skin, eyebrows knitted together in irritation—or arousal—lips stubbornly pouting while your body was enveloped by one of his worn out shirts with some faded digimon print on it—the same one he had left at your house last time he was there.

worn because you likely wanted to hide the fact you only had panties on under there.

“you said three minutes,” you said, frowning up at him

“yes. and i got here in two princess.” his tone was light, but his gaze dipped briefly below your chest, taking in the scene in front of him.

normally, his pet names pissed you off. so what the hell was this? why were you getting lightheaded??

“…is that my shirt?” he hummed, unable to fully hide the amusement threading through his voice, a grin already tugging at his lips, “—where exactly are your pants?”

you let out a groan, already regretting calling him in the first place. “it’s too hot for anything else.” you muttered, pulling the fabric of the shirt down a little.

as if that would make a difference…

you glanced down at the bag in his hand, raising an eyebrow, ignoring the way your pussy throbbed maddeningly at the sight and faint smell of him.

he noticed the shift.

of course he did.

his head tilted just slightly, quietly piecing together a thought he didn’t bother to say out loud, the corner of his mouth tugging up in quiet amusement.

“it’s stuff for you, don’t worry about it,” he spoke with a small, reassuring smile.

he stepped inside fully, the door clicking shut behind him as he locked it without a second thought.

“you’re gonna listen to me for a bit, yeah?”

his voice was light. easy. infuriatingly so.

his hand came up anyway, despite the fact you usually punched him if he tried, tilting your chin just enough to make sure you were looking at him.

his touch softened, less insistent now, more reassuring than anything.

“don’t get shy on me now,” he murmured, voice dipping just enough to make your breath catch.. “what is it you want?”

your breath hitched. “i… i wanna see you. please.” you mewled, embarrassed at how such a low level curse made your libido and sex drive skyrocket – to a point beyond your control.

he caught on right away.

slowly, he lifted his blindfold and unraveled it, the fabric falling away in one smooth motion. his blue eyes were clearer now without the barrier, sharp but unusually soft when they settled on you, the loose strands of his hair framing his face in a way that made your chest tighten.

you didn’t think about what was to come next. couldn’t, really.

the words died somewhere between your thoughts and your tongue, and before your mind caught up, you grabbed him by the collar, pulling him closer on pure instinct, locking your lips with his in a bruising kiss.

one large hand shot up instinctively, steadying you, while his eyes fluttered shut for a split second. he leaned down, meeting your eager lips.

he caught himself with ease, grip on you firm but controlled. satoru had always been ready for anything… just not that.

as you clung to his jacket, satoru tossed the bag aside—quick, almost careless in its urgency.

with his blindfold gone, his sharp gaze met yours without anything in the way. one hand settled on your hip, firm enough to steady you, but gentle in its hold—quietly letting you take the lead, giving you exactly what you needed.

you pushed him back until the couch hit the back of his knees, forcing him to drop down onto it with a soft thud, instantly following him down, settling on top of him.

a soft grunt slipped from him as you crashed into him, your whole body shuddering before you buried your face into the crook of his neck, trying to regain some form of self control.

you let out an embarrassingly loud moan as you slotted yourself right over his clothed cock, warmth seeping through the point of contact and spreading throughout your body.

“fuck… m'sorry toru,” you groaned, your face burning with embarrassment, frustration, and something you couldn’t name.

his breath hitched. toru…? well that was new.

he blinked, caught off guard, a grin threatening to slip past his composure. fingers tightening just enough on your hip, not to control, just… to keep you upright.

“…toru, huh?” his voice was low, teasing, but there was something raw beneath it, something he barely recognized in himself.

his smile dropped slightly when you didn’t indulge in his teasing.

“hey… look at me,” he hummed, gently tilting your head up, his finger resting lightly under your chin as he guided your face toward his. “don’t apologize, okay? aphrodisiacs aren’t that bad… you just need a bit of help is all.”

his hands settled at your waist to steady you, thumb brushing lightly against your sides as he met your gaze.

your eyes kept avoiding his, unable to settle. he noticed, gently tilting your chin up once more to meet him halfway.

“nuh uh—eyes on me, princess,” he murmured. “i’ll only do anything you want,” he hummed, booping your nose, making you blink abruptly.

“now tell me,” his teasing tone returned, though his gaze remained attentive. “this you or that cursed thing talkin'?”

you scanned his face rapidly, heat pooling in your stomach, growing heavier the closer he leaned. his large hands molded against your curves with ease, and his scent—soft, yet intoxicating—made it impossible to think straight.

“i—” you tried, but the word caught uselessly in your throat.

he cocked his head to the side, gaze sharp behind the faintest smirk. “don’t tell me you’ve gone all shy on me...” he murmured, his thumb pressing soft, steady strokes against your hip. “you were just mouthing off to me a couple of seconds ago.”

your grip on his shirt tightened immediately.

“yes—fuck, it’s me talking, satoru!”

his gaze lingered on you, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “yeah… i know,” he murmured softly. “that’s my girl. we’ll go at your pace.”

you groaned, still visibly annoyed, though the edge in your voice gave you away. “you don't need to coddle me satoru…” you muttered, pout lingering.

he let out a quiet breath, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “sorry for trying to play nice,” he murmured, though there was no real bite to it. “don’t wanna break you sweetheart... now c’mere.”

his hand slipped to the back of your head, steadying you as he kissed you first. slow, deliberate, giving you time to change your mind.

a chance to back out.

you let out a sigh as his lips met yours again, hands gripping at his jacket, entire body on fire as your hips moved on their own, gently grinding against him.

a purr of delight rumbled inside his throat as your hands hiked up underneath his shirt, tongues brushing against each other in tandem. you moaned into his mouth as his hands found your hips, rolling you against him, firmer than you had been doing — an attempt to ease the raging pool of arousal in you.

and only after a long, quiet moment did he pull back just enough to breathe, eventually (and regrettably) pulling from your lips, a string of saliva bridging the gap between you two. his forehead still hovered near yours, close enough to feel every shallow inhale you took.

“please… toru,” you whispered, voice small, urgent, almost trembling. “i need it…” grinding down on him once more, a spark of warmth building up and throughout your nerves.

he let out a quiet, breathy chuckle, tilting his head at you.

“mouth or fingers then?”

…

“w-what?”

you fumbled over your words, the need coiling tight in your chest, twisting sharper with every second he kept teasing.

if anything, it only made you wetter.

“w-w-what?” he echoed, a quiet laugh slipping out. “you heard me. mouth or fingers—pick.”

“now’s not the time to be fucking around, you dickhead,” you bit out, your voice tighter than you meant it to be.

you hated it—hated how he was still trying to be playful when you felt like you were falling apart inside.

he always knew exactly which buttons to push.

and somehow, you always reacted anyway.

“fucking around? i just want to be thorough.” his voice low but not unkind.

…

“h-hands…” you muttered, barely getting the word out, eyes refusing to meet his.

he let out a soft chuckle, clearly entertained, canines catching in the dim moonlight that creeped in through the cracked curtains. “there it is,” he murmured. “see? that wasn’t so hard.”

he hummed, a faint smile playing at his lips, canines catching the dim light.

“though, i was hoping you’d aim higher.” — making you roll your eyes with a heavy scoff.

normally, you’d tell him off. tell the six-eyed freak to go fuck himself.

but not tonight.

tonight was different.

he shifted slightly, guiding you with careful, deliberate movements until your back rested against the arm of the couch, lowering himself to his knees in front of you.

your thighs pressed together instinctively, a small whimper slipping out as if you could hide from him—hide how badly you really wanted it.

“c’mon… what'd i say about getting shy?” he murmured.

“can’t help you if you’re hiding from me pretty.” his grip shifted, and with an almost unfair ease, he used just the span of his hand—thumb and pinky guiding your legs apart, your slick having already soaked through the thin cotton of your panties.

if you knew satoru gojo was going to be fingering you until you came all over his hands tonight… then you definitely would’ve worn something a lot cuter.

maybe something silky, with lace around the edges, something easy to slip off.

but it’s not like he minded.

his breath caught in his throat. “…fuck,” whispering under his breath. and for a brief moment, his usual composure slipped. his gaze lingering just a second longer than before..

he was just so fucking obsessed with you.

with one slender digit, he hooked your panties, knuckle slightly grazing your entrance, collecting some of your slick along his knuckle. he pushed your panties aside with a slow, careful motion. exposing your sopping cunt to the cool night air.

after about a minute of tense silence, he hadn’t even realized he’d been gawking at your pussy. he couldn’t help himself. the way it was practically leaking, every curve, every clench.

so fucking pretty…

“satoru!”

he blinked, dragged back to the moment, and after a brief pause, finally looked up at you, a faint chuckle escaping.

“heh… sorry.” his voice steadied again. “just tell me if it feels good, okay?”

and with that, he inserted two of his slender digits past your wet folds, your juices coating his fingers entirely as he slipped in and out of you. a loud, sinful ‘shlick’ shattering the quiet of your living room.

your jaw went slack and your eyelids fluttered shut instantly with a loud moan as he angled them deep inside you, occasionally curling up and reaching spots you couldn’t even dream of reaching yourself—whining each time he did so.

you reached for the nearest couch cushion and pulled it over your face, attempting to muffle your moans, but you just couldn’t help yourself.

you weren’t normally vocal in bed. you had no reason to be, not with others or when you got off on your own.

you couldn’t tell if it was satoru’s effect on you… or just the curse wearing you down. everything felt contradictory, like it shouldn't make sense.

and yet… it did.

it felt wrong and right all at once, as if somehow, he was the only one meant to see you like this.

it just felt so good. so perfect.

you bit your lip, holding back a sob, trying to ignore the aching in your tummy temporarily ceased to make way to utter bliss as waves of pleasure wash over you.

his free hand lifted, fingers catching the edge of the cushion. he didn’t yank it away.. instead, he tugged it down slowly, giving you a chance to stop him.

but you didn't.

“you’re doing a terrible job of hiding from me, you know that?” he hummed, tossing the cushion somewhere behind him.

“such a messy girl..” he added, adoration oozing through his voice. the way your cunt refused to let go of his fingers was almost hypnotizing, his knuckles glistening in whatever light came through the curtains, covered in your wetness.

“better than your own?” he hummed.

though it may have come across as condescending in practice, there was a hint of concern underneath it. his tone softened just enough to reveal something more genuine beneath the usual teasing edge.

“t-toru… fuck,” you whined, tears already brimming at the corners of your eyes. “yes! somuchbetter.” mewling as he continued to work your pussy open.

his smirk widened, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“you mean that?” he asked, tone playful, cocky, as if daring you to take it back.

he wasn’t going to let you live that down.

not ever.

“hmm… that good, huh?” he murmured, leaning just a little closer, thumbs brushing at your waist, letting you feel him, letting you know he knew exactly what he was doing.

“you sound way too easy to please, princess.”

“please. just. shut. up— hngh–!”

your complaints died in your throat, as an unexpected stretch pulled at you, sharp and delicious, and you couldn’t help the gasp that escaped.

satoru had added another digit.

“gojo—” you choked. “toru! w-wait—” writhing against his grip, mind going fuzzy.

without a second thought, his other arm wrapped around your thigh, hand slithering down with deliberate ease, thumb circling your clit with a quick light hand, making you arch into the couch. moans getting louder with each press and swipe.

“i take it you like it?” hummed, curling all three his fingers up against you, his fingers grazing a perfect spot inside you, vision going hazy as your pussy clenching desperately around his digits, refusing to let go.

“hah… easy…” he hummed, watching the way your body tensed under him.

there weren’t enough words in any dictionary to capture how overwhelming it all felt.

too urgent, yet the perfect pace.

like it had been building far longer than you’d like to admit. everything amplified beyond reason, leaving you breathless and overwhelmed.

you needed this. needed him.

but still… it wasn’t enough. the aphrodisiac clawed at your senses, twisting every nerve into ache and frustration rather than pleasure.

“toru… please… i can’t—” you gasped, desperation lacing every word, trembling against him.

huh…

normally, this would have anyone else gasping and cumming in seconds, he was satoru gojo afterall.

this shit really was taking a number on you.

not that it mattered to gojo. he could keep up just fine.

“yeah… yeah.. of course you cant” he murmured underneath his breath. “you always this hard to handle?”

“j-just stop talking. so fucking—annoying.”

“annoying??” he huffed, warm breath ghosting your cunt.

“i’m hurt. thought you’d have something better for me than that princess.” a low purr escaped him as he brought his fingers to his mouth, savoring the evidence of you as his lips glided over them, tongue insistently circling around his digits, all while making eye contact with you.

every nerve in his body ached. he’d waited for this moment for so long. too long.

his thighs clenched underneath his slacks, his dick pressing up against his zipper, a painfully obvious bulge in his pants.

but he ignored it, for you.

the only thing on his mind was making you feel good. he could handle himself later; right now?

it was all about you.

the couch groaned beneath him as he leaned in, arms snaking around your thighs, yanking you down to his waiting face.

and without a second thought his plush lips latched onto your cunt. his tongue lapped up your juices, slipping in between your folds, eagerly exploring your velvet walls. “oh– satoru!”, you moaned, voice coming out cracked and quiet, eyes snapping shut in pleasure.

you choked on a sob as his tongue dipped lower, teasing your hole, completely drunk on how sweet you tasted. he fought back a smile as he practically made out with your pussy, working you open with his tongue before dragging upwards, tongue pressing flat onto your clit.

you sobbed again, hands flinging down to his messy white strands while he tucked his arms under your thighs.

tighter.

harder.

as if you were trying to run.

well… maybe because you were.

he lifted your hips to meet his mouth. your thighs trembled as your small whimpers filled up the room.

he was good at this. too fucking good.

you gasped, arching against him, brain melting into pure chaos.

tears brimmed at your water line as your body trembled, betraying just how far gone you were.

you tugged on his hair, some sort of signal that you were close. or so you thought.

your pussy pulsed under his tongue as he continued to lap at your hole. tongue swirling faster. the occasional digit plunging inside you over, and over, and over, juices coating his entire hand.

his cock achingly hard, pressing into the couch — the small friction relieving the ache in his pants.

you were certainly going to have a talk with him. about where the hell he learned all this, how he always gets it right, and why it feels like he knows your body better than you do…

you were so out of it, you hadn’t even realized he’d been speaking until a low, humming vibration shot through your body.

“good?” he murmured, muffled by your puffed up folds, reinforced by the soft slurp of him drinking you up.

when you finally forced your eyes open, satoru was already staring straight into you—bright blue eyes cutting through the dim room like he’d been waiting for this exact moment the entire time.

normally. such a sight would've made you cum immediately.

you had the strongest sorcerer on his knees… for you. every movement, every sound he drew from you, made your chest tighten, and your mind screamed at you: how the hell is this happening?

but the loudest thought pounding through your dazed brain was simple.

more.

your thighs began to quiver, hot tears of frustration spilling down your cheeks before you slapped your hands over your face—and out of his hair—letting out a frustrated groan.

your body didn’t wanna let you come.

it was the same thing over and over again: the pleasure built, warmth spreading, but no peak. it was never enough.

normally, crying in front of someone didn’t faze you—no one would believe them if they tried to say otherwise. so why did it feel different with satoru?

he noticed immediately, a wet pop breaking the quiet as he paused, wiping his face with his sleeve, leaving a dark mark on the navy fabric. his eyes met yours as he rose to his knees, eyebrows furrowed as he took in your flushed, trembling body.

“fuck… was it too much? i—”

“fuck me.”

he froze, eyes wide. “what?”

you sat up on your elbows, cheeks wet with tears, lips red from biting down on them so much.

it was so incredibly sexy.

“need your cock— toru. fuck me.”

he blinked once, them twice. “well, that escalated real fast..” he murmured. “you sure about that angel? or are you just talking all big again?”

“do it.”

“bold,” he chuckled under his breath. “but i didn’t hear a ‘please’,” a faint smirk forming. “try again, sweetheart.”

you groaned, hands gripping into the couch, brows furrowing.

“please.” you deadpanned.

“pretty please with a—”

“satoru!!”

he broke into a quiet laugh, clearly entertained, shoulders easing as he looked at you again. “alright, alright,” he murmured, still smiling. “you don’t have to shout.”

“where do you want it? here or—”

“—bed. now please.”

without another word, he scooped you up in his arms, carrying you effortlessly and placing you gently onto the mattress.

he leaned over you, slotting himself in between your legs caging you in completely, capturing your lips in a messy bruising kiss.

he pulled away from you, leaving you panting, that maddening, insufferable flutter in your stomach returning tenfold.

in one swift motion, he stripped off his uniform, tossing it somewhere across your room, revealing a chest and arms sculpted like they’d been carved from stone.

every muscle was defined, taut and powerful, a perfect balance of strength and sleekness. his shoulders were broad, his biceps solid yet flexible, his torso a masterclass in controlled power.

even the faint line of his abs beneath the pale skin hinted at raw endurance.

underneath all those fabrics, satoru gojo was full muscle. a sleeper build if you’d ever seen one.

he couldn’t help but let out a low, amused chuckle as you shamelessly ogled him, eyes wide and stomach twisting.

his gaze lingered on you as he exhaled a quiet chuckle.

“go ahead, princess. it’s all yours.”

you let out a small whimper, pushing yourself up onto your knees, hands instinctively finding his waistband.

your hands trembled slightly as you gripped the waistband, tugging slowly, deliberately. every motion was careful, teasingly slow, letting satoru see exactly how desperate you were, every second stretching out, electric with tension.

his eyes stayed locked on you, bright and sharp, a small smile tugging at his lips. the way he watched you… it made your pulse race even faster, stomach fluttering with anticipation.

after a shaky moment, you finally succeeded, the last piece sliding free under your fingers. you froze mid-motion.

“hello kitty… boxers…?”

your eyes widened, staring up at him.

“what? i have class.” he said, utterly unfazed.

you couldn’t believe you were about to fuck this idiot.

he hummed, interrupting your thought process. “hold on, let me go get something.”

you shot up instantly, grabbing his wrist. “what could you possibly need right now??”

“err… condoms?” he hummed, tilting his head innocently.

condoms.

“satoru. are you fucking serious?” you barked, frustrated and need overriding all rational thought.

“well… yes!” he huffed. “gotta be safe, princess.”

with a sharp tug on the waistband of his boxers, you pulled him forward, and suddenly he was hovering over you again, chest just above yours, a flash of surprise in his bright eyes.

“i’m on the pill,” you murmured, eyes glinting with unadulterated lust. “don’t worry about it.”

he paused for a moment, letting out a low hum. “god… you really are something.” he spoke, a teasing smile tugging at his lips.

then, with a soft, deliberate movement, he pulled back slightly, settling on his knees and locking eyes with you—cocky, amused, and just a little surprised by how bold you were.

he dipped his thumbs into the corners of his boxers, tugging them down completely, his hardened cock coming up with a ‘thwack’ to his stomach.

it looked borderline painful… his tip was a crimson red, clear rivulets of precum dangling off, threatening to hit the sheets beneath.

the weight of it was unmistakable. large, thick, and traced with faint veins that made him feel even more…

big.

it was almost impossible to ignore—you couldn’t help but stare, eyes tracing every twitch, pulse, and everything in between. unsure if you should laugh at the absurdity or flat out cry...

he dipped back down over you, close enough that you could feel his breath fan across your skin, his cock sliding in between your folds, the tip occasionally nudging against your clit, a small squish each time he made contact.

“say the word,” he murmured. “and we stop.”

you shook your head almost immediately, breath uneven.

“does it look like i wanna stop?” wrapping your arms around his neck for support.

his brows lifted slightly, then relaxed as a small smile tugged at his lips.

“fair point. didn’t think you’d be this eager.” he murmured. “…but you tell me if that changes, alright?”

and with that, he lined himself up with your entrance, making your breath hitch in your throat. he tilts your chin up slightly, just enough to meet his gaze, eyes sharp with focus.

“eyes on me pretty.. it's a big stretch.”

he slowly pushes in, inch after inch, your pussy swallowing him entirely, the two of you choking up in unison as he bottomed out inside you.

he filled you up entirely. cunt already spasming around him, nails digging into his back leaving small red crescents.

he was so close you could feel every exhale, every uneven beat of his heart—like it was syncing with yours. and he felt it too.

“fuck—” he choked, voice rougher than before. “are you okay? can i move?”

“satoru.”

“alright, alright…” he huffed, a breath of a laugh slipping through. his forehead dipped closer to yours, lips brushing the air between you.

“so bratty…” he murmured. “maybe i should stop going easy on you.”

“oh please, like you—mmph!”

he silenced you with a hard thrust, knocking the wind out of you.

then another.

and another...

they started coming back to back, all perfectly timed.

and for a minute, neither of you said anything.

the only sounds were the occasional whine from you, a groan from him, and the soft smacks of his sack against the curve of your ass as he gradually sped up finding his rhythm, a white ring already forming around the base of his cock.

lewd thwaps bounced off the walls, filling up the room, his eyes locked onto yours, sharp and unblinking, lips a breath away from your own.

a faint smirk tugged at his lips as he tilted his head, his hand finding the flesh of your hip, voice low and teasing, tickling the shell of your ear.

“this what you needed?” he hummed, lengthy cock stirring up your insides. “hm? some dick—hah—just to make this pretty pussy feel better?”

“satoru—” a pathetic whine ripped through your throat as his mushroom tip grazed one of your sweet spots, picking up his pace, your tits bouncing upwards with each slam, digimon shirt covered in sweat and the smell of sex.

“shh, m’gonna take care of you baby, gonna take care of this pretty pussy, gonna feel so nice..” he hummed, teeth grazing your pulse point.

and unfortunately, you couldn’t deny it.

you felt every inch of him, every movement, and it was impossible to ignore. you always felt this way with him—like the world had narrowed down to nothing but heat and sparks. your vision danced, stars bursting behind your eyes, heart racing, completely undone.

he always made you feel good.

this time it was just with his dick.

your sopping cunt squeezed down on his cock, as if trying to milk him, simply refusing to let go each time he pulled back away from you.

he choked on a laugh, eyes flicking down at you, lips twitching with amusement. “s-so needy…” he murmured.

you tugged him down, just enough to bury your face in the crook of his neck.

he fucked you so good. almost too good.

you weren’t surprised, he was satoru gojo after all. your arms curled around him, clinging tighter, while your body pressed closer, desperate for every inch of contact you could get.

“been thinking about you for so fucking long.” he grunted, the slaps of his hips knocking into you, the force sending waves of shock throughout the meat of your ass. “always wanted you on my cock, to be mine—”

your legs wrapped around his waist, pressing into him instinctively, pushing him deeper inside you. every small movement pressed your bodies together, your arms clinging tight as you let out soft huffs of breathless laughter, face buried in the crook of his neck.

he let out a soft, almost pathetic whimper, chest rising rapidly. “fuck… feel what you do to me baby?” he hummed, pressing a large hand over your tummy, pressing down so that he could feel his cock inside you, drawing out pathetic syrupy moans from you.

his voice was rough. strained.

and just low enough to send shivers down your spine.

satoru was in heaven. the way you clamped down on him refusing to let go of him. the way his cock slid in an’ out of you with ease — a loud wet squelch echoing each time, length completely covered in your juices, the soft sheen of his cock blinding him every time he pulled out of you, just to slam back into you once more.

so wet… and so… nasty.

and all for him.

your mouth went slack, drool pooling at the corner, threatening to spill over. he couldn't help but let out a sharp laugh.

who knew that all you needed was a little bit of dick to act right?

every touch sent shivers down your spine, every stroke of his cock made your pussy flutter helplessly, the way his cock filled you up was so… perfect. his tip grazed every nook and cranny of your walls, a white froth coating your folds and dripping down his sack as they slammed into you.

it was all too much. your folds were puffy from hours of torture pleasure: his slender digits working you open, his tongue lapping up at your cunt like a man starved. and now. this. fucking you so good as if he was trying to imprint himself into every part of you.

you couldn’t even form a proper sentence, just blubbering and whining about how good he felt, how big he was. he pressed down on you further, pressing you into the mattress as he slammed into you, curving up right into your sweet spot.

“such a good girl.. so perfect for me…” he breathed out, eyes locked on you

“ngh!— satoru– pleaseplease–” you whined helplessly, lips finding his flesh, biting down softly to muffle your moans and cries.

“look at youuu…” he murmured, pressing a small kiss to your sweaty forehead.

“so fuckin’ cute. gonna cum all over my cock like the pretty little princess you are?” crooning, as if he wasn't drunk off you and you alone.

he let out an absurd laugh, sharp and breathless, like he couldn’t believe how much he was unraveling under you. “m’close already.. you’re giving me a bad rep here..”

he looked down at you, expecting some sort of answer—only to be met by a small glare, or at least what you were trying to manage. your eyes were hazy, brows scrunched up, and it was laughably pathetic, but in the best way.

he let out a soft huff of laughter.

“right… sorry,” he murmured, smirk tugging at his lips at the fact his dick rendered you speechless.

“f-fuck— toru, m’close—” you whined, burying your face into him, squeezing your eyes shut.

he pulled back just enough to get a good look at your face, taking in the tremble of your lips, the warmth radiating from your cheeks, the sweat glistening off your skin…

so fucking pretty.

“don’t hide that pretty face from me, angel… i wanna see you,” he murmured, placing sloppy kisses along your neck and jaw.

you couldn’t help it—breath coming in short, uneven huffs, eyes locking onto his as if begging for more. your hands curled around his shoulders, clutching him tightly, legs instinctively wrapping closer, pushing him deeper into you.

he chuckled low and absurdly, leaning in so your faces were inches apart, breath mingling. “there you are… see? wanna see your face when you cum all over my cock.”

small, desperate whines escaped your lips, soft and almost helpless, and every tiny movement pressed you harder into him, “satoru—”

before you could react, he cut you off with a bruising kiss, noses knocking together, lips pressing hard and claiming, stealing your breath. your hands fisted against him, pulling him closer, while your legs instinctively curled around his waist, clinging like you couldn’t get enough.

he dragged his tongue from your bottom lip, down to your chin, before placing a sloppy kiss right below it. his hand slid down from your hip, his thumb carelessly found your clit — pressing hard firm circles making you cry out, his hips stuttering and becoming sloppy.

“…fuck… i love you, so perfect f'me” he gasped, voice raw and trembling, eyes locked on yours like he couldn’t look away.

the warmth in your stomach multiplied tenfold, spreading through every nerve and pulse.

“w-what?” you choked dumbly, voice trembling, before your body betrayed you and locked up, every muscle tightening as if it couldn’t handle him.

your orgasm had snuck up on you, hitting you like a truck.

your pussy spasmed helplessly as your lips pressed into a thin line, eyes crossing into each other as all the air got knocked into your lungs, toes curling uselessly in the air.

“that’s ittt...” he purred, smirk tugging at his lips as he watched you shiver, rolling his hips against yours.

soon enough, his own orgasm came rushing up on him, choking on a soft gasp as thick hot rivulets of his seed spilled out inside you.

rocking his hips back and forth, slow and controlled, pubic bone crushing down on you, burying his cock as deep as it can go.

his body locked up over you, thick white ropes still spilling out inside you, his balls clenching until they completely emptied out inside of you.

you slowly regained your senses, breath heaving, the warmth in your tummy slowly dying.

for a quiet moment, the two of you just stayed there, hearts racing in unison. he pulled out of you slowly, thick warmth slowly rolling out from your cunt.

he practically collapsed on top of you for a brief second before rolling onto his back, pulling you with him as he leaned back against the headboard, instinctively settling you on top of him. your head resting on his bare chest, listening to the rapid thrum of his heartbeat beneath you..

his hand reached for a nearby throw blanket, careful not to move you too much, dragging it up and over the two of you, covering you both as he settled you against his side.

as your chest rose and fell against his, his touch lingering in your hair, soft and grounding

he let out a small cough.

“did it work?” brow quirking as he glanced down at you.

“uh-huhh,” you croaked out, chest still rising and falling fast, eyes still hazy and utterly exhausted.

another quiet minute passed, him absently stroking your face and tracing lazy patterns along your back.

“i got you mochi,” he spoke softly, his gentle caresses not ceasing.

you lifted your head from his chest like a newborn just learning how to use their motor skills for the first time.

“you did…?”

“mhm… thought it'd make you feel better.. though it might have melted. you didn’t give me a chance to put it in the freezer.” he added with a small chuckle.

“i hate you…” you groaned, plopping your head back onto his chest.

“don’t think you’re off the hook, satoru.” you slurred, poking his cheek lightly.

“wouldn’t dream of it, princess,” he murmured, smirk tugging at his lips, thumb idly tracing along your arm.

“soooo..” he began, brimming with way too much energy for what he just put you through, practically vibrating on the spot. “this means you'll go on a date with me right?”

you blinked up at him, lazy and teasing, then simply patted his cheek.

“don't make it weird.” you hummed, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“i didn't even get to say anything weird..” he pouted incredulously.

“don't have to.”

“date me. please.”

“you seriously are so annoying.”

“considering we just had sex, i can't possibly be that annoying.”

...

with a roll of your eyes, you pressed a small, fleeting kiss to his cheek. the soft press of your lips lingered longer than you intended.

despite your gruff exterior, your heart was pounding in your chest, betraying just how flustered you actually were.

“fine. only one,” you muttered, trying to sound indifferent, though it was clearly a lie.

he blinked, smirk tugging at his lips, eyes glinting with amusement. “hm… i’ll take it,” he said, voice low and playful, tugging you a little closer as if to savor the moment.

he leaned in close, whispering conspiratorially, “you know, one of these days, i’m gonna get you to confess your undying love for me.”

your breath choked up — “dont get greedy.” you huffed before laying back down against him, your cheek squishing against his bare chest.

he pulled you closer, fingers lazily tickling your back.

you were perfect.

absolutely perfect.

❤︎ inspired by this tweet . . . more from me ! likes && reblogs appreciated ໒꒰ྀི っ ⸝⸝ ˂ ꒱ྀིა !

you clench around him on purpose.

he chokes. full-body shuddering. “a-ah! don’t—don’t do that yet, please, i’ll—shit, i’ll cum too fast”

“already?” you whisper. “come on, let me enjoy this a little…” you pout, looking down at him, biting your lip. you move your hips back and forth, moaning softly, “you’re so big, gojo… stretching me so sweet”

he groans, long and wrecked, arms wrapping around your waist to yank you flush against his chest. Face buried in your neck like he’s hiding. “fuck, don’t say it like that —” his voice cracks on the last word, and then he’s mumbling against your skin, hot and frantic. “you’re so warm— so fucking wet… I can’t think straight when you’re on me like this… please don’t stop, baby, please”

you start moving again. slow grinds, little circles now and then. nothing otherworldy. but he’s already babbling.

“s’too fucking good— love how you squeeze me, love how you, ah, ride me, fuck, i’m yours, i’m so fucking yours—” his hands roam everywhere: up your back, down to grip your ass, then back up to cradle your face so he can kiss you. messy and needy. “don’t you dare leave after, ‘kay? i’ll— shit—i’ll do whatever, baby, please…”

you pick up the pace just a little and his whole body buzzes, thighs trembling under you.

“g’nna cum—baby, ‘m gonna—fuck, i can’t hold it—” he sounds panicked, like he’s actually fighting his own orgasm because he doesn’t want it to end.

you lean close — once you’re close to come as well — to whisper right against his ear: “then cum for me, gojo. make me feel good”

that does it for him.

his eyes snap wide— pupils blown, lashes wet, and he comes with a long, shaking moan that cracks into your name. hips stuttering, arms crushing you to his chest, spilling inside you like he’s never going to stop. “fuck—love you, love this pussy-“

when the aftershocks finally fade, he doesn’t push you off. doesn’t roll over and grab his phone like the rumors say he does.

instead he flips you gently so you’re tucked against him, still buried deep. long limbs cage you in. his face smushed between your tits. he’s breathing hard, like he just ran a whole marathon.

you card fingers through his damp hair. “that was something.”

he huffs a laugh, embarrassed. “don’t you ever say a word about this” he mutters, “i’d be dead if you do.”

is this the same guy who was bragging downstairs about never catching feelings and fucking left and right?