i was wondering, can you hold me down?

You couldn't remember how you got here.

Cheek pressed into the scratchy library carpet, smoke and debris scraping down your lungs with each heaving breath.

A small groan slipped out of you, the sound muffled against the floor as you tried to move your shaky arms to support yourself.

You couldn’t make out where the dull throbbing ended, where you began. 

Your eyes blinked in and out of focus as you took in the area around you; the once pristine, well-kept library was an absolute disaster. Shelves broken or toppled over, books scattered all across the floor, personal belongings abandoned or knocked over.

Your heart picked up.

Get up. You had to get up.

There was a fucking villain on campus— the one with that stupid costume. You really shouldn’t have insulted him earlier, you thought bitterly, fighting a dry scoff. Maybe this was your karma.

Eijirou, Bakugou— they’d be here soon, they promised you, right?

You winced, head ringing as you tried to recall exactly what had happened. Every part of you ached, memory came to you all muddled and blurred.

They told you to hide. Put your airpods in. Eijirou said he’d call. And then…

The villain?

No… no, it wasn’t the villain.

It was everyone trying to escape.

The second the villain had started his ascent up the library stairs, the booming thud of those ugly neon green boots of his echoing off the stairwell walls, the entire floor had broken out into a panic.

Everyone had trampled over one another to try and get away, desperately clawing over to the emergency exit, uncaring about each other when their survival was all that mattered.

You got unlucky, it seemed. Really fucking unlucky.

Amidst the chaos, you had gotten left behind.

Then, it was the villain.

Whatever his stupid quirk was, it was enough to rampage through the entire building, knock out anyone who got in his way.

You were in his way, you supposed.

With a sigh, you looked down, nails digging into the carpet to keep yourself upright. Your eyes widened at the small pool of deep red right where you had been laying.

You brought a shaky hand up to touch your forehead, feeling the heat of your own blood greet your fingertips.

Fuck.

That couldn't be good.

If you had the energy, you would've dragged a hand down your face. What did that idiot even want?

All you wanted was to pass some time before your next class. Look over the slides you'd be going over today, maybe send Eijirou a few TikToks you knew he'd find funny, bother Bakugou with random, stupid texts just because you knew it made his face twist and scrunch up in annoyance.

It wasn't supposed to go like this, this wasn't supposed to happen.

You felt tired. Really, really tired.

It was getting harder to keep your eyes open.

You wanted to lean into it, let the soft promise of sleep hold you gently. Take away the nagging pain pulsing throughout your body.

The edges of your vision were growing fuzzy.

Where’s your phone?

The thought snapped you back into the present, tethered you to reality. 

Eijirou's call— You couldn't remember if you ever picked up.

He'd be worried, wouldn't he? Probably. He had a tendency to blame himself for things sometimes, you wanted to make sure he didn't.

You glanced around looking for it, vision swimming, the colors around you all bleeding into each other. Your body was moving on its own accord, it felt like you were watching found footage from a horror film through your very own eyes; so unfocused, out of your control.

When you finally caught sight of your phone a little to your left, your heavy eyes tracing over it, chest squeezing when you realized— the screen, it broke.

You must have dropped it, more than a few people had probably stepped over it. You wanted to be angry, annoyed, even. But all you felt overwhelmingly upset.

Upset that this was yet another thing piled onto the list of shitty things that had happened today.

But… you knew objectively that it wasn't horrible. Phones could be fixed, and you could still vaguely make out the characters from Eijirou’s contact name through the cracked glass. That was good, at least.

It looked like he was on the line, seemed like he had been for a while. You couldn’t focus enough to make out the call time.

You reached out for it, held your phone up to your ear as you laid back down, too tired to move anymore.

His voice was familiar, grounding, safe.

You let the warmth of it settle inside your chest, ease you out of that sad feeling twisting up inside you. It brought about this sweet buzz behind your ribs, even though he sounded so frantic.

You felt bad.

He was saying your name over and over, telling you in that same reassuring tone that he always used when you got to stressed or too worried that it’s gonna be okay.

That he’s there.

He's coming.

Panic was bleeding into his voice.

You wanted to tell him not to worry.

You didn't know how much you believed him, but you wanted to tell him that you did anyway to put his heart at ease.

The corners of your eyes pricked. He was always so cheery, so upbeat and contagiously hearty in a way that it felt like a stab in the chest when he was anything but.

You wanted to reassure him, because you never wanted him to be sad, especially not because of you.

You couldn't remember if you ever got around to even saying his name before your vision tunneled into black.

⋆ ⭒˚.⋆

The only thing on Eijirou's mind as he burst onto the scene was the sound of your scream on the other end of the line.

Just thinking about it made his heart ache.

One second, he had been making the call, bouncing his leg anxiously as he waited for you to pick up. The next, you had answered, he let himself dip a toe into relief, but instead of silence or your quiet whispered words, all he heard was chaos.

Screams overlapping screams, crashes and shouting, desperate curses. But amidst it all, you. He knew your voice, knew it was you making that heart-wrenching sound the second he heard that shrill cry crackle through his phone speaker.

It was you— terrified, hurting.

He never thought he'd hear you sound so scared.

He couldn't help the stream of reassurances that left his mouth the entire ride there. He didn't even know if you were there to hear him, all he knew was his own desperation masked with those frantic, comforting words. Some part of him wishing his voice could be enough keep you alive and safe.

The thought had crossed his mind sometimes.

It was his job to deal with the worst of the world on the daily, stand on the front lines against senseless crime and violence, swearing to protect others with your life; he knew better than anyone how quickly someone caught up in danger.

Still, no one ever expected it to be someone they cared about— not even heroes.

When he finally got up to the second floor, the background noise faded out. The shuffle of his team, the orders being rattled off to everyone through his earpiece.

All he could hear was the slowed thrum of his own heart beating in his ears as his eyes locked on your familiar outline crumpled on the floor by a bookshelf.

He ran over, not caring if it went against his orders for the mission. He crouched over your body, mouth running dry at the sight of blood trickling down your temple, your phone tucked by your ear.

Reaching out, he held your face in his palms, the stillness of your expression frightened him. It didn't feel real.

Why you?

(He should've been faster, he would’ve been able to save you.)

He brushed back some of your hair, checked to see if you were still breathing. His heart calmed just a fraction when he found that you were. It was shallow, barely perceptible, but you were breathing. You were alive. That was enough for now, it meant there was a chance.

He picked you up without another thought, determined to get you out of the battle zone, strong arms curling around your shoulders and the backs of your thighs, holding your limp body like it was made of glass.

"Katsuki," He started, voice shaky but loud enough for his ear piece to detect his voice and turn on. "I found her."

His friend's voice came in with a grunt.

"She good?"

Eijirou's throat tightened. He wasn't sure if he could even get the word out without sounding pathetic.

"No."

Katsuki stayed quiet for a few beats.

Then the sound of a gruff, angry sort of sigh filled his ears.

Eijirou could hear the scowl on his face. Katsuki never messed around when it came to the people he cared about, no matter how much he acted like a hard ass to their face.

He remembered your first month together, how convinced you were that Katsuki had genuinely hated your guts. Maybe he had found you annoying at first, Katsuki was never really a 'people person'. But you grew to matter to him more than you thought, that much was always apparent to him.

Eijirou was his best friend, after all. He knew the guy like the back of his hand.

"Get her to support, Ei." Katsuki bit out roughly; voice backed by a low, simmering anger. "We'll beat this guy's ass into the fucking ground."

His jaw tensed, something inexplicable and red-hot coursed through his veins at just the thought of that shitty excuse of a man. He had done this, hurt you and left you bloody, unconscious.

He could hear him clamoring upstairs, along the screams of more innocent civilians falling victim to that careless piece of shit. The rumble of an explosion rattled off the walls, drowning out the sounds of everyone else; Katsuki was definitely on scene now.

Eijirou moved quickly down the flight of stairs with no more time to waste, hurrying to get you over to help.

"I'm sorry," was all he could manage, sparing a glance down at your face. You looked peaceful, pretty— even with the blood on your face and the small cut over your cheekbone. The thought crossed his mind against his will, he shook himself out of it.

Focus.

"I've got you now." He said out loud, unsure if you could even make out any sounds. "I gotta leave to take care of the villain, We'll make sure he regrets what he did today." He spat out that last part, the bitterness evident in his voice.

"I'll be back, alright? I promise you, I'll be back."

A silent part of him ached for you to promise him back, promise him that you'd be okay. He didn't let himself dwell on it, even as his chest squeezed. No time to let his regret to consume him. He would get you to safety, make sure you got into the right hands. Then…

He had a villain to deal with.

 ⋆ ⭒˚.⋆

It had been a day since you were hospitalized.

Eijirou had been silent. Oddly so. He cracked a few half-hearted jokes every now and then, but he moved like something heavy was sitting on his shoulders.

It was strange to Katsuki, to not have the space between them filled with his nonsense.

The two of them had fought side by side for so long, since the very first of their days back at U.A., but something about that fight at the library was different.

He had seen Eijirou get worked up before, he was driven by justice and an unwavering drive to protect others, Katsuki knew that. But that day… it was something else. The way he fought, the hard set of his eyes, the quiet, disgusted look he gave the villain as soon as he was apprehended.

Katsuki pretended that he didn't hear it, but he had listened to sound of his poorly muffled, bitten back sobs when they got home that night, let it bleed through the wall between their rooms as he laid down back in his bed to try and catch some sleep before morning came.

(He would've been annoyed, but it wasn't like he could sleep, anyway. He spent the night staring up at his ceiling, nails digging into his palms as he quietly clenched his fist by his side, hating the uncertainty that stormed inside him.)

When they got up the next day, ready to head over to the hospital to visit you, it became more apparent. There was something tense hanging over him, something sharp and weighted, just waiting to blow over. The idiot wore his heart on his sleeve, his feelings all over his face. Katsuki could never really take seeing Eijirou like that, expression all sunken and clouded over, and he could never exactly name why.

Probably because it was a shitty look on him.

He glanced at Eijirou through the corner of his eye, heavy arms folded over his chest as they both sat on the hospital bench just outside of your room. They could go in, the doctors had given them the clear the second they got here, told them you had been asking about them non-stop since waking up. But Eijirou had hesitated, stared at the handle of the door with wet eyes like it might kill him if he touched it.

So, they sat down because he needed a second— that was his half-hearted excuse. Katsuki wanted to scoff, but he bit it back, chose to just sit down next to him with a small grunt.

He didn't even get around to doing his hair this morning, even though his little routine barely took a minute. The mess of red fell over his downcast eyes as he crouched over, elbows propped on his knees, each hand busy toying with the other as he stared down at the floor.

His gaze was faraway, swimming with too much for Katsuki to even begin to make out. His lower lip twitched every few seconds, like he was actively fighting the urge to cry.

Yeah. Definitely a shitty look.

Katsuki let out a disgruntled huff.

"You gonna sit around moping all day or you gonna spit it out?"

"Huh?"

Eijirou sat up just enough, tired eyes meeting his. Katsuki searched them for a beat before finally snapping his gaze to the wall up ahead; fixated on the texture, the color — whatever — because meeting those sad eyes felt unbearable for some reason.

"Just talk, you idiot." he grumbled, as if he was annoyed at the notion of asking. Eijirou knew better, though, and Katsuki trusted that he'd pick it up: this was him being worried.

With a shaky breath in and a heavy exhale, he finally started talking.

"Somethin' about yesterday felt different." He began, a hand coming to scratch the back of his head, "We've fought villains for so long, seen so many people get hurt. Saved plenty more, too. It's just the job, right?" He tried to chuckle, just to lighten the mood. Nothing about pro-hero work was really funny.

When he paused for a little too long, Katsuki egged him to continue with one clipped word. "Right."

Eijirou managed a sigh.

"Right, yeah… but… but this? Seein' her like…" his voice got all caught up in his throat, like he was choking on his words before they could even make it out. "like that?"

He shook his head, hand coming over his chest, fingers ghosting over his sternum. Katsuki knew the feeling, knew exactly what he was talking about. Like something inside him might implode. It was jarring, even to him, to face the what ifs in that kind of situation.

(The what if of you being ripped from their lives just like that, gone in an instant before they could even process what had happened.)

"Don't think I've felt that way since Kamino…" Katsuki's jaw clenched. Eijirou continued, sniffling slightly. "…or the war. I was so scared, man. I… I really care 'bout her. I think… more than I let myself realize, y'know?"

He leaned his back against the wall, craning his neck up to stare at the ceiling mindlessly.

"I think I like her, Kats.” He mumbled.

Katsuki's eyes flickered over to him at that.

He wasn't stupid. He had seen the way you leaned into each other, the way the two of you laughed, flirted fucking horribly and obliviously with each other.

Still, he could never be sure. He couldn't care to know more, that was what he told himself.

Eijirou was always better versed in this mushy shit than he was anyway.

He didn't know why he scoffed. "You think?"

"What?" Eijirou's eyes blinked over to his, brows furrowed softly with genuine confusion. Katsuki only rolled his eyes, lip curling back into a small sneer.

"Either y'like her or you don't, that's how that bullshit works, right? Hell do you mean you think?"

"No! I don't think, I know it man! I do!"

Katsuki blinked back at him. That sudden earnestness was so typical, so Eijirou.

His heart pinched.

He looked away, fixing his gaze on the wall again, as if that disgusting, clinical shade of white was worth staring at. "Go see her." He said it was quiet, low and under his breath. This was his kind of soft. Intentional, a little hesitant. "Talk, or whatever. It'll fix your fucking face."

It wasn't the nice, sweet sort of encouragement it probably should've been. But Katsuki had never been good at that. He knew what Eijirou needed to hear most, anyway: "Tell her."

It was all he said before standing up, the action urging Eijirou to do the same. His mouth opened as if to refute what Katsuki had just said, but one narrowed look from him had it snapping back shut. He nodded, taking in a deep breath. "Yeah… yeah, you're right. I'll go in."

He turned on his heel, took careful steps until he was in front of your door. He spared Katsuki one last glance before he turned the handle, that determined glint finally back in his eyes. His thank you was wordless as he stepped into your hospital room, shutting the door softly behind him.

It was his doing, his back-handed encouragement that had pushed Eijirou to walk in there. He told him to tell you— tell you what? Would he confess? Sit there and just talk?

Something like a heavy pit formed in his chest at the thought.

(Why did it feel like part of him was sinking, being dragged down to depths he didn't dare venture into?)

With a scoff, he forced his mind away from that nonsense.

He shoved a hand into his pocket. Pulled out his phone to look up mobile stores nearby— your dumbass phone was broken.

He had the time, he'd get you a new one.

<- PREV. PART | NEXT PART ->

may blabs: hi guys it’s been forever im really sorry 💔 evil summer bringing me back home 😒 i miss my dorm………

but yeah bakugou in the trenches w this one 😂😂😂

“what to do if you have repressed feelings for your roommate but also your best friend and they both get together reddit” <- bkg search history leaked

free him

(am i doing too much for a fuck ass smau series....?? shi prolly but um i did it anyway !!! don't slime me out ok.. also lowk did not proofread or have this beta read so GULP i am sorry for any mistakes or if its chuddy 💔🫩)

taglist: @kirishimaeijiromyman , @drageonix24 , @sloppyjoesandwich , @teeesthings , @cphlo , @blessedblemishes , @updownandbatty , @themultifandomgirl , @strawberryjyam , @c00k13sandcr3am , @dabi-vakarian , @acecardexe , @direimpgrail , @papijean , @anunfortunateoutcome , @d4wnofnight , @lamathelazer , @katsukis-lilbunnywhore , @anabanana-26 , @kalan1z , @katscherry , @its-opossum-sauce , @shittingonyourgrave , @star-3214 , @l3eknow4evrr , @l-nectarine-l , @snore-3 , @mrssuna , @seishoyo , @theetheralone , @drabby-abby @amira-44820 , @extremebookreader , @d34ly , @katzukisss , @smelliottle , @lottiepop07 , @nanakamii , @sourpom3los , @catsooky , @ipukegiltters , @ariiiiee , @brekkielukiel , @kookiieeswirl , @accheolie , @mythicaloutlier , @citrustsuki , @addaberry , @asht0n-fox , @ssun4lifer 𓂃˖ ࣪⊹

if you want to be added, send an ask or fill out my taglist form ! (you can also join my general taglist for other works ^_^)

“four. handsome. deliciously so. body and face. rare,” bakugou laughs, boyish and booming, “thanks, babe.”

you feel uncomfortable, perspiration dribbling between your breasts, limbs heavy with exhaustion.

“what is that? what are you reading?”

still bakugou ignores you and continues reading from the paper, “five. successful and ambitious. six. good friend even though he pretends he’s not. protective!! seven. so gentlemanly, holding open doors, paying for dates, very clear on why he likes me.” ruby pupils flicker over to you, “that last one is bare minimum.”

then it clicks, about seven points too late. your head snaps over to him robotically, eyes about to fall out of your head. “where the hell did you find that! stop reading it! stop katsuki!”

you hop up from your seat on your sofa, speed like no other taking over you as you run across the room to grab at the paper in bakugou’s hands. his laugh only booms louder, holding the flimsy sheet in the air over your head as you jump like a child.

“seriously, don’t read anymore!” you shout, trying to hoist yourself up his larger body, using his arms and shoulder as a climbing frame.

nothing about bakugou budges, he just continues reading with the paper in the air.

“it’s getting good, baby!” he laughs, ignoring your jumps and furrowed brows, “eight. listens to me. really listens. makes me feel heard and remembers what i say.”

he looks down at you, whose fingertips are slapping the bottom of the paper. you recognise it all too clearly now. the pink ruled lines, the edges ripped out from one of your old notebooks. your handwriting. “that’s cute. i still listen to you, don’t i?”

“you’re not now! give it back!”

“i’m almost done, two more,” bakugou says, hooking his arm behind your back to keep you locked close to him. you’re both sweaty and sticky. you’ve got no choice but to listen, “nine. cooks. such a good cook! you added five exclamation marks there. ten. fulfils some of my love languages. some?”

“now stop.” you urge. he can’t turn the paper around. he can’t.

bakugou pecks your forehead, his cheeks blushed with all the compliments. he continues skimming the list, rereading it. 

“so this is why you chose to date me, huh?” he looks down at you, pouts his lips, “c'mon gimme a kiss.”

if you just grab it out his hands, he won’t see the other side. with pros always comes—

he stops pouting at you.

“give me the paper. i wrote this all a few years ago!”

“if these are the pros, where’s the cons? you must have done a cons list.” 

you shake your head, side to side. he holds the paper away from you. the opposite side, the list of all your cons, written back at you. you loop out of his arm, trying to reach for it.

he notices you staring, eyes fixated and that’s when he flips the paper around. CONS in big red capital lettering.

“this is private! you weren’t meant to see this, you shouldn’t be snooping in my room!” you squeak but bakugou’s already half down the page, pupils running across every line like he’s in a race.

“one. WILL choose his job over me—,”

“well obviously, your job is to save the world!”

“two. odd relationship with his mother? but apparently it’s better than before.”

“it’s so much better now!”

bakugou’s eyebrows drop now, voice getting lower as he continues, “three. argumentative. argues with EVERYONE. his agency workers, the media and his friends.”

“i understand why you argue with them all now! it makes sense!”

“three. his job is terrifying.”

bakugou looks over to you, solemn narrowed eyes and you don’t have a positive word to say about that.

“it is, sometimes i don’t know if you’ll come home.”

“four. he doesn’t do much else besides work. all his friends are from work.” bakugou pinches his nose bridge, “really? you think that?”

“now i don’t! and i know they’re childhood friends and… and we do things together all the time. i know you love to read, game, you’ve got your lego. i didn’t know all of that then.”

“five. don’t know if my friends and family will understand.” bakugou steps away from you, “the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

you huff on the spot, “this was from when i met you! all they’ve seen of you is shouting and yelling on the television. they didn’t know how lovable you are. how well you treat me.”

bakugou looks at you, then back at the paper. scratches his head. “six. inexperienced with sex but it’s really cute. has never had a girlfriend?”

“but number one pro is that you know how to use it. obviously we’re experienced now, we know everything about each other,” you flick your finger between you and your boyfriend. 

“and the girlfriend comment? i can’t help the fact you’re my first.”

“no, i mean yes i know that. it was just a question as to why. it doesn’t mean anything to me now.”

“but it was a factor in whether you wanted to be my girlfriend,” he states.

“well, yeah,” you drawl, “i thought maybe there was a reason as to why. that’s all.”

bakugou raises his eyebrows, looks back at the sheet, “seven. doesn’t always have time for me. travels a lot for work.”

“that hasn’t changed.” bakugou grunts. it’s something he knows you struggle with while dating him. it’s even been a conversation you’ve had a few times throughout your relationship. quality time. you want to spend more time with him but he simply can’t. 

you sigh, grabbing his chin between your fingers so he looks directly at you. his eyes are half lidded, cheeks red and exhausted from the negativity and heat. “we’ve been through this. i’m still gonna stick by you, everything i love about you means more than all the things i find difficult.”

he takes your palm away from your face and squeezes it. but you can tell he’s feeling off. “the last one. eight, he’s surrounded by beautiful women all the time.”

“you’re with celebrities, pro heroes, socialites a lot,” you shrug, “that was jealousy on my part, nothing to do with you.”

“i don’t give a fuck about any of that.”

you nod sharply, “i know! i wrote this a while ago, two years even? a lot has changed.”

bakugou sighs from the pit of his stomach, then flings his head back in a huff. “fuck, baby.” he groans.

then he looks down at you, looking up at him.

“just wanna put it out there, that was private, you weren’t meant to see that, my opinions have now changed and i’m sure you had a mental pro con list for me. i just wrote mine down.”

bakugou folds the paper, “yeah, yeah, i get it. you hate my job that much, huh? it covered half of the fuckin’ cons.

“i also said i liked you were successful and ambitious.” you sit on the back of the sofa, crossing your arms. 

bakugou mirrors you standing, crossing his arms too. “but nothing about my job has changed since we’ve got together.”

you groan, leaning your head on your shoulder, “katsuki, i think you’re making problems out of nothing here.”

“you made a list of the problems with datin’ me.” he frowns, holding the folded paper between two fingers.

“and a list of the reasons why i wanted to date you. obviously the good reasons won if i’m with you now.” you glare at him with a sharp tone.

he begins to pace around the room, paper still in hand. a terrible sign. you watch as sweat trickles down his skin, body flush with heat.

“but, babe. the problems you’ve had with me from before we were dating are still problems now. i still don’t have time for you, you still are terrified every time i’m minutes late from a mission, you don’t think i’d choose you over my job and you don’t think i do anything but work.”

you moan aloud, “and i still want you despite that all. i get the world needs you, heck, i need you if i come across a villain. i don’t hate you for being a hero.”

he stops behind you, on the other side of the sofa, “i don’t want you to resent me when you realise you could have been with someone who does have more time for you, isn’t obsessed with their job, can put you first and doesn’t scare you.”

you hop off the sofa. leaning your forehead on his collarbone. “katsuki. i wouldn’t be here if i didn't want to be. i love you. i choose you everyday. i don’t want to argue with you.”

bakugou doesn’t touch you. there’s a shake to his voice, “i’m sorry i’m not better. i’m gonna try to be. just wait for me, fuck, maybe when i’m slower and the younger lot take over, they’ll need me less. it’s just now—,”

“it’s okay. you have time for me right now but you wanna argue with me," you pout up at him.

“you did put that i’m argumentative,” he looks away from you as your hands link around his neck. 

“look at me.”

shiny lava red pupils find you. you ground him, takes him out of the what ifs and the failures of his past and places him in the present with you. 

“i have dated bakugou katsuki for two years and i love him so much. i love how kind and generous he is, always putting his loved ones first. how he dedicates his life and body to saving the world. how even if he’s tired from a long week of working, he still comes over to cook me a three course meal because he wants to see me eat his food. who was so open and willing to change for me. to change his routines and learn my body. who is argumentative because he wants to make things right. who wanted so hard for my family and friends to love him and manages to see his mother once a week just to check up on her.”

you search in both his eyes and he’s listening, he always is.

“i can write an updated list for you, if you want.”

he shakes his head, stuffs his forehead into your neck and slowly pushes you down into the sofa. you laugh, his hands plastered into your waist as his body crushes you in the plush cushions ever so slightly.

“‘m sorry. i shouldn’t have read it. even though i enjoyed the pros.” he muffles, lips tickling your skin.

you tap his shoulder. “you shouldn’t have but it’s okay. i still need you to get my fan. it’s hot.”

“promise you’ll tell me if you want somethin’ to change between us. i’m not wakin’ up one day to you leavin’ me for a reason right under my nose.” he urges and you can see him pleading. the desperation for you to agree.

“promise. now you promise me.”

“course i promise. i couldn’t even fill out ten reasons as to why i hate you.”

“i didn't say i hate you. and sure you can. you hate my cold feet. you hate how i moan about my job. you hate how i hate your job. you hate how i always want a massage. you hate how i wait until the last minute when you’re tucked up in bed for you to get me a glass of water. you hate how i’m indecisive for what i want for my birthdays and—,”

bakugou sits up, “i don't hate any of that shit. love listenin’ to you and half that shit is cute as hell.”

you pout, “you hate when i wear low cut tops out—,”

he frowns, “that’s foreplay, baby. you let me suck your tits after to make me happy. couldn’t give a shit what you wear.”

“how about how protective my friends are? and the fact i tell them everything?”

bakugou shrugs, “you deserve friends that love you that much and that you can tell everythin’.”

“i get snappy when i’m running late or too much is going on or i’m hot.”

with that bakugou gets up. your fan. though not without hovering over you to give you a peck. then another. you press your soft lips against his though you don’t open up because then you will get even hotter and snappy.

he pulls off you and rises from the sofa, “that makes sense, baby. you’re stressed and uncomfortable.”

you roll your eyes, “stop being so understanding!”

he walks towards your bedroom, but not without turning around to look at you. his fingers grip the door frame, “i love you.”

"moving on to the quarterly budget projections for the musutafu district." the speaker’s voice on the call filled the quiet room.

katsuki felt your warm hands slide up his bare thighs as you reached for him. he instantly stiffened in his chair, fighting to keep his focus on the zoom meeting, but he could already feel his dick hardening and straining against his boxers.

his fingers gripped the edge of the desk, knuckles turning white as you palmed him through his boxers before slowly tugging them down.

before he could even give a silent warning, you wrapped your mouth around him.

the warmth of your throat overwhelmed him immediately. a sharp hiss caught in his throat, but he managed to choke it back at the last second and mask it as a rough cough. he quickly muted his microphone before they could hear anything else.

"Is everything alright, dynamight?" the agency director asked, noticing his posture on the screen.

katsuki's jaw clenched hard as a deep heat ran up his neck. underneath the desk, you swirled your tongue right around the tip, looking up through your lashes with pure mischief. you knew exactly what you were doing to him.

"fine." he managed to growl out, unmuting his mic for a split second before slamming it back on mute. his voice was way deeper and raspier than usual—thick and strained.

his professional composure was completely starting to shatter. he leaned forward and buried his face in his hand, pretending to overthink the budget charts while trying to hide his expression. his eyes fluttered shut as a quiet "fuck.." slipped past his lips.

his other hand crept down, threading his fingers through your hair to guide your movements.

you picked up the pace, bobbing your head rhythmically with your lips tight around him, sucking him in deep. he didn't give a damn about the zoom meeting anymore, he was ready to log off with a cheap excuse at any second.

"can't even wait, can you?" he groaned.part of him wanted to pull you off, to discipline you for being so reckless and impatient, but his fingers did the exact opposite—pushing himself deeper into your mouth. "fuckin' tease."

a mix of pleasure and frustration hooded his eyes as he looked down. whenever a colleague on the call asked a question, he had to forcefully lock every muscle in his body just to nod sharply, breathing in short, ragged puffs through his nose.

"gonna ruin you the second i'm off this call." his hips twitched up on instinct as he watched you intently with the silent promise burning in his eyes, knowing he was seconds away from filling your throat.

you were going to pay for this the very second he clicked leave meeting.

"Morning”, he says. "Morning”, you mumble in a yawn, taking out your mug and reaching for the half-full pot of coffee. He tilts towards you, his voice dropping to a playful whisper near your ear. "You know, I didn't realize you were into heavy machinery”. You furrow your brows. First of all, he knows better than to make conversation before you have your coffee. And second, the heck? "I— what?". "That thing you powered on last night", a smirk tugs at his lips. "I could hear it from my room. I thought the plumbing was bursting for a second". You nearly drop your mug, cheeks erupting in a shade of crimson. A hearty chuckle rumbles in his chest. “I think you need permission from the landlord for putting up a construction site”. "Shinso!", you hiss, slapping his arm though you’re already fighting a smile. "Shut up! It's... it's an old model”. "First prototype, more likely", he chuckles, stepping back and heading to cookie jar on the table. "Just a heads up: next time you plan some leisure activities, let me know. I'll put on some noise-canceling headphones”.

The next few days are filled with relentless teasing because Hitoshi has the maturity of a four-year-old, apparently. You’re torn between matching it or setting your room on fire with yourself in it. But one evening you return home and find a neatly wrapped package sitting on your bed with a sticky note attached. For the sake of my sanity. And yours. — Hitoshi

You peel off the paper to reveal a brand new vibrator. It’s black with deep crimson stripes on the sides, sleek and of smooth silicone. You don’t even want to know how much it cost or how he got the money for it. You just slowly, carefully, put it back in its box while your heartbeat pulses into your ears. When you knock on the already open door of Hitoshi’s room the next night, you find him spread on the bed wearing nothing but a pair of gray sweatpants that hang low on his hips. All the lights are off except for a small bedside lamp he’s keeping on to read his mystery novel. He looks at you, one eyebrow raised. “Hi?”.

You stole one of his old sweatshirts, the baggy one he likes to wear on days where he needs comfort and a tent to disappear into. Its hem reaches just above your knee. “Hi”.

You enter, sitting on the bed next to his side. Closeness and contact are nothing new for you, especially after years of teasing and pranks in closed proximity of this tiny hole you call home. But something feels different tonight, Hitoshi can sense it in the charged air, tense in a way that’s stranger than usual. But not uncomfortable.

“Need something?”, he asks cautiously, setting the book aside ready for some kind of payback after all the jibes he made at your “equipment”. “I wanted to say thank you”, you say, scooting closer. Reaching in the big pocket on the front of the hoodie, you pull out his gift to you.

He looks at the curved toy placed in front of him for a good thirty seconds, then back at you. He’d be lying if he said the thought didn’t cross his mind, but it was shaped in the hope of hearing you again through the wall. Drywall safely separating your bodies so you wouldn’t see him jerking off for the nth time to the image of you, arched like a cat but now because of something he got for you... something that might make you think of him.

“How gracious”, it’s all he can say. You grin watching him swallow, his fluster giving you confidence. “I thought I could show you. How grateful I am”, you whisper, a hand slowly reaching to grip his thigh. He blinks at least five times. “For real? Now?” You simply tilt your head and giggle, out of nervousness but also fond disbelief. “Yeah. Fuck, yeah”, he quickly sits up straight.

He reaches over to pull you into his lap, turning you around so that your back is now pressed against his chest. It’s kinda awkward at first, in the way it always is when a line is being crossed or a dynamic changes. But lust has a way of making it all fade away, especially as he wraps his arms around you, hooking your legs outside his thighs to peel them apart so he can keep them open and enjoy the show with all the hunger of a man on the brink of starvation

When he slides his hands under the sweatshirt, slowly tracing up your inner thighs, he’s only half surprised to find nothing under it. "Go on then”, his voice sends a cold shiver down your spine. “Make a mess for me”.

You let out a shaky breath, reaching for the toy. When you turn it on it basically purrs, so very quiet compared to the other, but vibrates so hard you jolt when it brushes over your clit.

"Oh god”, you whimper, your eyes squeezing shut. "Toshi, it's so much stronger". The sensation is amplified by his presence. Having him behind you makes you painfully aware of the quick rise of his chest against your shoulder blades and the ridge of his cock growing on the small of your back. "Had to get you something nice", he says in a low growl. “Glad it works”. Hitoshi doesn’t just watch. He holds you so tight and when you arch your back on a moan his shoulder is right there to support your head. He slides one palm under the hoodie and on your chest, splaying his hand on your ribcage before cupping your breast. He’s gentle at first, rolling the nipple until it pebbles between his fingers, but as you increase the speed of the vibration he starts to pinch and tug at it, making you hiss.

"Does that feel good?". His breath is hot against your ear. "Yes! Yes, please —fuck!”, you almost sob as your body trembles. You let the toy slide on your folds back and forth until the tip catches on your entrance, loudly gasping when it easily slips in. “So that’s how you like it? Slow and teasing?”. You feel his smile on your neck as presses soft kisses under you lobe. “Yeah, but s’not enough”. “Then what do you need, sugar?”. You’re getting more and more aroused as he talks, that low lilt coating your senses like a velvet drape. "It f-feels s’good but I ca-can't ”, you huff, hips chasing the stimulation. "Need something to-to-" Hitoshi’s fingers are quick to settle on your clit, circling and pinching it until you cry out his name and dig your fingers into his forearm, panting for air you can't take.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous”, he groans, following all your little shifts and rubbing his cock just above your ass, listening to every wet sound you pussy makes wishing it was him being buried that deep inside you. “Thought about watching you so many times”, he chokes out. “And then you got off with that plastic abomination, all the little moans you tried to hide”. Your hips jerk at the words, at the way he’s playing with your clit, at the pressure building so tight and so fast in your core. Could it always have felt this good? All those times you did it by yourself, thinking about Hitoshi’s back as he played in the living room, or his thighs so big in his god awful cycling shorts. “What did we do?”, you ask in a whine. “In your fantasy, what did we do?”.

“I slid the vibrator on your clit, to replace it with my tongue. Ate you out until you gushed, until you begged me to stop”, his voice is raspy with lust. “Ca-aah-me all over you, painted your chest and stomach and —fuck!— you looked so so pretty, kitten”.

He traps you on his shoulder as you turn your head over to him, needing that tongue in your mouth so desperately you could scream, and he hungrily kisses and licks all the whimpers falling from your lips.

It doesn’t take long to sense your exquisite needy whines getting higher and faster. He pulls back, leaving your lips red and swollen, and finds a sensitive spot on your neck. "Toshi, I'm gonna", the words die on your tongue as his teeth sink in your skin in with a sharp, sudden bite. Jolting with a shriek, the shock of the pain mixed with the overwhelming pleasure sends you spiraling and white stars dance behind your eyelids. He keeps you there as your orgasm hits, squeezing hard around the toy with a scream that echoes through the apartment. He keeps sucking on your neck until a mark blooms, until you can’t handle the aftershocks anymore. As the tremors slowly subside, he doesn’t let you go. He keeps you tightly pressed against him, his tongue gently soothing the stinging in your neck.

He takes your hand, the one still between your thighs, in his. He places them on your tummy and gently pushes, watching the toy slide out of you and quietly fall on the bed. It buzzes softly, twitching all glossy and dripping with your arousal.

Hitoshi wants to put it in your mouth and make you suck it dry. He wants to put it in his mouth and suck it dry. He wants to kiss you after to let you taste yourself on his tongue and fuck the toy right back into you to make you come at least two more times. Maybe three if he gets to free his dick from the sticky confinement of his sweatpants.

You stir in his hold, bringing him back to reality as you sigh with knitted brows. “My head hurts”, you grumble. Hitoshi takes a deep breath. Then two more. “It’s because you came hard on something classy and modern, kitten”, he says, voice still husky.

“whatcha up to, huh, baby?” sounds like enough of a rhetorical question for you to ignore it as your grip around his neck loosens, elbows forcing the brunt of your weight on his shoulders as you shift to get into the right spot. it’s not until your cunt is lined up perfectly with the curved outline of his cock, pre mixing with yours through layers of fabric, that you try again, rolling your hips once more to try and get the perfect angle that makes him—

“oh, fuuuuckk, there she is,” he says, so quiet you’re sure you weren’t meant to hear it.

pussy aching, clenching around nothing, you exhale shakily as your boyfriend’s grip tightens for real this time, his ass sliding further back down into the couch, crooking his head to the side so your head can come down and press against the meat of his shoulder, your chest pressed right up against his. the angle stays right, somehow, the head of your boyfriend’s cock wet against your hole before he starts thrusting up into you in earnest, trying to get that feeling again, trying to get the tip of his cock to catch and slip in, just a little, just enough—

“fuck, sweet girl, cunt so good, you’re so wet—” he grunts, hips faltering as your flimsy shorts slip to the side, somehow, dirty cotton panties stretching, doing nothing to stop his cock from sliding up against your clit at its peak and tease your hole on the drop, ruthlessly slipping it in as much as the fabric covering it will allow with the next thrust before he does it all over again.

keigo’s staring down at where you’re connected, holding you in place like a toy as he rolls his hips in your stead, his grip turned bruising, thrusts aimed just right, precise, somehow, like something in his body is made for it—like he’s fucking trained himself to do it. pathetically, you let him do whatever he wants, fingers tangled in the hair at his nape as you moan in his ear.

it isn’t until his grip loosens just a tad and one of his hands lets go, trusting you not to move, that he reminds you who he is and what he does and why you’re here. when deft fingers curl around the back of your neck, keeping you still, you’re helpless to do anything but take it as one of your hands comes down to slip beneath the strap of your panties, question on the tip of your tongue.

“keigo, keigo, can i—wanna—”

you feel your boyfriend chuckle more than hearing or seeing it, feel how his chest stutters with it before his head falls back again, thrusts stilling. just barely within your peripheral, you catch his throat bobbing in a swallow, the corners of his lips curling up in a smirk just as before. 

your skin pulses beneath his fingertips where they dig into your skin as he feigns thought, chest rumbling beneath you. not once does that grip let up—it’s pretty much the only thing stopping you from slipping your right hand beneath your panties to toy with your abused clit. the threat of it, in a way, is what’s keeping you in check, whatever that means.

“fuck, baby girl, i don’t know. how bad d’you want it?”

“keigo,” you whine, the sound high and needy, vibrating against the shell of his ear in turn, “so bad—fuck, please, i need—”

“need what?” he interrupts, voice dropping an octave. his thumb is tracing the skin over your carotid, close to the ear furthest him, where your pulse is the strongest—where it only seems to kick up at the attention, making your head spin. “gotta use your words, sweet girl. can’t just grind on me like that and expect me to know what’s going on up there,”

you whine again, hips jerking involuntarily against his, seeking friction he’s no longer giving you. it’s almost as if he weren’t still hard as hell beneath you, with the way he’s holding still, twitching right up against your soaked panties. almost like he hasn’t been doing anything at all, with how he’s staring at you, golden irises shadowed over with thick lashes as he waits.

“wanna touch,” you manage, breath hitching when his grip tightens warningly around the back of your neck, as if the touch itself weren’t enough of a warning on its own. “wanna come, keigo, please—let me—”

“let you what?” he’s enjoying this, the bastard. you can feel the smirk against your temple as he pulls you closer, speaking directly against your skin, stubble tickling the side of your face. your cunt throbs at the feeling, head clearing only just so at the softer feel of a lazy kiss smoothing over the roughness, his chest rumbling again. “let you get yourself off on my cock like i’m some toy? like i’m just something warm to rub against? could just get you a pillow, huh?”

“no, no, that’s not—” you try, almost shaking your head as if his grip weren’t restricting so much of your movement. you can’t even move, restricted by both his hands and your position—he’s keeping you pliant and docile and fucking frustrated. 

“that’s exactly what you were doing, baby.” the hand on your hip slides down, fingers dragging over the damp fabric of your shorts, pressing just hard enough to make you gasp, hips rolling into the touch but not enough, his cock slipping away to fwap against your thigh. “look at this mess, huh? soaked through. been thinking about this all day, haven’t you? sitting around, what, touching yourself ‘n getting ready for me, yeah?”

“wasn’t—oh, fuck—” your denial dies in your throat as his fingers slip beneath the elastic of your panties, not touching where you need him but just resting there, teasing like a fucking asshole. 

“liar,” he breathes, lacking any malice in the slightest. “but that’s okay. i like you desperate. like you stupid with it, hmm?” his fingers slide lower, brushing through slick folds with a gentleness violently contrasting the bruising grip he’s got around your neck. “so tell me, sweet girl. if i let you touch yourself now, let you play with your clit, what’re you gonna do for me after?”

your mind blanks. he’s circling your hole with one finger, not pushing in, just tracing it while his cock twitches absently against your thigh, so much further than you want it to be, than where it’s supposed to be. he’s clearly getting impatient, but unwilling to rush this game he’s playing. 

“i’ll—” you swallow hard, his fingers stilling, blunt nail catching your gummy insides. “‘m gonna ride you, however you want.”

“however i want?” his finger pushes in further, just the tip, just the tip, and your walls clamp down around nothing, looking for his fingers or his cock or his tongue or anything, anything at all. “that’s dangerous, baby, you know what i like.”

you do. keigo likes to watch you from below, likes to slide low like he is now but lower and stare up at you as you fall apart on his cock. he likes the feel of your hands braced on his wings—if they weren’t so tiny, right now—feathers soft and tickling your palms while he fucks up into you hard enough to make your tummy ache. after, he likes to flip you over, when your thighs start to shake with exertion, likes to create a sort of canopy around you with his wings, intimacy hidden and private and overwhelming ‘cause all you can see is him and all he can see is you. he takes you apart slowly, using up all the time in the world even when he’s shaking apart himself.

“whatever you want,” you correct, voice barely above a whisper. “please, keigo, i’ll be good—’m gonna be so good for you, just let me—”

“let you?” he withdraws his finger, brings it up to your lips, painting them with your slick. “open.”

you obey immediately, lips parting to let his fingers slide inside, tasting yourself, salty and bitter and nasty with his eyes all over you. keigo groans, low and guttural, as your cheeks hollow out and you suck on his fingers like you’re going to suck on his cock later—because you will. you’ll do anything, right now, to relieve the ache.

“that’s it,” he murmurs, almost to himself again, “there’s my good girl.”

he withdraws his fingers slowly, trailing saliva down your chin that he doesn’t even bother to try and swipe away. “go ahead then. touch yourself. don’t fucking come ‘til i’m inside you, though, got it? wanna feel your pussy squeeze me dry.”

his hand leaves your neck, sliding down to join his other where it’s returned to your hips, both now working to lift you just enough so you can slip your hand beneath your panties and press down on your clit, drawing circles right away that make you cry out and tip forward, mouth open against his trap as you drool all over him. it’s too much and not enough—fucking hurts.

“easy,” keigo soothes, but his voice is strained now, control cracking. “slow, baby. wanna watch you. wanna see you fall apart real slow before i fuck you fast, ‘kay?”

you try again, feeling that pathetic urge to obey, circling shaky fingers around your clit again while he watches, slowly pushing back up so he can see your face just how you know he likes. it’s with his eyes locked on your face that he shifts, holding you up just as well with one hand while the other pulls his cock free from his sweats. the sight of it, bright red and wet and leaking, curved to the left as it’s always been, makes your rhythm falter. 

“hey, eyes on me.” he commands, your gaze snapping back up to his. he’s fisting himself in your peripheral, once, then twice, nice and easy, spreading pre over the length. “keep going. show me how you like it, baby.”

you’re not sure exactly how long you’re working yourself up to it, not sure how much more you can take with the added pressure of his eyes on you and his grip on your hip and his cock brushing against your knuckles as he aligns himself beneath you. it’s different than it has been all day, having nothing to look at but your own fingers stretching yourself out and an empty ceiling while keigo was busy filing paperwork the hour or two after he’d gotten home from patrol.

“keigo,” you gasp, feeling the coil tightening, the edge approaching despite his demand, “keigo, i can’t, ‘m gonna—”

“no, you’re not.” he grabs your wrist with the hand covered in pre, cock springing to the side. he stills your movements before shoving your hand away. “not yet. not yet, sweet girl, i got you,”

and then he’s guiding you down, pulling your panties aside with his other hand, the head of his cock pressing into your hole, hot and thick and perfect. he pushes up as you sink down, the opposing movements seating him deep in one stroke, filling you up so well after so long without that it makes your vision white out at the edges.

“fuck, oh fuck—” he groans, head thrown back again as the stubs of his damaged wings rustle against the couch cushions, spreading instinctively—the back frame creaking from the force of them alone. “fuck, you’re so tight, baby—you been holding out on me? saving it just for today?”

“yes,” you sob, already moving, already rolling your hips, “yes, yes, just for you, keigo, kei—”

“fuuuuuck,” he groans, hands back on your hips, lifting you up and slamming you back down with a strength that should be impossible from this angle, setting a brutal pace that has you crying out at every impact. he can’t seem to settle on where to look, gaze snapping up at you then back down at where you’re connected. “yeah, yeah? look at that pussy,” he shifts his grip right after he’s found that gummy spot inside you, starts nailing it after noticing how desperately your fingers are scrambling for purchase on his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. one arm wraps around your waist while the other slides between your bodies, finding your clit with unerring accuracy. the dual sensation, pleasure-pain of him filling you, stretching you, hitting that spot deep inside while his fingers work you from outside, has you unravelling.

“keigo, please, canicanicani—” “come,” he begs, voice wrecked, “come on my cock, sweet girl, let me feel you.”

you break apart with a scream that he swallows with his mouth on yours, kissing you messy and desperate as your walls flutter and clench around him, milking him in waves that make him groan into your throat. he doesn’t stop fucking you through it, doesn’t slow down, chasing his release now with single-minded focus as you go boneless in his hold.

“that’s it,” he pants against your lips, “that’s my girl. so good for me—so fucking good—”

his voice pitches upwards right at the end before he comes with a shout, burying himself deep and spilling inside you, cum hot and thick, marking you from the inside in a way that has you shuddering through aftershocks. for a moment, neither of you move, just breathing hard against each other’s mouths, tears spilling down keigo’s cheeks as he comes down from it.

“all okay?” is all he gets out as his head falls back again, your head falling into the crook of his neck as you sink all the way back down onto his cock, unwilling to move and risk letting any of his cum spill out. his voice is hoarse, all the cocky bravado gone now, replaced with tenderness.

you hum, too spent to form words, nuzzling into where you can feel his pulse racing in turn.

“m’kay, sweet girl,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple, then your jaw, then your mouth, all soft and careful. his grip is delicate, holding your head up carefully while he shifts to kiss you better, nothing like the desperate clash moments before.

he snorts against your lips when you shift and his cum starts to drip out onto the couch.

The excitement he had started to slowly dwindle the more time went on and no one even wanted to sit next to him during class. There were whispers about him from the other kids, ones they thought he couldn’t hear, but his feathers took in every single vibration that came from kids’ throats. While he couldn’t decipher everything, he could decipher enough about the fact that they thought he was scary.

That was how he spent most of his first month in kindergarten—alone, punished to hear every cruel whisper they said about him, and not reacting to it.

But then, one day, came you. The transfer student. There was this cute smile on your face as you waved at all the new faces of your new peers before the teacher had pointed at Keigo and told you to sit next to him.

He was already bracing for impact, waiting for you to shake your head and tell her that you didn’t want to sit next to him—that he was too scary to sit next to. But none of that happened. You just pranced over to him and sat down.

His tiny brain couldn’t compute it, the fact that someone would willingly sit down next to him. As if he hasn’t spent most of his time pouting and staring at other kids’ friendships longingly—which led to dirty looks and them turning their backs toward him.

It’s only when you asked him his name that he finally could function again. His wings puffed up behind him as he looked you over, a shy look that made him take in all of you, before he finally told you his name.

You’d merely smiled at him and told him your own, saying something about becoming the bestest friends in the whole wide world, because sitting next to him meant that the two of you were going to become friends. That’s how that works!!

That was the first time since the start of kindergarten that Keigo smiled again, all of his tiny teeth on display while his eyes crinkled. Oh how lucky he was to have finally found someone who wanted to be his friend.

The smile was quickly wiped off his face when you gasped, though. Eyes widening as you planted one hand on your desk.

He’d stilled, afraid he already did something wrong. His wings trembled uncomfortably behind his back as he noticed other kids staring at the two of you, some already whispering about him—or you for that matter.

Then you leaned forward with a smile so big, it was a wonder it didn’t split your chubby cheeks. There was this certain sparkle in your eyes as you leaned in uncomfortably close, your little eyes looking at his lips.

‘You have sharp teeth!’ you had exclaimed, voice full of excitement. There was this little twitch in your fingers, like you were itching to pull up his lip to examine his teeth yourself.

And it is true that Keigo had sharp canines, something that came with his quirk. It is quite nice that he could just tear through solid foods in an instant, but it also sometimes hurt him. The canines would poke into his lip, drawing some blood out of them. Yeah, he hadn’t fully grown into them yet.

But instead of being afraid of them, you were more fascinated than anything. Fingers still twitching against the desk as you leaned in far too close, your noses almost touching.

Keigo had only blinked at you—a slow blink that you would later point out as well along with a lot of other bird traits he had—before finally nodding his head.

The rest was honestly history.

The two of you got close, much closer than anyone could’ve anticipated. Fingers were always intertwined whenever you’d dragged him somewhere with you, smile on your face as you blabbed on about the thing you just saw and needed for him to see too.

And Keigo? Keigo had just gripped onto your little hand a little tighter, his feathers puffing up behind him as he kept up with you, nodding his tiny head at whatever you were saying, his golden curls bouncing with the motion.

That’s the dynamic between the two of you—you dragging him along with you and him following you wherever you went without so much as a huff.

Soon, he’d forgotten all about other people being scared of him, discriminating against him purely because he has wings and has more bird traits than other winged heteromorphs. All he could think about was you, his best friend.

With those thoughts also came the fact that the two of you trusted each other completely, to the point of having no secrets or so you thought. It was something that was established early on, the fact that the two of you could tell each other everything.

For two children such as yourselves, that meant talking about quirks and their little side effects. This was mostly a topic surrounding Keigo himself, considering he didn’t just get wings but also got some bird traits along with it.

The first one you noticed—aside from the obvious: wings, eye markings, and his sharp canines—was the fact that he reacted strongly to shiny things. His golden eyes always zeroed in on a glint somewhere. Sometimes it was just a little tab from a soda can that lay abandoned on the street, the sun hitting it just right, while other times it was your earrings.

When you’d pointed it out, Keigo had looked away with a faint blush on his face, denying the fact that he was even looking at it. He isn’t that much of a bird! But then it kept happening, and you noticed. Of course you did, you noticed everything about the crimson-winged kid.

You never made fun of him for it; if anything, you started collecting shiny things for him. From soda tabs to shiny coins to little trinkets, all little gifts for him that you presented with a smile on your face.

Keigo just looked at you with those unblinking eyes of his—another bird trait, the fact that he blinks super slow—before he snatched the little thing out of your hand and squeezed you against his body, little arms wrapping around your frame as you just laughed against his skin.

That’s something you haven’t stopped doing—giving him shiny things. Little gifts he keeps in a box under his bed, which you’d found when you were cleaning his room one day.

When you asked him about it, he just shrugged and walked over. Crouching beside you, he wrapped his wing around your shoulder and pulled you into his side. Your head automatically rested itself on his shoulder as he wrapped his arm around your waist.

“I’ve saved everything you’ve ever given to me, why would I stop now?” he had mumbled into your hair, giving it a faint kiss.

That had warmed your cheeks, the small smile on your face widening as you realised he was serious. Even after sixteen years of friendship, he still collected everything you gave to him, even though most of it was trash.

To this day, he has done that. Little trinkets he has gifted you and vice versa spanning your dorm room. There’s a small cup-holder full of shiny things in your little kitchen; A few red feathers laying on your bed—’So you’ll think of me when I’m gone.’—and, of course, that stupid rock you gave him back when the two of you were six years old.

You’re lying on your bed, practically surrounded by blankets and pillows. They swallow you whole as you lazily type away on your laptop, trying to get this annoying assignment done before tonight.

The door to your dorm opens with a heavy thud, rattling the walls slightly. The sound has your head snap up, just in time to see a grumpy blond walk through the door.

His wings droop behind him, primaries just shy of touching the floor, shoulders sagged as he beelines straight to the bed after kicking the door closed behind him. Shrugging off his backpack, he lets himself fall face-first into the matrass.

“Long day?” you ask, head lazily lolling to the side to watch him kick off his shoes. There’s a faint grumble in response, probably a hum in agreement while also telling you… something.

The next second, two red plumes detach themselves from his wings. They hover in the air before one closes your laptop and the other gently puts it on your desk.

Keigo rolls onto his side, giant wings hanging off the side of the bed, before he pulls you closer to him. You let yourself be dragged into whatever position is needed, ending up on your side as well, before he inches closer and puts his forehead against yours.

Right, okay, really bad day it seems.

Closing your eyes, you just let yourself get lost in the sensation for a little while. Pressing your forehead further into his—something he’s told you he liked you doing—you just let him have a little moment to himself.

While this doesn’t really do anything for you, you know Keigo likes to do this when he feels stressed, or when he needs some reassurance. It’s some kind of bird thing that releases serotonin for him, and who are you to deny him his happy hormones?

It’s something the two of you have done since you were little. The first time he did it startled you, not really knowing exactly what he was doing, and back then neither did he. It was his first time doing it, so he shocked the both of you.

There was a small pause, devoid of anything, before he finally scrambled to apologise, saying he didn’t know what he was doing.

You merely tilted your head—a small habit you picked up from him, yet another bird trait; tilting your head when something peculiar happens—and asked him if it felt right doing it. When he’d shyly nodded his head, golden curls bouncing, you’d just smiled and put your forehead against his.

At first it was stiff, the two of you looking at each other while literally having your foreheads pressed together—and if your mom were to walk in, she’d surely have some questions neither of you could answer—before he finally closed his eyes and let himself lean into you a little more.

You’d kept your eyes open, just looking at the way he relaxed into you. His wings stilled, feathers no longer stiff, shoulders sagging. There was this small exhale of relief that came from his nose, and that’s when you knew it was just a part of his brain telling him this was right, this was okay.

But Keigo isn’t all bird. He still has his human side, and his human side also craves connection. So it doesn’t surprise you when, after a few minutes of having your heads pressed together, he pulls you into his chest, arms circling your waist as he puts his chin on top of your head.

Exhaling, you let your own hands find his back—careful not to touch the base of his wings, a mistake you’ve only made once in your life.

“Feeling better?” you ask him, making yourself more comfortable in his embrace. “Mhmm.”

You smile at that as your eyes start to feel a little heavy. You note the way Keigo has draped one of his wings over you, crimson feathers twitching against your skin, almost as if they’re coaxing you to sleep. And before you know it, your eyes close and sleep takes you under.

Waking up, you blink a few times. You’re still cocooned in the red feathers as Keigo is sleeping soundly beside you, his arms still wrapped around your waist. Glancing outside you note how the sky has significantly darkened, and you’re suddenly wide awake.

Shit. What time is it?

Feeling around the bed blindly, your fingers finally find the smooth screen of your phone. Grabbing it, you look at the time. 7:15 pm. With one new notification staring up at you:

We still on for tonight?

Okay. This is okay, nothing to be freaked out about. You have forty-five minutes to get ready—freshen up, do your hair, and put on a cute outfit, which you’ve thankfully laid out already. You can do this, you can so do this.

Wiggling yourself free from Keigo’s embrace, you nearly make it out of the bed when you hear a sleepy grumble come from the guy.

“Go back to sleep, Kei,” you whisper to the guy, waiting for him to fall back asleep before you finally go to make yourself ready.

You’re in the bathroom when Keigo finally wakes up, his feathers twitching against his back as he listens to you hum some sort of tune under your breath—something you’re aware he would hear if he were awake, but soft enough to not wake him up.

For a second he wonders if you’ll come back to bed, but when he feels the spot next to him is cold, he realises you might’ve been awake for longer than he thought.

Rolling over with a groan, he finally sits up. His hair sticks out in odd directions, a few feathers sleep-mussed, which he immediately straightens, and there’s a small pillow crease on his face.

Rubbing his face, he swings his feet over the edge of the bed before making his way over to you. The harsh light from the bathroom fixture makes him blink a few more times before he can finally focus on you. And when he does, all the air leaves his lungs.

Fuck, you look hot.

All dolled up, having put on a pretty black dress, done your hair and makeup, and are currently putting on a necklace.

“Let me help.” His voice sounds raspy, but you just smile at him. Walking behind you, he gently takes hold of the necklace before clipping it together, letting it rest against your collarbones. “Why are you so dolled up, hmmm?”

Because you don’t look like this that often, most of the time preferring to stay inside with him, watching some sort of movie or series. The last time you got all dressed up was for his birthday, which has been some months already.

Fuck, did he forget the two of you had plans?

“Going on a date,” you casually say as you lean forward, adjusting the necklace slightly.

That makes his mind scramble a little. A date? Did he seriously forget about a date? Fuck. Looking down, he notes how he’s still in the same clothes he went to lectures with—a white hoodie and black sweats. Not very date ready. “When are we supposed to leave?”

That makes you look at him funny through the mirror, watching him with a furrowed brow. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, with how busy I’ve been these past few days, I must’ve forgotten that we were going out. So how long do I have to get ready?”

“Keigo, you’re not coming with,” you carefully say, turning around to face him now.

Wait, what? “What do you mean? You just said you were going on a date.”

“Yeah, with this guy from my physics class.”

His brain is malfunctioning now, alongside his mouth. Opening and closing a few times, he tries to find the right words, but they just won’t come out.

“I- did I do something wrong?” he asks, stepping a bit closer to you now. His eyes frantically search your face for any signs, but all he can see is confusion. “I know I’ve been quite busy lately, and that I haven’t really spent much time with you, and we constantly keep having different schedules, but if I’ve done anything wrong, please just tell me—”

“Keigo,” you interrupt him. “You’ve done nothing wrong. We always tell each other when someone does something that they don’t like, remember?”

It was a pinky promise the two of you made when you were mere children, little fingers interlocking when the two of you promised you would tell each other when the other did something wrong or something that hurt their feelings.

“Then why are you going out on a date with a guy who isn’t your boyfriend?”

That stops you in your tracks, your fingers uselessly twitching beside your frame as you look at him. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re going out with a stranger when you’re dating someone already.”

“I’m not dating anyone,” you carefully say, taking a small step back from him. Because what is he talking about right now?

“You’re dating me, chickadee.” Desperation creeps into his voice as he looks you over a few times. You only shake your head, brows furrowing even further.

“Why would you even think that, Kei? We’ve never even done things people who date do.” because it’s true, you’ve never even been on a date with the guy. The only times you’ve gone out were for either of your birthdays, and even that could hardly be called a date.

“You tell me you love me almost every single day.”

“Yeah, because I do. You’re my best friend.”

“You sucked me off last month!” he throws his hands up in the air, voice nearly cracking from how loud he says it.

“That was to practice,” you grumble, looking away from his pleading eyes. Those same eyes that are always looking at you, now blinking faster than you’ve ever seen him blink.

“Practice for what?!”

“For when I get a boyfriend!”

“I am your boyfriend!” He exclaims, completely desperate now. His feathers twitch behind his back, like they want to reach out to you, press every word against your skin.

“Since when, Kei. Because last time I remember, neither of us has ever asked the other person out.” Because you surely would remember if that happened, having had a crush on him since… kindergarten.

“I- oh my god. So you’re meaning to tell me when you sat on my face, it was ‘just as friends’; when we took each other’s virginity, it was just as friends; when we were making out last week, it was just as friends?” His voice is getting steadier every time he comes up with new things, and you’re sure he could name ten more things that “just friends” wouldn’t do.

“Well…” when he puts it like that, it does sound a little silly, but it all made sense in your head when the two of you did it. Sure, you’ve thought about the fact that normal best friends wouldn’t do all of this without the ‘benefits’ label behind it, but still!! “Don’t make it sound like that.”

“Sound like what, dove? The fact that we’ve been dating for eleven years already and you’re only now finding it out?” He steps closer to you, wings spreading out a bit as he looks at you in that pretty dress, before they snap shut again, remembering the fact that it wasn’t for him.

“What in the ever-living fuck are you talking about, Keigo?” Seriously, did he hit his head or something?

Thinking back on it, he has flown into a building before, showing off to you and not looking where he was flying. He smacked the window so hard, he chipped his tooth—which he had to get fixed later that same day.

“The gifts, the nesting, the forehead thing, the preening, me showing off my wings to you—you even let me do a free-fall with you in my arms!”

“What about those things?”

“Oh for fucks sake, chickadee,” he grumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose. Exhaling, you can hear him count to five under his breath before he finally looks at you again. Those pretty amber eyes looking you dead in the eye as he says: “I was courting you.”

“I- you- what?” Your brain is malfunctioning, because surely you heard that wrong.

Courting, something birds did to attract their mates. You know that some species showed off their dancing skills while others sung their little lungs out. And then there was the fact that some species gathered things for their mates, and— oh.

You think back on all of the times where Keigo would gift you things. Some of them were shiny things his little magpie brain liked, while others were just normal gifts—plushies, earrings, bracelets.

Then your eyes drift past Keigo, toward the bed, where all those pillows and blankets lay in a comfortable little square. There are a lot of pillows and blankets now that you think about it.

A nest.

Keigo had been nesting and you hadn’t even once realised it. Despite being always there with him.

“You seriously didn’t know? Didn’t even for a second think to look up the meaning behind all of those things” the sound of his voice makes your eyes snap back to his.

“Why would I? You’re you, and you’ve always told me everything about your quirk anyway. And yeah, sure, you’ve told me how close you’d have to be to someone to do the whole forehead press thingy and preening, but you never said anything about courting!”

“That’s because I thought you knew—that you were reciprocating those feelings,” he whispers. One of his hands comes down to your arm, fingers hovering uselessly above your skin before he finally slides it down to where your hand is resting beside your body. Taking it, he starts playing with your fingers—a small habit he’s had since the two of you were kids. “and you’re meaning to tell me you just… did all of those things, without knowing what they meant?”

“Well, duh. They were important to you, so why wouldn’t I let you do them?” Because that’s the thing about Keigo. He has some traits that don’t fully align with yours, but even if you don’t inherently understand them, you always just let him do whatever felt right for him. Whether that be gifting you random objects, or letting him press his forehead against yours because it released happy hormones in his brain, you’d just let him do whatever he felt like.

“I can’t believe I’m in love with a dumbass,” he mumbles, too low for you to catch.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, dove, absolutely nothing,” his fingers finally still as he looks you in the eye. “Now tell me. Do I have to watch my girlfriend of eleven years walk through the door to go out on a date with another man, or can I bring her back to bed and fuck her brains out for even thinking that we were doing all of those things as just friends?”

“Come here, you stupid birdbrain.” You tug on his hands before crashing your lips on his.

You might not have gone on that date you weren’t looking forward to, but you did get dicked down by the most important person in your life. And you’ve gained a boyfriend! (Which you apparently already had for eleven years.)

That’s a win in your books.

A/n: I think this is the most dialogue-heavy fic I've ever written and idk how to feel about it.

tags: @yoonsucks @etheralpanic @lilithkleia @dollieadored @starsforvia @iinvivible @saniiaa @marisacosm @tojiphoria @yorikae @yoniknows @coveexxx @mousedit @lilslovesaizawa @june-buggiewug @sunnyfieldsz @dragemballz

The excitement he had started to slowly dwindle the more time went on and no one even wanted to sit next to him during class. There were whispers about him from the other kids, ones they thought he couldn’t hear, but his feathers took in every single vibration that came from kids’ throats. While he couldn’t decipher everything, he could decipher enough about the fact that they thought he was scary.

That was how he spent most of his first month in kindergarten—alone, punished to hear every cruel whisper they said about him, and not reacting to it.

But then, one day, came you. The transfer student. There was this cute smile on your face as you waved at all the new faces of your new peers before the teacher had pointed at Keigo and told you to sit next to him.

He was already bracing for impact, waiting for you to shake your head and tell her that you didn’t want to sit next to him—that he was too scary to sit next to. But none of that happened. You just pranced over to him and sat down.

His tiny brain couldn’t compute it, the fact that someone would willingly sit down next to him. As if he hasn’t spent most of his time pouting and staring at other kids’ friendships longingly—which led to dirty looks and them turning their backs toward him.

It’s only when you asked him his name that he finally could function again. His wings puffed up behind him as he looked you over, a shy look that made him take in all of you, before he finally told you his name.

You’d merely smiled at him and told him your own, saying something about becoming the bestest friends in the whole wide world, because sitting next to him meant that the two of you were going to become friends. That’s how that works!!

That was the first time since the start of kindergarten that Keigo smiled again, all of his tiny teeth on display while his eyes crinkled. Oh how lucky he was to have finally found someone who wanted to be his friend.

The smile was quickly wiped off his face when you gasped, though. Eyes widening as you planted one hand on your desk.

He’d stilled, afraid he already did something wrong. His wings trembled uncomfortably behind his back as he noticed other kids staring at the two of you, some already whispering about him—or you for that matter.

Then you leaned forward with a smile so big, it was a wonder it didn’t split your chubby cheeks. There was this certain sparkle in your eyes as you leaned in uncomfortably close, your little eyes looking at his lips.

‘You have sharp teeth!’ you had exclaimed, voice full of excitement. There was this little twitch in your fingers, like you were itching to pull up his lip to examine his teeth yourself.

And it is true that Keigo had sharp canines, something that came with his quirk. It is quite nice that he could just tear through solid foods in an instant, but it also sometimes hurt him. The canines would poke into his lip, drawing some blood out of them. Yeah, he hadn’t fully grown into them yet.

But instead of being afraid of them, you were more fascinated than anything. Fingers still twitching against the desk as you leaned in far too close, your noses almost touching.

Keigo had only blinked at you—a slow blink that you would later point out as well along with a lot of other bird traits he had—before finally nodding his head.

The rest was honestly history.

The two of you got close, much closer than anyone could’ve anticipated. Fingers were always intertwined whenever you’d dragged him somewhere with you, smile on your face as you blabbed on about the thing you just saw and needed for him to see too.

And Keigo? Keigo had just gripped onto your little hand a little tighter, his feathers puffing up behind him as he kept up with you, nodding his tiny head at whatever you were saying, his golden curls bouncing with the motion.

That’s the dynamic between the two of you—you dragging him along with you and him following you wherever you went without so much as a huff.

Soon, he’d forgotten all about other people being scared of him, discriminating against him purely because he has wings and has more bird traits than other winged heteromorphs. All he could think about was you, his best friend.

With those thoughts also came the fact that the two of you trusted each other completely, to the point of having no secrets or so you thought. It was something that was established early on, the fact that the two of you could tell each other everything.

For two children such as yourselves, that meant talking about quirks and their little side effects. This was mostly a topic surrounding Keigo himself, considering he didn’t just get wings but also got some bird traits along with it.

The first one you noticed—aside from the obvious: wings, eye markings, and his sharp canines—was the fact that he reacted strongly to shiny things. His golden eyes always zeroed in on a glint somewhere. Sometimes it was just a little tab from a soda can that lay abandoned on the street, the sun hitting it just right, while other times it was your earrings.

When you’d pointed it out, Keigo had looked away with a faint blush on his face, denying the fact that he was even looking at it. He isn’t that much of a bird! But then it kept happening, and you noticed. Of course you did, you noticed everything about the crimson-winged kid.

You never made fun of him for it; if anything, you started collecting shiny things for him. From soda tabs to shiny coins to little trinkets, all little gifts for him that you presented with a smile on your face.

Keigo just looked at you with those unblinking eyes of his—another bird trait, the fact that he blinks super slow—before he snatched the little thing out of your hand and squeezed you against his body, little arms wrapping around your frame as you just laughed against his skin.

That’s something you haven’t stopped doing—giving him shiny things. Little gifts he keeps in a box under his bed, which you’d found when you were cleaning his room one day.

When you asked him about it, he just shrugged and walked over. Crouching beside you, he wrapped his wing around your shoulder and pulled you into his side. Your head automatically rested itself on his shoulder as he wrapped his arm around your waist.

“I’ve saved everything you’ve ever given to me, why would I stop now?” he had mumbled into your hair, giving it a faint kiss.

That had warmed your cheeks, the small smile on your face widening as you realised he was serious. Even after sixteen years of friendship, he still collected everything you gave to him, even though most of it was trash.

To this day, he has done that. Little trinkets he has gifted you and vice versa spanning your dorm room. There’s a small cup-holder full of shiny things in your little kitchen; A few red feathers laying on your bed—’So you’ll think of me when I’m gone.’—and, of course, that stupid rock you gave him back when the two of you were six years old.

You’re lying on your bed, practically surrounded by blankets and pillows. They swallow you whole as you lazily type away on your laptop, trying to get this annoying assignment done before tonight.

The door to your dorm opens with a heavy thud, rattling the walls slightly. The sound has your head snap up, just in time to see a grumpy blond walk through the door.

His wings droop behind him, primaries just shy of touching the floor, shoulders sagged as he beelines straight to the bed after kicking the door closed behind him. Shrugging off his backpack, he lets himself fall face-first into the matrass.

“Long day?” you ask, head lazily lolling to the side to watch him kick off his shoes. There’s a faint grumble in response, probably a hum in agreement while also telling you… something.

The next second, two red plumes detach themselves from his wings. They hover in the air before one closes your laptop and the other gently puts it on your desk.

Keigo rolls onto his side, giant wings hanging off the side of the bed, before he pulls you closer to him. You let yourself be dragged into whatever position is needed, ending up on your side as well, before he inches closer and puts his forehead against yours.

Right, okay, really bad day it seems.

Closing your eyes, you just let yourself get lost in the sensation for a little while. Pressing your forehead further into his—something he’s told you he liked you doing—you just let him have a little moment to himself.

While this doesn’t really do anything for you, you know Keigo likes to do this when he feels stressed, or when he needs some reassurance. It’s some kind of bird thing that releases serotonin for him, and who are you to deny him his happy hormones?

It’s something the two of you have done since you were little. The first time he did it startled you, not really knowing exactly what he was doing, and back then neither did he. It was his first time doing it, so he shocked the both of you.

There was a small pause, devoid of anything, before he finally scrambled to apologise, saying he didn’t know what he was doing.

You merely tilted your head—a small habit you picked up from him, yet another bird trait; tilting your head when something peculiar happens—and asked him if it felt right doing it. When he’d shyly nodded his head, golden curls bouncing, you’d just smiled and put your forehead against his.

At first it was stiff, the two of you looking at each other while literally having your foreheads pressed together—and if your mom were to walk in, she’d surely have some questions neither of you could answer—before he finally closed his eyes and let himself lean into you a little more.

You’d kept your eyes open, just looking at the way he relaxed into you. His wings stilled, feathers no longer stiff, shoulders sagging. There was this small exhale of relief that came from his nose, and that’s when you knew it was just a part of his brain telling him this was right, this was okay.

But Keigo isn’t all bird. He still has his human side, and his human side also craves connection. So it doesn’t surprise you when, after a few minutes of having your heads pressed together, he pulls you into his chest, arms circling your waist as he puts his chin on top of your head.

Exhaling, you let your own hands find his back—careful not to touch the base of his wings, a mistake you’ve only made once in your life.

“Feeling better?” you ask him, making yourself more comfortable in his embrace. “Mhmm.”

You smile at that as your eyes start to feel a little heavy. You note the way Keigo has draped one of his wings over you, crimson feathers twitching against your skin, almost as if they’re coaxing you to sleep. And before you know it, your eyes close and sleep takes you under.

Waking up, you blink a few times. You’re still cocooned in the red feathers as Keigo is sleeping soundly beside you, his arms still wrapped around your waist. Glancing outside you note how the sky has significantly darkened, and you’re suddenly wide awake.

Shit. What time is it?

Feeling around the bed blindly, your fingers finally find the smooth screen of your phone. Grabbing it, you look at the time. 7:15 pm. With one new notification staring up at you:

We still on for tonight?

Okay. This is okay, nothing to be freaked out about. You have forty-five minutes to get ready—freshen up, do your hair, and put on a cute outfit, which you’ve thankfully laid out already. You can do this, you can so do this.

Wiggling yourself free from Keigo’s embrace, you nearly make it out of the bed when you hear a sleepy grumble come from the guy.

“Go back to sleep, Kei,” you whisper to the guy, waiting for him to fall back asleep before you finally go to make yourself ready.

You’re in the bathroom when Keigo finally wakes up, his feathers twitching against his back as he listens to you hum some sort of tune under your breath—something you’re aware he would hear if he were awake, but soft enough to not wake him up.

For a second he wonders if you’ll come back to bed, but when he feels the spot next to him is cold, he realises you might’ve been awake for longer than he thought.

Rolling over with a groan, he finally sits up. His hair sticks out in odd directions, a few feathers sleep-mussed, which he immediately straightens, and there’s a small pillow crease on his face.

Rubbing his face, he swings his feet over the edge of the bed before making his way over to you. The harsh light from the bathroom fixture makes him blink a few more times before he can finally focus on you. And when he does, all the air leaves his lungs.

Fuck, you look hot.

All dolled up, having put on a pretty black dress, done your hair and makeup, and are currently putting on a necklace.

“Let me help.” His voice sounds raspy, but you just smile at him. Walking behind you, he gently takes hold of the necklace before clipping it together, letting it rest against your collarbones. “Why are you so dolled up, hmmm?”

Because you don’t look like this that often, most of the time preferring to stay inside with him, watching some sort of movie or series. The last time you got all dressed up was for his birthday, which has been some months already.

Fuck, did he forget the two of you had plans?

“Going on a date,” you casually say as you lean forward, adjusting the necklace slightly.

That makes his mind scramble a little. A date? Did he seriously forget about a date? Fuck. Looking down, he notes how he’s still in the same clothes he went to lectures with—a white hoodie and black sweats. Not very date ready. “When are we supposed to leave?”

That makes you look at him funny through the mirror, watching him with a furrowed brow. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, with how busy I’ve been these past few days, I must’ve forgotten that we were going out. So how long do I have to get ready?”

“Keigo, you’re not coming with,” you carefully say, turning around to face him now.

Wait, what? “What do you mean? You just said you were going on a date.”

“Yeah, with this guy from my physics class.”

His brain is malfunctioning now, alongside his mouth. Opening and closing a few times, he tries to find the right words, but they just won’t come out.

“I- did I do something wrong?” he asks, stepping a bit closer to you now. His eyes frantically search your face for any signs, but all he can see is confusion. “I know I’ve been quite busy lately, and that I haven’t really spent much time with you, and we constantly keep having different schedules, but if I’ve done anything wrong, please just tell me—”

“Keigo,” you interrupt him. “You’ve done nothing wrong. We always tell each other when someone does something that they don’t like, remember?”

It was a pinky promise the two of you made when you were mere children, little fingers interlocking when the two of you promised you would tell each other when the other did something wrong or something that hurt their feelings.

“Then why are you going out on a date with a guy who isn’t your boyfriend?”

That stops you in your tracks, your fingers uselessly twitching beside your frame as you look at him. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re going out with a stranger when you’re dating someone already.”

“I’m not dating anyone,” you carefully say, taking a small step back from him. Because what is he talking about right now?

“You’re dating me, chickadee.” Desperation creeps into his voice as he looks you over a few times. You only shake your head, brows furrowing even further.

“Why would you even think that, Kei? We’ve never even done things people who date do.” because it’s true, you’ve never even been on a date with the guy. The only times you’ve gone out were for either of your birthdays, and even that could hardly be called a date.

“You tell me you love me almost every single day.”

“Yeah, because I do. You’re my best friend.”

“You sucked me off last month!” he throws his hands up in the air, voice nearly cracking from how loud he says it.

“That was to practice,” you grumble, looking away from his pleading eyes. Those same eyes that are always looking at you, now blinking faster than you’ve ever seen him blink.

“Practice for what?!”

“For when I get a boyfriend!”

“I am your boyfriend!” He exclaims, completely desperate now. His feathers twitch behind his back, like they want to reach out to you, press every word against your skin.

“Since when, Kei. Because last time I remember, neither of us has ever asked the other person out.” Because you surely would remember if that happened, having had a crush on him since… kindergarten.

“I- oh my god. So you’re meaning to tell me when you sat on my face, it was ‘just as friends’; when we took each other’s virginity, it was just as friends; when we were making out last week, it was just as friends?” His voice is getting steadier every time he comes up with new things, and you’re sure he could name ten more things that “just friends” wouldn’t do.

“Well…” when he puts it like that, it does sound a little silly, but it all made sense in your head when the two of you did it. Sure, you’ve thought about the fact that normal best friends wouldn’t do all of this without the ‘benefits’ label behind it, but still!! “Don’t make it sound like that.”

“Sound like what, dove? The fact that we’ve been dating for eleven years already and you’re only now finding it out?” He steps closer to you, wings spreading out a bit as he looks at you in that pretty dress, before they snap shut again, remembering the fact that it wasn’t for him.

“What in the ever-living fuck are you talking about, Keigo?” Seriously, did he hit his head or something?

Thinking back on it, he has flown into a building before, showing off to you and not looking where he was flying. He smacked the window so hard, he chipped his tooth—which he had to get fixed later that same day.

“The gifts, the nesting, the forehead thing, the preening, me showing off my wings to you—you even let me do a free-fall with you in my arms!”

“What about those things?”

“Oh for fucks sake, chickadee,” he grumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose. Exhaling, you can hear him count to five under his breath before he finally looks at you again. Those pretty amber eyes looking you dead in the eye as he says: “I was courting you.”

“I- you- what?” Your brain is malfunctioning, because surely you heard that wrong.

Courting, something birds did to attract their mates. You know that some species showed off their dancing skills while others sung their little lungs out. And then there was the fact that some species gathered things for their mates, and— oh.

You think back on all of the times where Keigo would gift you things. Some of them were shiny things his little magpie brain liked, while others were just normal gifts—plushies, earrings, bracelets.

Then your eyes drift past Keigo, toward the bed, where all those pillows and blankets lay in a comfortable little square. There are a lot of pillows and blankets now that you think about it.

A nest.

Keigo had been nesting and you hadn’t even once realised it. Despite being always there with him.

“You seriously didn’t know? Didn’t even for a second think to look up the meaning behind all of those things” the sound of his voice makes your eyes snap back to his.

“Why would I? You’re you, and you’ve always told me everything about your quirk anyway. And yeah, sure, you’ve told me how close you’d have to be to someone to do the whole forehead press thingy and preening, but you never said anything about courting!”

“That’s because I thought you knew—that you were reciprocating those feelings,” he whispers. One of his hands comes down to your arm, fingers hovering uselessly above your skin before he finally slides it down to where your hand is resting beside your body. Taking it, he starts playing with your fingers—a small habit he’s had since the two of you were kids. “and you’re meaning to tell me you just… did all of those things, without knowing what they meant?”

“Well, duh. They were important to you, so why wouldn’t I let you do them?” Because that’s the thing about Keigo. He has some traits that don’t fully align with yours, but even if you don’t inherently understand them, you always just let him do whatever felt right for him. Whether that be gifting you random objects, or letting him press his forehead against yours because it released happy hormones in his brain, you’d just let him do whatever he felt like.

“I can’t believe I’m in love with a dumbass,” he mumbles, too low for you to catch.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, dove, absolutely nothing,” his fingers finally still as he looks you in the eye. “Now tell me. Do I have to watch my girlfriend of eleven years walk through the door to go out on a date with another man, or can I bring her back to bed and fuck her brains out for even thinking that we were doing all of those things as just friends?”

“Come here, you stupid birdbrain.” You tug on his hands before crashing your lips on his.

You might not have gone on that date you weren’t looking forward to, but you did get dicked down by the most important person in your life. And you’ve gained a boyfriend! (Which you apparently already had for eleven years.)

That’s a win in your books.

A/n: I think this is the most dialogue-heavy fic I've ever written and idk how to feel about it.

tags: @yoonsucks @etheralpanic @lilithkleia @dollieadored @starsforvia @iinvivible @saniiaa @marisacosm @tojiphoria @yorikae @yoniknows @coveexxx @mousedit @lilslovesaizawa @june-buggiewug @sunnyfieldsz @dragemballz

Izuku Midoriya

Izuku Midoriya is a man whose entire life is defined by observation, analysis, and an almost overwhelming reverence for the details other people breeze right past. His notebooks are proof of it, crammed with meticulous scribbles on hero support gear, quirk activation variables, and tactical footwork.

But when it comes to you, his analytical brain completely short-circuits, replaced by a quiet, consuming devotion. And out of everything that makes you who you are, it is your hands that hold an absolute, irreplaceable grasp over his heart.

To anyone else, hands are just tools for navigating the physical world. To Izuku, your hands are an anchor, a sanctuary, and the ultimate tangible proof that he is allowed to love and be loved in return.

Izuku’s own hands tell a story of immense pain, sacrifice, and brutal survival. They are heavily scarred, the skin permanently altered by the explosive force of One For All. His fingers are slightly crooked, his knuckles thickened, and the reminders of his past recklessness are etched into his flesh.

Because of this, he views your hands as a stark, beautiful contrast to his own. Whether they are soft and unblemished, calloused from your own training, or covered in ink stains and tiny scars, he sees them as utterly perfect. He finds himself tracking their movements when you speak, mesmerized by the way you gesture to emphasize a point, or how you absentmindedly tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear.

Holding hands with Izuku is never just a casual gesture; it is an entire love language. In public, he is still the same easily flustered boy he has always been, blushing a furious crimson whenever you reach out for him. Yet, no matter how bright his face burns, his fingers will instinctively find yours. He loves the sensation of your palm pressing against his, the way your fingers effortlessly lace through his scarred ones, filling the gaps perfectly. When he is anxious, which is often, given the weight of the world on his shoulders, you only need to squeeze his hand to bring him back to earth. He will trace the lines of your palm with his thumb, memorizing the shape of your knuckles and the warmth of your skin, using the physical sensation to ground himself against the chaotic noise of his own mind.

When you are alone, away from the prying eyes of the rest of the world, his adoration for your hands shifts from sweet into something much more intimate and reverent. He will pull you into his lap and simply hold your hands in both of his, lifting them to his face to press soft, lingering kisses against your knuckles. He treats them like something fragile and precious, even if you are a fierce powerhouse on the battlefield.

As the night deepens and the innocence of the day melts into the quiet privacy of his bedroom, that reverence takes on a distinctly breathless edge.

Izuku is a hero with immense, world-shaking power, but the moment your hands slide over his skin, he is entirely at your mercy. He becomes utterly intoxicated by the sensation of your hands moving over him, tracing the broad line of his collarbones, smoothing over the tight muscles of his shoulders, and gripping his waist to pull him closer. The feeling of your fingers anchoring into his messy, green curls as you pull him down for a deep, bruising kiss sends a jolt of pure adrenaline straight down his spine.

Even in the height of passion, he refuses to let go. He needs to feel your fingers raking down his back, your nails digging into his skin, leaving marks that will remind him of this exact, breathless moment tomorrow. In the dark, tangled in the sheets, your hands are the center of his universe, guiding him, holding him, and driving him absolutely wild.

∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

Katsuki Bakugou

Katsuki Bakugou is not a man who does anything halfway, and that includes the way he perceives the world. As a top pro hero, his instincts are razor-sharp, trained to read a room, a villain, or a battlefield in a fraction of a second. He prides himself on seeing through bullshit, on knowing exactly what people are thinking before they even have the guts to say it.

But when it comes to you, that hyper-fixation narrows down to a single, devastatingly beautiful canvas: your face. Katsuki is an explicitly loud, explosive person, but his devotion to your expressiveness is a quiet, consuming secret. He knows every single micro-expression you are capable of making, from the subtle twitch of your eyebrow when you are annoyed to the specific, brilliant way your eyes light up when you are genuinely happy. To a guy who spent his whole life putting up walls, your utter transparency is the most intoxicating thing he has ever encountered.

He pretends to be annoyed by it, of course. In front of the rest of the agency or his old classmates, he will scoff and tell you to fix your face when you give him a look, but it is nothing more than a defensive smokescreen. The truth is, Katsuki is utterly mesmerized by how incapable you are of hiding your feelings from him. Your face is an open book, and he is a man obsessed with reading every line.

He loves the fiery spark in your eyes when you argue with him, the defiant tilt of your chin that proves you aren’t intimidated by his explosive temper in the slightest. Even better is the soft, completely relaxed expression you wear when you think he isn't looking, the gentle curve of your lips, the sleepy, heavy-lidded gaze you give him on a quiet Sunday morning. It gives him a profound sense of possessive pride to know that he is the only one who gets to see the raw, unfiltered spectrum of your emotions up close.

In public, Katsuki deliberately keeps the world at arm's length. Yet, his eyes will always find a way back to your face. If you are across a crowded room at a hero gala or walking down a busy street, he is constantly tracking you, reading your comfort levels through the tension in your jaw or the forced brightness of your smile.

The moment he detects a hint of exhaustion or discomfort in the tightness around your eyes, his protective instincts flare. He will bridge the distance between you, pulling you against his side with a heavy, unyielding arm around your waist. He loves the immediate, visible relief that washes over your features the second he arrives, the way your shoulders drop, your eyes soften, and you look at him like he is the only safe place in a chaotic world. That look alone makes him feel completely invincible.

When the heavy doors of his apartment finally close, locking out the noise of the media and the demands of being a top hero, his fixation becomes intensely focused. Katsuki doesn't just want to look at you; he needs to touch. He will grab your jaw with his large, rough hand, his thumb resting firmly against your cheekbone, forcing you to look straight at him. His grip isn't painful, but it is commanding, demanding your absolute attention. He wants to see exactly what he does to you, and he refuses to let you hide a single sensation.

He traps you beneath him on the mattress, his body pinning yours, his hands coming up to frame your face, fingers tangling in your hair to lock you in place. As his lips crash onto yours in a breathtaking kiss, he pulls back just enough to watch your eyes flutter open, dark with want and beautifully dazed.

The control he fights so hard to maintain daily completely disintegrates the more expressive you become beneath him. He intentionally slows his pace, torturing you both, just to watch the desperate, agonizing pleasure twist across your features. He leans down, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your jawline, listening to the high, broken sound that tears from your throat.

When he looks up, his own breath is ragged, his eyes blazing as he takes in the sight of you, your cheeks flushed, your brow furrowed with overwhelming pleasure, and your gaze completely locked onto his, entirely consumed by him. Your face is his ultimate victory, a beautiful, vulnerable testament to the fact that you belong entirely to him.

∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

Shoto Todoroki

Shoto Todoroki is a man who understands the profound weight of a touch. Having grown up in a household where physical contact was almost always associated with violence, training, or clinical assessment, the quiet intimacy of a soft, domestic relationship is something he treats with a level of reverence that borders on religious.

To Shoto, your back represents a beautiful paradox of vulnerability and strength. It is a part of you that you cannot see yourself, a blind spot that you unconditionally entrust to him, and he takes that responsibility with a quiet, consuming seriousness. Whether you are walking ahead of him in a crowded room or curled against his chest in the dark, his hand is almost always anchored there, a steady, protective weight reminding you both that he has your back in every literal and figurative sense.

This fixation manifests most prominently in a domestic ritual that has become entirely his domain. Whenever you wear a dress, a top, or a hero suit that zippers or buttons up the spine, Shoto will appear out of nowhere, his presence a calm, unyielding shadow behind you. He has silently forbidden anyone else, and certainly you yourself, from doing the task.

There is a slow, methodical sensuality to the way he handles it. He will gently sweep your hair over one shoulder, exposing the bare expanse of your skin to the cool room air, before his fingers find the zipper. He never rushes. Instead, he will deliberately press the pads of his fingers against your lower back, using his left hand to send a soothing, subtle warmth into your skin, or his right hand to offer a refreshing, crisp chill if the day has been stiflingly hot. As he slowly pulls the zipper upward, his eyes are locked on the line of your spine, completely mesmerized by the smooth curve of your muscles and the way your skin goosebumps at his temperature-shifting touch.

Once the clothing is secured, the ritual is never truly complete without his signature sign-off. Shoto will lean in close, as he presses a soft, lingering kiss to the very top of your spine, right at the base of your neck. It is a grounding, possessive gesture that never fails to send a shiver straight down to your toes. In public settings, like hero galas or formal agency events where he is required to wear a suffocating suit and put on a stoic face for the media, this silent understanding remains his anchor.

He will guide you through the crowds with his palm resting flat against the small of your back, his thumb tracing slow, rhythmic circles through the fabric of your clothes. To the paparazzi and the public, he looks like the picture of elite, composed professionalism, but you can feel the possessive signal radiating from his hand, a private sign that he is counting down the exact minutes until he can get you away from the flashing cameras.

When the night finally clears and you are safe within the privacy of his bedroom, his adoration for your back transforms into something deeply intimate and mesmerizing. Shoto loves nothing more than when you lie on your stomach, completely relaxed against the sheets, allowing him to sit beside you and trace intricate, invisible patterns across your skin. His calloused fingertips will wander aimlessly, drawing lines along your shoulder blades, tracing the delicate valleys between your ribs, and mapping out the elegant ridge of your spine.

Sometimes he traces the characters of your name; other times, he simply follows the natural contours of your body, completely lost in the sensation. It is a quiet, meditative space for him, a way to wash away the violence and chaos of his pro hero duties by focusing entirely on the soft, breathing reality of the person he loves.

As the quiet hours stretch on and the peaceful atmosphere inevitably thickens with a heavy, electric tension, those gentle tracings turn into something far more demanding and breathless. The slow, sweeping motions of his hands sharpen, his grip tightening as desire takes hold. He handles your body with a fierce, quiet hunger, his hands sliding down to grip your hips, pulling your lower body tightly against his as he rains a trail of biting, wet kisses from your shoulder blades all the way up to the sensitive nape of your neck.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot and ragged as his fingers dig into your skin, leaving fleeting, flushed marks that trace the path of his desire. He refuses to break the contact, needing to feel the frantic beat of your pulse and the shuddering arches of your spine as the friction between your bodies reaches a fever pitch.

∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

Hitoshi Shinso

Hitoshi Shinso has spent his entire life acutely aware of the power of perception. Because of a quirk that makes people inherently wary, he grew up watching how others looked at him, the quick dart of their eyes, the sudden narrowing of their gaze, the defensive walls sliding up the second he opened his mouth.

He became an expert at reading micro-expressions, a master of observing human behavior from the shadows. But when it comes to you, his analytical nature completely melts into a deep, consuming fascination, narrowing down to one specific, hypnotic feature: your eyes. To Hitoshi, your eyes are a direct, unfiltered window into your soul, completely devoid of the prejudice he used to face.

They are the only place in the world where he feels entirely seen, accepted, and wanted. Whether they are flashing with fierce determination, softening with affection, or sparkling with amusement, he is utterly powerless against them, completely hooked on the way they reflect every single emotion you possess.

Because of this obsession, Hitoshi has developed a playfully wicked habit of using his quirk just to see how you react. He doesn’t do it maliciously; it is a private, teasing game reserved only for the two of you, a way to test his precision while indulging his possessive streak.

He will throw out a mundane, harmless question while you are making coffee or reading a book, waiting for that split-second lapse in your focus. The moment your voice sounds in response, the brainwashing takes hold, and he watches with absolute rapture as your eyes instantly glaze over, shifting into that familiar, milky, vacant stare. He will give you a completely ridiculous, random command, like spinning in a slow circle, balancing a throw pillow on your head, or walking over just to plant a soft kiss on his cheek. As soon as he releases the hold, he loves to watch the sudden, sharp clarity snap back into your pupils, followed immediately by a fond, exasperated glare that makes his heart race.

Even in public, when he is operating as a brooding underground hero or walking alongside you through a crowded city street, his attention is constantly anchored to your gaze. Hitoshi is not a man for grand, flashy displays of affection; his love is quiet, observant, and fiercely protective. If you are caught in a dull conversation at a hero gathering or feeling overwhelmed by a crowd, you only need to look across the room to find his heavy, indigo eyes already locked onto yours.

He can communicate an entire sentence with just a slight tilt of his head or a subtle raise of an eyebrow, sharing a private joke or offering a grounding sense of comfort through a single, unbroken look. The way your eyes instantly soften the moment you make contact with him gives him a profound sense of pride, a quiet reassurance that, despite his 'villain-coded' abilities, he is the one who holds your absolute trust.

When the sun goes down, and the heavy curtains of his bedroom are drawn, locking out the rest of the world, that visual fixation intensifies greatly. Hitoshi wants to see exactly how much pleasure he can make you feel, and he refuses to let you look away.

He pins your hands above your head, his chest pressing flush against yours as his movements become heavy, slow, and deliberately torturous. He watches your face with an almost predatory focus, drinking in the way your gaze grows hazy and dazed under the weight of his touch, struggling to stay open as the overwhelming sensation threatens to pull you under.

He leans down, his voice a low whisper that commands your body without even needing to activate his quirk. As he drives you over the edge, he pulls back just enough to watch your eyes completely roll back, your lids fluttering shut as a broken, breathless whimper tears from your throat. The sight of you completely undone, lost to pure bliss and entirely consumed by the pleasure he is giving you, sends a jolt of pure adrenaline straight down his spine.

∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

Touya Todoroki (Dabi)

Touya Todoroki is a man defined by destruction, a walking ghost whose very existence is a testament to what happens when flesh is pushed past its absolute breaking point. His own body is a patchwork of nightmares, gnarled, purple, scarred skin held together by crude surgical staples, permanently smelling of smoke.

Because his own flesh is a constant, agonizing reminder of his father’s cruelty and his own consuming hatred, he looks at your skin with a fixation that borders on a religious mania. To Touya, your skin is the ultimate luxury, an irreplaceable canvas of warmth, softness, and life that contrasts sharply against his own ruined, unfeeling body.

He is completely obsessed with the texture of it, with the way it yields beneath his rough, stapled hands, and the way it registers every single degree of his blistering heat. He treats your skin as his most prized possession, a fragile, beautiful thing that belongs exclusively to him in a world he otherwise wants to burn to the ground.

Given the chaotic, violent nature of life as a villain, your skin often bears the battle scars of the underground. Whenever you return to the hideout covered in the grim leftovers of a skirmish, splatters of blood that aren't yours, thick layers of grey soot, and dark battlefield grime, Touya’s protective instincts flare into an intense, quiet focus.

He hates the idea of anything else contaminating what is his. Without a word, he will take it upon himself to run a bath, filling the tub with water that runs dangerously hot, just the way he likes it, though he tempers it just enough so it won't burn you.

He will gently strip you down, his mismatched eyes tracking every streak of dirt on your body with a dark, burning intensity. Bathing you is a slow, surprisingly tender ritual; he will use a soft cloth to wipe away the soot, watching with absolute fascination as your clean, radiant skin is revealed beneath the grime, his rough thumbs tracing the curves of your shoulders as you sigh into the warmth of the water.

Once you are clean and wrapped in the quiet privacy of his shadowed room, that obsession with your skin shifts from protective care into something deeply hungry. Touya doesn't know how to love softly; his affection is a wildfire, demanding and consuming. He will pull you onto the mattress, his heavy, scarred body hovering over yours as he maps out every inch of your flesh with his hands. He loves to press his cold, deadened skin against your vibrant warmth, closing his eyes just to feel the stark contrast of your texture against his purple scars. He will use his teeth to bite gently at the column of your neck, the slope of your shoulder, and the soft flesh of your thigh, deliberately leaving dark, bruised marks that stand out vividly against your skin. It gives him a sick sense of accomplishment to see his ownership written directly onto your body.

Touya is a creature of impulse, and the sight of your skin flushed a deep, pretty colour from the heat of his presence drives him absolutely wild. He becomes utterly obsessed with the way your skin reacts to his touch, the immediate, shivering goosebumps that rise when his cool, stapled fingers trail down your stomach, followed by the breathless arch of your spine when he lets his quirk spark just enough to send a wave of blistering heat rolling directly into your flesh. He drinks in your reactions like a dying man in a desert.

In the aftermath of that blinding, breathless heat, when the room is quiet save for your ragged breaths and the scent of smoke, his possessive rituals take an even more carnal turn. As you lie beneath him, trembling and slick with a mixture of sweat and exertion, Touya will lean down to trace the marks he left on you. He will use his tongue to lazily lick your skin clean, soothing the sharp bites and dragging his damp heat over the flushed, sensitive planes of your collarbones and throat. He loves the way you shudder under this specific, raw display of affection, your fingers tangling desperately in his white hair as your skin twitches beneath his mouth.

∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

Shota Aizawa

Shota Aizawa is a man who operates entirely on logic, efficiency, and a deep-seated need for grounding. As an underground hero, his life is a blur of captures, rooftop chases, and exhausting nighttime patrols that leave his body achy and his mind wired.

He has zero time for frivolity or superficiality, which makes his quiet, absolute obsession with your legs, specifically your thighs, all the more consuming. To Shota, your thighs represent a perfect blend of comfort and strength.

They are a physical anchor in a world that constantly demands him to be afloat. Whether you are a hero yourself with muscle-toned legs from rigorous training or someone with softer, plush curves, he views them as his ultimate sanctuary. After a grueling shift, his favorite way to decompress isn’t sleeping in a traditional bed; it is burying his face against the warm, solid expanse of your thighs, letting the scent of your skin wash away the grit of the city streets.

Because he is a creature of comfort who literally hoards energy wherever he can find it, this fixation manifests heavily in your domestic downtime. Whenever you are sitting on the couch watching television or reading, Shota will inevitably drift over, his capture scarf discarded on the floor as he stretches out and claims your lap as his personal pillow. He will turn his face inward, pressing his cheek right against the softest part of your inner thigh, letting out a low sigh of pure relief.

His calloused hands, rough from years of hero work, will subconsciously map the length of your legs. He loves to slowly stroke the line of your calves, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles into the flesh of your thighs, occasionally squeezing the muscle just to remind himself of your reality.

In the moments you are out together in a semi-public setting, away from the students and the prying eyes of the media, his possessiveness remains entirely low-key but intensely focused. Aizawa isn’t one for loud, flashy displays of affection, but he is incredibly territorial in a silent way. If you are sitting next to him at a quiet izakaya or a booth in a dimly lit diner, his hand will inevitably find its place on your thigh beneath the table.

Aizawa is an easy man to tire out, but when it comes to you, he pours every ounce of his energy into worshipping the flesh he is so obsessed with. He will pull you to the edge of the mattress, dropping to his knees on the floor between your legs as he drapes your calves over his broad shoulders. He looks up at you through a messy curtain of dark hair, his tired, dark eyes intense and entirely unblinking. He will rain slow, biting kisses along the inside of your knees, his stubble scraping delightfully against your sensitive skin as his hands slide up to grip the undersides of your thighs, parting you fully for his mouth.

His palm will rest heavily just above your knee, his fingers casually digging into your skin through your clothes. He will stroke the fabric absentmindedly while conversing, but the sheer heat of his hand and the firm, unyielding pressure of his grip serve as a constant, private reminder of exactly where his attention lies. He loves the way your breath hitches slightly when he squeezes a bit higher up your thigh, taking a quiet satisfaction in knowing he can fluster you without changing his deadpan expression.

He loves to feel the sudden, involuntary tremor that ripples through you at the first touch of his mouth. He intentionally pushes you past your limit just to feel your thighs tighten desperately around his head, trapping him against your core. The feeling of being completely locked in by your strength, your thighs clamping down around his neck and ears as you tremble and whimper into the quiet room, sends a jolt of primal adrenaline straight down his spine. He welcomes the tight, suffocating pressure, digging his fingers firmly into your hips to hold you flush against him as you ride out the wave.

∗ ࣪ ˖༺ ♡ ༻˖ ࣪ ∗

Keigo Takami

Keigo Takami is a man who experiences the world on a completely different frequency than everyone else. His avian quirk doesn’t just give him a magnificent pair of scarlet wings; it floods his daily life with an overwhelming barrage of sensory data.

His vision can spot a civilian in distress from miles in the air, his hearing can pick up the micro-vibrations blocks away, and his sense of smell is profoundly sharp, tuned to the subtle shifts in pheromones and body chemistry.

Because his public life as Hawks is a chaotic whirlwind of media cameras, flashing lights, and the heavy scent of mist, his quiet life with you is his only true sanctuary. And within that sanctuary, his absolute favorite place in the world is the delicate pulse point on your neck.

His obsession is heavily driven by his heightened, animalistic senses, particularly his sense of smell. He doesn't just look at you; he breathes you in. Long before he even reaches for you, he is tracking the scent of your skin, an intoxicating blend of your natural warmth, your favorite soap, and the sweet, comforting aroma of home.

Whenever he returns from a grueling patrol, exhausted and mentally frayed from hours of putting on a cheerful show for the public, he will immediately bypass everything else to bury his face in the crook of your neck. It is a deeply instinctual, 'nesting' behavior; he will nuzzle his face against your skin, his soft, dirty-blond hair tickling your jawline as he lets out a long, shuddering sigh of pure relief, instantly calmed by the steady, rhythmic thump-thump of your blood beneath his lips.

Because he is a creature of flight and constant motion, Keigo loves to use his feathers to indulge this specific fixation even when he can’t physically touch you. If you are sitting across the room working or cooking, one of his detached primary feathers will often drift over, lazily brushing against the sensitive skin of your throat. But when he is close, his touch is entirely possessive.

He loves to approach you from behind, wrapping his large wings around you like a heavy, protective cocoon that shuts out the rest of the universe. He will press his chest against your back, his hands coming up to cradle your jaw and tilt your head back, exposing the elegant line of your throat to his view. He will trace the path of your jugular with his thumb, completely mesmerized by how a single touch from him can cause that tiny pulse to instantly skip a beat and quicken, a vivid confirmation of how much power he holds over you.

Keigo is a naturally playful, flirtatious person, but the moment he traps you beneath him on the mattress, his demeanor shifts into something far more intense and predatory. The ambient heat radiating from his wings fills the room, creating a stifling, sweet atmosphere as he hovers over you. He will use his hands to pin you down, but his real focus is entirely on your throat. He loves the way your skin flushes a deep, pretty pink under his intense gaze, your pheromones shifting into a sweet, heavy scent of desire.

The playful hero completely vanishes as he drops his head to your neck, his sharp, predatory instincts taking full control. Keigo doesn’t just kiss your throat; he ravishes it, delivering a slow, agonizingly slick sequence of open-mouthed kisses right over your pulse, sucking on the soft skin until he leaves a dark, prominent mark right where your heartbeat is strongest, claiming you in the most primal way he knows how. He loves the broken, breathless whimpers that tear from your lips when he does this, the sound vibrating directly against his chest as his tongue traces over the bruise he just made.