#Hawks Drabble

[shouyuus]

completely pussydrunk!hawks who can barely control himself when he's fucking you, groans and grunts and makes the most incoherent noises when he's thrusting into you, pushing you in half so hard that that you can feel the backs of your legs straining, your knees pressing against your shoulders, toes curling, his eyes half-hooded and just so full of hearts, pupils so dilated you don't even know if he can see properly, bending down to lick at the sweat on the side of your neck, making you squirm and twist at the sensation, heat flooding in your tummy he way he mouths at your like a debased, starving man.

"ke-keigo don't --"

"d-don't? don't what?"

"'s gross -- a-ah fuck --"

"gross? nah --" he licks his lips, bends down, grins all lopsided and smitten, fingers digging into your thighs as he slows down his thrusts ever so slightly, his cheeks pink from the exertion, wings ruffling behind him, red feathers everywhere -- "nothin' bout you's gross, dove -- nothin' got it?"

he groans, letting his head drop into the crook of your neck; you can feel him trembling as he continues to rut down into you, his pace getting sloppy and desperate, his breath hot and wet and needy.

"could eat you up -- kiss every inch of you, wanna taste every part of you, yeah? fuck so pretty for me -- so wet -- fuck fuck fuck --" rambling to himself as his thrusts get all shallow, moaning about the taste of you on his tongue.

and after he's finally filled you up (multiple times, mind you), he turns to you, breathless, his chest heaving, brushes a few sweaty strands of hair from your face and says --

"i meant what i said... nothing about you is gross to me, and i'll fuck you till you remember it, yeah?"

[suksatoru]

here with me ⋆˚୨♡୧˚⋆ keigo x you

keigo's real laugh is nothing, if not music.

there's a front keigo uses when it comes to other people—a barrier he wasn't even aware existed. his faux laugh was easygoing. it was short, and it was charming. he used it whenever he was talking to the higher ups or his colleagues. hell, he used it when he spoke to anyone. he's never been able to share the intimacy of a real laugh with another person before.

secretly, he was envious of those strangers he'd hear every once in a while. whether it was on patrol, or if he was just strolling into a coffee shop—ordinary citizens, people, humans, we're always laughing around him.

it could be huffs of air, odd squeaks or giggles—people with heaving chests, people chuckling, people snorting, people wheezing—but keigo knew a real laugh when he heard one.

which was odd, because he hadn't heard his own real laugh until you.

you're tucked into keigo's side, half awake and half asleep as you stumble forward. your eyes are barely open—and you're so drunk that keigo can already imagine the headache his poor baby is going to have tomorrow morning

"c'mon songbird, up up up."

he takes off your clothes and makeup, changing you quickly into your nightgown as you talk. you babble on about anything and everything that comes to your mind as he works—keigo kneels in front of you, smiling softly as he slowly unravels your dress and takes off your silvery shiny heels—he pulls on your nightdress, and grabs your favorite fluffy socks before tugging them up and over your feet

"kei baby," you whisper, and he glances up at you as he finishes taking off the last bit of your jewelery. he places your earrings into the little gold box you have on his desk as his warm hands wrap around your waist. he hums quietly as you suddenly place your palms flat on his chest, shoving him

he falls onto the bed with a soft oof! before sending you a confused smile

"shh...let me think, kei."

keigo folds his legs, amusement shining bright in his eyes as he watches you. your hair falls from its updo in wisps, framing your face as you stand in deep thought near the edge of your shared bed—hand on your jaw as you tilt your head

your smirk forms slowly. it's small, sly, silly and so drunk as you suddenly kneel onto the bed. you crawl towards keigo and fasten your knees on both sides of his hips—straddling him as he blinks up in surprise, not expecting your warm mouth to begin trailing kisses up his neck

sexy, is all keigo can think as a soft sigh escapes his lips. he's just about to kiss you back—when suddenly, you speak up.

"are you my appendix? because i have this funny feeling riiiight here that makes me feel like i should take you out." you whisper seductively, gliding his palm towards your tummy and under your nightgown

keigo blinks once. twice. before he stutters with his response. he tries to form even just one word—but he can't. and suddenly, he's falling apart—he's laughing so hard that he can't fucking breathe.

you blink in response, tilting your head adorably in confusion. you thought that was a good pick up line! but keigo's face is flushed for an entirely different reason other than being flustered, and his lips are stretched into a toothy grin. you're concerned for the lack of oxygen in his lungs when he's suddenly wheezing, and god, his eyes are shining with tears.

"oh-oh baby, i fucking love you."

you're slapping his arm, whining and pouting about how he ruined the moment. but your tone—your very serious face while uttering the absolute worst pick up line keigo has ever heard has him struggling to breathe in his fits of laughter

but you can't even try to be mad. because keigo's eyes are crinkling with genuine joy, and his hands are pressing you to his chest, and this laugh is so authentic—it bubbles all the way from his belly, so heartfelt and silly that you can't help but giggle along with him

"it was good, right? are you feeling—heh, turned on?"

keigo's smile is breathtaking. no wonder he's on so many magazine covers every month. finally—he leans forward, pressing his warm mouth against yours in a soft kiss as he cradles your face with both of his palms

"yeah, baby. never felt more hot and bothered... you know, 'm gonna marry you one day." he murmurs against your lips as you squirm in his lap

"nuh uh. who said i'll say yes?"

he laughs again. it's softer this time, and he maneuvers you carefully back into bed. you look like an angry kitten when you glare at him, but he only grins in response as he tucks you in—tugging the soft comforter up and over your body before getting into bed himself. he pulls you on top of him, gliding his hand up the back of your thigh all the way up until he's at the base of your spine

"you make me very happy, ya'know that songbird?"

you hum in reply, eyes already drooping close as your hold on keigo tightens just the slightest bit. his wings naturally fold to wrap around you—cocooning you in his hold.

he can see you're too tired to respond, your eyes are already slipping close when he presses a kiss onto your forehead

he admires you quietly, thanking the cosmos for allowing him to have this one good thing in life. you're drooling all over his shirt, and keigo wouldn't ever wish to have someone else laying beside him at night.

[samulogy]

you opened my eyes with that oral fixation with hawks. I NEED MORE PLEASE

⊹ ᡣ𐭩₊⋆ divine agnes ! glad you loved it, darling. here’s a lil’ more of the spicy bits of keigo helping former!villain reader to overcome her cigarette addiction then maybe a more specific oneshot and hcs later on ♡

keigo was exhausted. keigo was exhausted, but he could never deny you anything you asked for.

his body ached, his head was foggy from back-to-back missions, cleaning up every trace left of your existence to steer clear of the hero commission’s radar, and all he wanted to do was sit down for five minutes without someone calling his name.

but the second he stepped through the door, you were already on him. hands fisted into the collar of his jacket, pulling him forward without hesitation. your lips crashed against his before he could even breathe, a familiar desperation laced in every movement.

and just like always, keigo let you.

he barely had time to drop his keys before his back hit the wall. you kissed him like you were starved for it, like this was something necessary, like if you didn’t do this now, you’d spiral. your fingers curled tighter into his jacket, your body pressing against his as if trying to pull the exhaustion out of him and replace it with something else.

keigo barely managed a chuckle between kisses, his breath already uneven. “you—mmh—miss me that much, huh?”

you didn’t answer.

didn’t need to.

you had that same restless energy you always did when the need got bad, the same way your hands twitched when you couldn’t reach for a cigarette—or when he found your secret stash under the cabinets. and keigo had already told you—if you needed something else, something to replace the habit—

you could have him.

and, god, did you take full advantage of that.

keigo had barely been home for five minutes, and you were already kissing him like you were making up for lost time, like every second wasted without your lips on his was unbearable. a crime.

and truth be told?

he didn’t mind.

not at all.

he slid his arms around your waist, guiding you toward the couch because he already knew how this would go. you would kiss him until the edge of your antsy cravings dulled, until your body stopped aching for the feeling of smoke filling your lungs. and by the time you finally stopped, hawks would be too dazed, too comfortable, too tired to keep his eyes open.

maybe even have your mouth occupied by his fingers, sucking greedily on them.

and sure enough, before he knew it, he was sinking into the cushions, your warmth pressed against him, your breath still a little uneven.

distantly, he felt you smile against his mouth.

“better than a cigarette, right?” he mumbled.

you hummed in response, threading your fingers through his hair. “dunno. guess i’ll have to keep testing,” you tell him as you take in his digits in your mouth.

pliant. submissive. needy.

all the bites and threats you always gave him when you were on the run were out the window.

and keigo was threading in hot water at this point.

well, there was a saying to keep your friends close but your enemies closer, right?

your breath hitched slightly as you took them deeper, your tongue pressing against his skin, slow and deliberate. it wasn’t rushed, wasn’t teasing—just something natural, something you accepted as easily as breathing.

oh, did you look good like this. keigo was definitely lovestruck.

he leaned back against the couch, watching the way your lashes fluttered slightly as you worked your mouth around his fingers. “didn’t think you’d actually go for it,” he murmured, his voice lower than usual.

you choked on his digits softly, the vibration sending a slow shiver down his spine. You didn’t stop. didn’t pull away. just sucked gently, keeping your mouth busy, just like he had told you.

so instead of teasing further, he simply let you have your way, even pressing against your tongue every so often that had you muffled gagging. his other hand drifted to your hair, petting it soothingly as he watched you, a small, indulgent smile on his face.

“greedy girl,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. “you can't get enough, can you?”

“kei . . gwoh . .”

keigo chuckled, shaking his head in amazement, ignoring the tight, throbbing strain in his pants. this woman was going to be the death of him, but what a way to go . . .

“alright, alright. i just have to take care of you good tonight like i always do, hm?”

[thebunnednun]

Birds and Fish

★Pairing:

Pro Hero! And soon to be ex Husband!Keigo Takami x Pro Hero!Still legal Wife!Reader

Synopsis: It's Valentines Day and your estranged husband shows up to your apartment to... take you out?

Warning: Extreme angst and fluff, suggestive themes, drinking, heartbreak, mutual pinning, touching and kissing, bad mental health, broken vases, broken dishes, preditor and prey, teasing, not really unfrequented love, heartbreak, hoping, depression, intimacy.

Wc: long, No ageless blogs! MDNI!!!

More info at the end. Use song: Of Monsters And Men - Little Talks

Slight spoiler: I wrote the flashback two different ways to represent how our brains twist painful memories.

This is the 3rd installment of my Valentines day series.

(Check my mha master list for more characters.)

Taglist from both of my master lists because I need to feed the cats: @elarakive, @thealtofvalleyxdoodles, @the-dumpster-fire-of-life, @raendarkfaerie, @bunny-b34r, @icey-wonders, @adherethecomingofage, @karaartioli-blog, @meoweoeoeosme, @faithisxreading, @faithisidking, @oh-kayyy-stan-bts, @shortie-chocolate, @rosaline756. @sweetlike-sugarplum. @aespie, @dancingqueen276, @erensbbg, @lillizxzz, @1chaerry,

@valscodblog, @willnetries

The morning is cold, but Keigo barely feels it as he stands outside your condo, wings tucked tight against his back, fingers flexing at his sides. He’s been here for ten minutes already, gathering his courage, trying to find the right words, the right tone. Something easy, something smooth, something that won’t make you him out of your head.

He raps his knuckles against the door, but it isn’t you who answers.

"Sorry birdie," Rumi drawls, leaning against the frame like she’s been expecting him all day. Her ears flick lazily before she leans aside just enough to let him see inside. 

"Kitty cat doesn’t want to play today."

Keigo opens his mouth to argue, but the twitch of her ears is all the warning he gets before she sidesteps, and a vase comes flying straight for his face.

Glass explodes against the doorframe as he dodges, shards embedding themselves in the wood and skittering across the ground. He exhales slowly, resisting the urge to shake out his wings, and instead, he just tilts his head toward the room beyond.

"That any way to treat an old friend, sweetheart?" 

His voice is light, teasing, but there’s something beneath it—

Something raw, something desperate.

He sees the flick of your tail's shadow before he sees you, a lazy sway from where you’re perched on the arm of your couch, one leg crossed over the other. You’ve got your claws out, the tips of your nails clicking idly against the glass of another— intact —vase on the side table.

Your pupils are blown, slitted eyes reflecting the light in that eerily beautiful way that always makes his breath catch. Smoke curls from your lips, disappearing into the dim lighting.

Rumi huffs, stepping back inside. "I’m not cleaning that up."

"Don’t have to," you reply smoothly, voice like silk dragged over velvet. Your lashes flutter as you finally, finally turn your gaze to him. 

"Keigo will do it, won’t you, baby?"

That shouldn’t do as much to him as it does. He knows you’re being cruel—playing with him the way you always have, even before everything went to hell. But his fingers still twitch at his sides, still aching to reach for you.

"Anything for you, dove." 

His voice is softer now, almost a whisper.

Rumi looks between the two of you and groans. "Alright, I’m out. But if you kill him, I’m not helping you hide the body." She grabs her purse and coat before leaving out the door, white trainers making crunchy noises against the floor. 

Rude , she’d have helped you hide any other body. 

You hum noncommittally as she heads for the elevator. The second it shuts, the air between you thickens.

Keigo takes a step forward, and you don’t move—don’t stiffen, don’t react, just keep watching him with those unblinking, inhumanly sharp eyes. He has to remind himself to breathe.

"Can we talk?"

A beat of silence. Then, you lift your chin slightly, lashes lowering. 

"Inside."

He barely hears the words over the sound of his own heartbeat. But he follows you in without hesitation.

Your condo is nothing like the home you once shared with Keigo. It’s clinical, sleek, too neat. There’s no clutter, no misplaced shoes by the door, no feathers caught between couch cushions. 

No warmth. 

The air inside is still, save for the faint scent of something citrusy and sharp—one of the only things that covers the trace of venom in your breath. The furniture is modern, leather and glass, not a single soft edge in sight. 

Even the throw pillows on the couch are pristine, arranged just so. Keigo’s eyes flick to the sink, the pipes lined with that special metal finish to prevent your venom from eating through them, the custom silverware drying in a dish rack, a reminder of all the precautions you have to take just to exist in the same space as other people.

But there aren’t any other people here. Just you. Just him.

You saunter toward the bar cart in the corner, tail flicking as you reach for a bottle, pouring yourself a drink with slow, deliberate movements. You don’t offer him one.

Keigo watches, silent for once. He’s been in too many rooms like this. He knows the signs. You haven’t made this place a home—you’ve made it a hideout. A place to exist, not to live. And that realization makes something inside him twist so violently he has to clench his fists to keep from reaching for you.

"You gonna speak, or just stand there lookin' pretty?" 

Your voice is a purr, lazy, amused. But he knows you too well. That’s just how you hide the venom.

He swallows, stepping further inside, ignoring the broken glass from your little greeting still scattered near the door. 

"What happened to us?"

You sigh dramatically, swirling the liquid in your glass.

"We got divorced, birdie. Try to keep up."

"That’s not an answer."

"Sure it is."

You finally turn to face him fully, your tail curling loosely around your leg, those slit pupils of yours narrowing as they catch the light. Your gaze flicks to the faint cuts on his hands from the glass, and Keigo thinks—hopes—for a second that you might care. But then you take another slow sip, and whatever softness he thought he saw disappears.

"You think I don’t know what you’re doing?" His voice is quieter now, rougher. Your lips curl slightly.

"Enlighten me."

"You’re trying to make me hate you."

You don’t react. Not at first. But he sees the way your fingers tighten around the glass, the way your ears twitch, betraying you.

"Is it working?" you murmur.

Keigo exhales sharply, shaking his head. 

"No."

You click your tongue, setting your drink down on the bar cart with a little more force than necessary. 

"Shame."

There’s a long pause, tension stretched between you so tight it might snap at any second. Then, finally, you lean back against the cart, crossing your arms over your chest, nails tapping idly against the fabric of your sleeve. 

"Why are you here, Keigo?"

"You know why."

"You should be getting ready for your fancy gala, smiling for the cameras, being Japan’s golden boy."

"Not in the mood."

You hum, tilting your head. "They’ll notice you’re gone."

"Let them."

That catches you off guard. He sees it in the flicker of surprise that crosses your face, quick as a heartbeat before it’s buried under something unreadable. You exhale, reaching up to push your hair back. 

"You make everything so difficult."

Keigo steps closer. 

"And you make everything so damn lonely."

That—finally—makes you falter. Just a little. 

But it’s enough.

"Why, love?" His voice is softer now, breaking at the edges.

"Why’d you really leave?"

Your lips part, but no sound comes out. Because he deserves the truth, doesn’t he? After everything, after all the years spent in each other’s arms, in each other’s shadows.

But the truth is ugly. And you’ve never been the type to hand Keigo something he can’t handle. Even now, after everything, after you left.

So instead, you force a smirk, stepping forward to slide your fingers under the knot of his tie, tugging him just close enough to feel the heat of your breath against his lips.

"I left," you whisper, "Because I knew you’d chase me."

Keigo’s breath stutters. His hands twitch.

And then you let go, stepping back, putting a wall between you again.

"Now," you sigh, picking up your drink, "If you’re done being sentimental, you can see yourself out."

But Keigo doesn’t move.

Doesn’t turn, doesn’t back away.

Instead, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out something small. Something velvet. Something with your name on it.

Your breath catches.

His voice is barely a whisper.

"Not without an answer."

The morning light filters through the sheer curtains as you pull them back, casting a pale glow across the pristine walls of your condo. The city hums softly beyond the glass, an orchestra of distant sirens and traffic, a constant reminder that the world moves on regardless of your choices.

You lift your glass to your lips, savoring the last bitter sip before setting it down with a deliberate click. Behind you, Keigo still stands in the center of the room, that damn velvet box in his hands.

Your fingers twitch, but you don’t reach for it. Not yet.

Instead, you exhale slowly, rolling your shoulders as you stare out over the skyline. Being a Pro Hero should mean something, but for you, it’s always been more of a balancing act.

The media has never truly trusted you—not with the kind of power you wield, not with a quirk as inherently dangerous as yours. You’ve spent your career fighting for a place at the table, only to be met with suspicion. The public adores their heroes, but they only ever tolerate you.

And now, post-separation, they don’t even do that.

The headlines were merciless when the news first broke.

Pro Heroes Hawks and Nightfang’s scandalous divorce. 

'Nightfang’s betrayal.'

Every news outlet framed you as the villain, the gold digger, the attention seeker. They spewed theories, spun tales of infidelity or deceit, but none of them knew the truth. Not a single one of them understood the slow unraveling of something that once felt indestructible.

And Keigo—damn him—never defended himself.

Only you.

He stood in front of cameras and brushed off questions with a shrug, a lazy smile, a tilt of his head. He called you an incredible woman. He said he would always support you. He told the world that love is complicated, but that you weren’t the villain in this story.

But when the cameras were off, when the interviews ended, when he came home to an empty penthouse that still carried the ghost of your laughter, Keigo had to face the truth.

You weren’t coming back.

Legally, the two of you are still married. You filed for divorce, but he never signed the papers. He refuses. You’ve been separated for a year now, and once the two-year mark hits, you’ll be dragging him back to court to finalize it whether he likes it or not. That’s the plan. But Keigo—stubborn, maddening, infuriating Keigo—isn’t going to let you go so easily.

He tried. At first.

But then Endeavor and Touya got involved. And when two of the most emotionally constipated men in Japan actually agreed on something for once, Keigo started listening.

“You’re insane if you think you’ll ever find something like that again,” Touya had scoffed, tossing a cigarette off the balcony of Keigo’s penthouse. “You’ve had the real thing, and you’re just gonna let her walk? That’s weak.”

“You’re not thinking clearly,” Endeavor had muttered, arms crossed. 

“You’re a hero, but you’re still a man. Fight for her.”

So Keigo fought.

He scared off every court-mandated counselor assigned to help mediate the separation. He dodged meetings, refused legal summons, and ensured that nothing about his life changed.

Your clothes were still in the closet. Your favorite mug is still sitting by the coffee machine. Hell, your toothbrush—your damn toothbrush—remains untouched in the holder beside his.

And yet, the scent of you is gone.

Late at night, when sleep refused to come, he would reach for your pillow, hoping for something— anything —that still carried your warmth. But it was just fabric. Cold. Empty. The absence of you felt like a weight in his chest, like hunger gnawing at his ribs, an ache that wouldn’t fade.

It terrified him, that feeling. 

Because it wasn’t just loneliness. 

It was abandonment.

Keigo swallows hard, shaking himself from his thoughts as you finally turn, your gaze landing on the small velvet box in his hands. Your expression remains unreadable, but he catches the flicker of something in your eyes—recognition, hesitation, something softer before it’s buried beneath layers of indifference.

"You kept them." Your voice is quiet, but not surprised.

"Of course I did." His grip tightens slightly. "What did you think? That I’d toss them like some old trinket?"

You say nothing.

He steps closer, the distance between you shrinking.

"Open it."

You don’t move.

Keigo exhales sharply, bringing the box to his own hands, flicking it open with his thumb. Inside, nestled against the plush lining, are the rings—your rings. Your wedding band, sleek and elegant, gleams under the morning light. And beside it, his own.

Unworn, untouched. Still yours.

"Tell me," his voice drops, rough and raw, 

"Do you still want this to be over?"

You look at him—the man you came to love so deeply, so wholly, that it still aches in places you thought had long gone numb. Keigo Takami. Hawks. The man who once had nothing, just a lonely kid with clipped wings, and somehow, against all odds, became your everything.

Your fingers tighten around the wine glass in your hands, not from anger, but from the weight of the memories pressing against your chest.

You remember it all so vividly—your wedding, if you could even call it that.

No grand venue, no media coverage, no designer gowns or custom tuxedos. Just you, in a t-shirt and jeans at first, standing beside him in the city hall courthouse. Your closest friends, your grandfather, and a love so real it felt like the very foundation of the life you were building together.

Back before the multimillion-dollar contracts, before either of you were B-list celebrities—hell, even before you were D-list heroes.

People had called you foolish. They’d whispered that it wouldn’t last, that Keigo would leave you someday. 

Find someone younger, someone prettier, someone who wasn’t…

you.

But Keigo never strayed. Never looked at another woman the way he looked at you. 

Not once.

You knew the kind of childhood he had survived, the scars buried beneath his charm, the silent desperation in the way he clung to you when nightmares crept in. You were his family. And he was yours.

Maybe that’s why this hurts so much.

Because when the rest of the world turned its back on you, when the media vilified you, when complete strangers condemned you, Keigo had always been your safe place. 

And now? 

Now you were each other’s greatest source of pain.

At least there were no kids to get lost in this mess. No innocent lives tangled in the wreckage of what the two of you had built and lost.

Just two people, bound by love and tragedy, trying to navigate the wreckage without losing themselves in the process.

And yet, even now, late at night, you still hear him.

That warm hum, soft as a whisper, waking you from the edge of sleep. It takes a moment before you recognize it—his voice, murmuring wedding vows in the quiet. The same ones he spoke to you five years ago in that tiny courthouse, when the only thing you had to your names was each other.

"I don’t have much, but everything I am, everything I have, it’s yours. It always will be."

Keigo has offered a vow renewal more times than you can count. And every time, you refuse. He doesn’t understand.

He thinks you deserve more, that he didn’t do right by you back then. That now, with money, status, and power, he can finally give you something extravagant—something worthy of you. But that courthouse wedding? That day, five years ago? It was perfect.

You’ve told him that before.

And Keigo, with that quiet, unreadable stare, had only shaken his head and whispered, “That was the bare minimum.”

He doesn’t get it. 

And moments like this—when he stands in front of you, ring box in hand, eyes pleading even when he doesn’t say a word—it’s so damn hard to be mad at him.

Because Keigo Takami, for all his recklessness, for all his stubbornness, has never once stopped loving you.

The rings clink softly against the table, the weight of them heavier than it should be. Your sigh feels like it’s been building in your chest for years, clawing its way up your throat, but when it finally escapes, it doesn’t bring relief. It just leaves you empty.

You rub your face, fingertips pressing into your temples, before retreating into the corner like you always do when you’re overwhelmed. The space feels too small, too tight, but the pressure grounds you. Keigo shifts in your periphery, body tensing like he’s about to reach for you, and you know that if he gets too close, you’ll break.

Your mouth fills with saliva, hot and acrid, your body rejecting the wine and venom swirling in your stomach. Before Keigo can take another step, you bolt, vaulting over the table, sprinting to the kitchen sink just in time.

Everything comes up in sharp, burning waves—wine, acid, poison—and you grip the edges of the sink, gasping between shuddering breaths. You don’t even realize you’re crying until Keigo is there, gathering your hair into his hands, his fingers gentle against your scalp.

The silk press you got last week—because you didn’t have the energy to deal with your hair, because life has felt so heavy—slides smooth between his fingers. He holds it back carefully, rubbing your back in slow, familiar circles, keeping his touch light like he knows any more might send you over the edge.

He doesn’t say anything when you try to push him away, just turns on the water and helps you rinse your mouth. The sink is steaming, curling around your face like fog, and when you spit again, the heat clings to your skin. Your body feels drained, exhausted down to your bones, but Keigo stays close, watching you carefully.

You can see the concern in the way his eyes flicker over your frame, the way his jaw clenches. You know you look bad. You feel worse. The dark circles under your eyes are deeper than usual, your limbs too thin, your clothes hanging looser than they should.

And then his gaze shifts—past you, past the sink—to the countertop.

To the empty bottles.

You don’t even like wine like that.

Keigo’s expression doesn’t change, but you can feel something inside him shift.

He doesn’t say anything—doesn’t need to. He just hands you a cup of water, watching like a hawk as you take small sips, as you swallow down the Tylenol he places in your palm. Then, without a word, he starts emptying the bottles. One by one, he pours them down the drain, his movements sharp, controlled. You don’t try to stop him.

You just watch.

When he’s done, he tosses the bottles into the trash with finality, dusting his hands off before turning to you. His shoulders drop, just slightly, before he nods to the kitchen table.

“Sit,” he murmurs.

You hesitate, but your body is too tired to fight him.

The smell hits you first—warm, savory, familiar. A bowl of noodles, steam curling from the surface, two soft-boiled eggs nestled in the broth. Light spice, mild enough for your stomach. Next to it, a glass of green tea.

Your favorite.

Keigo slides into the chair across from you, setting his own bowl down. He doesn’t rush you, doesn’t push—just eats with you, slow and steady, letting the weight of his presence do all the talking.

The food smells too good to ignore. And you don’t want to be alone right now.

So you eat.

He watches, not too obviously, but you can feel it. The tension in his shoulders eases when you take another bite, and by the time your bowl is empty, your eyelids are heavier, your body slumping against the chair.

You don’t protest when he leads you to the couch, wrapping you in soft blankets from God knows where. He pulls you against his chest, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you let yourself sink into the warmth of him.

Your couch is too hard, because you never bothered making this place comfortable. Most nights, you sleep on the hardwood floor because it’s easier than trying to rest in a bed that doesn’t have him in it.

Maybe you got married too young. Your frontal lobes weren’t even fully developed yet.

Or maybe this was always bound to happen.

You already know how this will go.

Keigo will stay until you make him leave. He’ll linger for a few days, maybe a few weeks, before finally stepping back. Then the gifts will start showing up at your door—never at your agency anymore, at least he learned that much.

And then, eventually, he’ll come back.

And when he does, you’ll scream as you push him away. Because his feathers will be scattered across your apartment, lingering on the floor, stuck to your clothes, hidden in the creases of your couch.

And no matter how much you tell yourself to, you won’t have the heart to throw them out.

Because you still love him. 

“Hm.”

Your laugh is barely more than a breath, but it still surprises you. It rumbles against Keigo’s chest, and you feel the way he tenses beneath you, like he’s trying to commit the sound to memory.

When he glances down at you, you tell him it’s because noodles and green tea were all you guys could afford back then, before the fame, before the headlines, before everything got so complicated.

Keigo nods, his lips pressing into a firm line, but there’s something in his eyes—something distant, something almost mournful. “The food act you started is doing really well,” he says after a moment, his voice steady. “Lots of donations are coming in. People are getting at least two hot meals a day.”

You smile, a small, fleeting thing.

Of course, Keigo made sure of it. Whatever you wanted to do, he always fronted the money, always stepped in as the face of it. Not because he wanted credit, but because people were more willing to listen to him than a woman who looked like you.

You don’t even need to say it out loud. He already knows.

A snake. 

That’s what they called you. 

Strange, considering the soft curve of your cat-like ears atop your head, the way your tail flicks when you’re irritated, the sharp, clawed nails you keep polished and neat. Maybe it’s your eyes, slitted and gold lined, too predatory for their liking. 

Maybe it’s your teeth, sharp enough to tear through flesh, or the venom you can spit through the gaps between them, burning hot as it hisses against the air.

Or maybe it’s just because they needed an easy way to hate you.

Whatever. You don’t care anymore.

You’re just so tired.

Waking up has been hard. Brushing your teeth feels like a chore. Standing too fast makes your head spin.

Maybe it’s just too many bad days, piled on top of each other, weighing you down.

Or maybe it’s something else.

It’s weird—the way you’ve started signing Keigo’s last name again without thinking. You mean to use your maiden name when handling business, but the moment the pen touches paper, it’s his that spills out in ink.

Because it doesn’t feel like your name anymore.

Not after the media found out about your marriage.

Not after they twisted it, stripped you of any identity outside of him.

It became his name. And you? 

You weren’t even a partial owner.

You sigh, pressing your forehead against his collarbone, letting yourself drift for just a moment. You and Keigo go way back—back before the tabloids, back before the industry swallowed him whole, back when you had braids and he hadn’t yet fallen into the machine that chewed him up and spit him out as Hawks.

Back when it was just you and him, sitting on the floor of your first apartment, no furniture, barely making rent, sharing instant noodles and laughing like the world wasn’t out to break you.

Keigo sits up a little, his arms still around you but tense now, his golden eyes locked onto your face, searching for something. 

Anything.

“Can I ask you something?”

You don’t respond immediately. Your gaze is fixed on the silver screen, but you’re not really watching anymore. The cartoon you grew up on plays like white noise in the background, a relic of a simpler time—back when the only thing you had to worry about was making ends meet, back when it was just you and him against the world.

Back before the lights got too bright. Before the whispers got too loud. 

Before loving each other started to hurt.

You understand why he doesn’t want to go back to that apartment, why he hates the memories in those old walls. You do, but at the same time, you don’t. Because back then, you had each other. More than you do now, more than when you both became names with too much weight to carry.

Before the cameras, before the meetings and hushed conversations about his image with you. Before your interviews turned sharp-edged, laced with bitterness neither of you knew how to swallow.

Before there were meetings about your marriage. Before your image turned sour.

You know why he works so hard to give you a soft life, but you refuse his money, refuse to go half on anything. You both got married without a prenup, so as far as you’re concerned, he can keep his things, and you’ll keep yours.

But Keigo is a selfish man.

He wants everything.

Not the house, not the cars—those are just things, and he’s never cared much for things.

He wants you .

Not as a trophy wife, not as a possession, but as the one person who’s ever really seen him in a room full of people. The one who showed him what his heart was worth. And even though yours is torn to shreds, even though you’ve spent so long pushing him away, he wants to be there with a sewing kit and new fabric, trying to stitch you back together, piece by piece.

"Would you run away with me?"

Your head turns slowly, eyes meeting his. "Run away to where? America? Some place where they don’t know my face or name?" Your voice is flat, tired. "You’d never be able to leave, Keigo. You have a duty here."

Keigo takes a deep, almost steady breath, eyes flickering with something unreadable before he clarifies.

"Run away with me for today. For Valentine’s Day. "

Your playful smile vanishes. You frown, turning back toward the screen. 

"I hate when you joke like that."

"It’s not a joke."

The way he spits it—low, urgent—makes something in your chest ache.

He isn’t talking about some grand escape. He isn’t asking you to drop everything, to disappear with him to some foreign country, to run from the weight of your names.

He’s asking for today.

One day where there are no cameras, no expectations, no headlines.

Just you and him, like it used to be.

"It’s not a joke," he repeats, softer this time.

"You can't breathe air into my lungs if I don't want it, Keigo."

"Then I'll be a vacuum cleaner and press reverse."

"There you go again—forcing me into what you think is best for me."

"Please, just come home."

"I'd rather be in hell than alone."

You haven't been back since the night you left. You packed a suitcase with the same clothes you arrived with, taking nothing more than your hero costume.

And now you were gone.

It killed Keigo to come home and see the place torn apart, to live in the wreckage of everything you left behind. For a while, he did. That’s why he moved into the penthouse—because the house, as beautiful as it was, hurt too much.

Acres of land, a guarded estate, a quiet escape in the countryside—it was supposed to be a dream. Now, it’s just a memory.

But that night stays with him. The night you begged— fucking begged —him, his wife, who should never have had to beg for anything in her life. And yet, you did. Standing there in your designer black dress, glittering under the dim lights, mascara running like an unchecked faucet, pooling at the base of your throat as if your own tears were branding you, drowning out your voice.

Begging him to stay. To choose you over the public. Because you needed him.

And he didn’t.

—————

Keigo doesn’t notice the way your hands start to shake as the commotion around you grows louder. He doesn’t notice how the weight of the room feels like it’s pressing into your skull, the voices, the shuffling, the endless chatter about the schedule and the press and the fucking charity event drowning you like a tidal wave.

He doesn’t notice the way you break.

Not at first.

You're already on your knees, sitting in the middle of the bedroom floor in your black designer gown, the shimmer of it making the streaks of makeup down your cheeks look even darker. Your chest is rising and falling too quickly, your breathing uneven, like the oxygen in the room is running out. Your nails are digging into the fabric around your arms, and you’re begging him, voice hoarse from holding everything in for years.

"Please."

That’s all you can manage at first. You don’t know what else to say, how else to convince him, how else to make him see you.

"Please don’t go."

Keigo exhales slowly, standing tall in his gilded tux, his hands adjusting the cuffs like he’s getting ready for war, and in a way, he is. The hero industry is a battlefield, and he’s always been a soldier. Always been good at following orders, at knowing when and where to strike, when to play the game.

You’re not part of the game.

You never were.

"You know I can’t just not go," he says, like he’s trying to be reasonable, like this is an explanation instead of an excuse. "This event is important."

You let out a sharp, bitter laugh. 

Important.

"What about me ?" you whisper, gripping your dress tighter.

His jaw tightens. "Don’t do that."

"Do what , Keigo?"

He sighs again, rubbing the back of his neck, his wings fluttering once in irritation. The movement sends a loose feather drifting to the floor between you, and you hate how that simple sight makes something in your chest ache .

" This ," he gestures at you vaguely. "Acting like I don’t—"

"Like you don’t what ?" You cut him off, eyes locking onto his. "See me? Hear me? Like you haven’t left me behind over and over again?"

He stiffens at that.

"You always have somewhere else to be, Keigo," you whisper, your hands releasing your dress to clutch at your chest instead, like you can physically hold yourself together.

"Always someone else to be with. Always something more important than me."

"That's not fair," he snaps. "You know that’s not true."

"Do I?" Your voice cracks, and you shake your head, laughing wetly, eyes burning. " Tell me , Keigo—when was the last time you chose me ?" He looks at you, but he doesn’t say anything. Not even one word.

Because he knows.

He fucking knows .

And for not the first time tonight, you feel empty.

Because what’s the point of screaming at a wall? What’s the point of pouring your heart out into hands that are too full to hold it?

Your voice is quieter now. Depleted.

"I’m done."

That makes his entire body tense, golden eyes snapping to yours, lips parting slightly in disbelief.

"What?"

"I don’t wanna fight anymore." You sniff hard, wiping your eyes, smearing the mess on your face further. 

"I just wanted love and comfort. That’s it."

Keigo moves forward, like he’s about to kneel in front of you, but before he can, there’s a loud knock on the door, followed by frantic voices calling his name.

They need him.

You don’t say anything. You don’t move. He hesitates, but only for a second. Then he sighs, leans down, and presses a quick kiss to your ruined cheek.

"We’ll talk about this when I get home, okay?"

Your breath catches in your throat.

And just like that, he’s gone.

The door closes behind him, and the noise follows, his footsteps fading down the hall as the staff and managers rush after him.

You don’t move.

You just sit there, staring at the empty space he left behind, blinking slowly as another hot tear slips past your lashes, burning as it carves a path down your cheek. It drips from your chin, landing against the fabric of your dress. And in the silence of the house you once called home , you whisper,

"I need you."

But he’s already gone.

You don’t move at first when you hear all the cars drive away. 

Because your mental state was just that bad —so bad that the thought of standing under a thousand flashing lights, surrounded by cameras and whispers, made your stomach turn. Because you knew how it would go. You’d smile, pose, play the part, and by morning, they’d have spun some new evil story about you. As if you craved attention so desperately that you needed everyone’s eyes on you—even at a charity ball.

And Keigo stood there, dressed in gold, the picture of perfection, while the staff bustled around you, stepping over your crumpled form on the floor of your own home. As if you weren’t there. As if you were just a nuisance, inconveniencing a man who had far better things to do.

Honestly, what did he ever see in you?

The rumors never stopped. That he must have been tricked, roped into this marriage. That Hawks, the patron saint of the hero world, hadn’t just cleaned up the streets—he’d done an act of charity by taking in a disaster of a woman like you.

And maybe, tonight, he believed it.

He dismissed the staff. His managers. But it was too late. 

The damage was already done.

He tried to explain earlier. Tried to tell you why he couldn’t just not go. That you needed to pull yourself together. And that’s when something inside you snapped.

"I’ve been pulling myself together for you for seven years, Keigo. Seven."

From the very beginning, people told you that you’d never measure up. That you needed to hold on tight to him before he came to his senses. And now, standing in the middle of this too big, too cold house, you finally hit your breaking point.

You couldn't breathe. You couldn't think. The world spun too fast, too violently, and he—he couldn’t even take a moment to comfort you?

Really?

He’d rather stand there and watch you unravel? 

The two of you were screaming now, voices ricocheting off the high ceilings. But you weren’t even angry anymore. Not really.

"I don’t want to fight, Keigo. I just wanted love. I just wanted comfort."

His phone wouldn’t stop ringing. People were banging on the door, reminding him that he needed to go. And you—you just stood there. Silent. Watching.

"We’ll talk about this when I get home," he told you, pressing a kiss to your tear-streaked cheek before walking out the bedroom door.

And you let him go.

The moment the door clicked shut, a single, burning tear slipped down your cheek, curving along your jaw as you whispered, "I need you."

But there was no one left to hear it.

The house was empty. Silent.

No one called. No one checked in—except Rumi and Taishiro, asking where you were, saying Keigo mentioned you weren’t feeling well.

Oh. 

So that’s what he told them?

The ring on your finger feels heavier than it ever has.

The same ring he slipped onto your finger with that cocky, love-drunk grin, promising you forever. The same ring he kissed every morning before slipping out the door, murmuring, see you later, babe . The same ring that sat between your fingers as you traced the grooves absentmindedly, convincing yourself that he was worth waiting for.

Now, all you can think about is how much you regret ever putting it on.

Because what did it mean ?

Nothing.

It was just another thing in your life that Keigo Takami had made you believe was sacred—only for him to turn around and treat it like an afterthought.

Defends you to the death one moment but can’t even put the world on hold for you the next.

Talk about mixed fucking signals.

Even the lights in your bedroom feel too bright, burning into your retinas as if the whole house is mocking you, exposing you, watching you break apart piece by piece. You stumble toward the bathroom, desperate for a moment to breathe, to clear your face, to wipe away the evidence of how thoroughly you’ve lost .

But then you make the mistake of looking into the mirror.

And you don’t even recognize yourself.

The woman staring back at you is a ghost, her makeup smeared down her cheeks like war paint, her lips trembling with unshed rage and despair. The whites of her eyes are bloodshot, her cheeks raw from the heat of her tears.

Smoke curls from her lips with every breath.

You open your mouth, and your venom pools there, thick and acrid, sliding over your tongue like a warning. You could spit it into the sink, watch it swirl down the drain like all the other things you’ve had to swallow in this marriage.

But why should you?

What’s the point of restraint? What’s the point of trying to be good ?

Keigo abandoned you tonight. Just like he always does.

So instead of spitting into the sink, you turn and head straight for the bed.

One spit-take is all it takes to watch the expensive Egyptian cotton sheets dissolve into nothing.

Oh.

That feels good.

Something clicks into place inside you, something sharp and reckless and angry.

Your fingers curl into tight fists as you storm through your walk-in closet, scanning the racks and shelves until your eyes land on something perfect.

An old baseball bat.

The weight of it feels right in your hands, the smooth grip grounding you.

And then you swing.

The bedroom window shatters on impact, the sound ringing through the house, glass raining onto the floor like diamonds. You turn on your heel and move to the next target—the kitchen cabinets, the overpriced mahogany that Keigo’s designer picked out. You slam the bat into them again and again, the wood splintering, the doors hanging off their hinges.

Then it’s the TVs.

Every. Single. One.

Because why the fuck does every room need a television ?

You swing at the first one, watching the screen crack and flicker, glass shards scattering across the hardwood floor. Then the next, and the next, until there’s nothing left but broken plastic and shattered screens.

But that’s still not enough.

The sinks.

You crank the faucets on full blast, watching the water spill over before you spit into them, the pipes sizzling and corroding instantly.

Keigo’s favorite car sits in the driveway, gleaming under the moonlight, freshly purchased, still smelling like new leather and money.

Too bad about the broken windshield.

Your bat swings once, then twice, then three times for good measure, before you shove the damn thing into neutral and push it over the edge of the property’s cliffside driveway.

It tumbles down the rocky slope, scraping against jagged edges, until it lands with a loud splash in the saltwater below.

Huh.

Guess he’ll find it there later.

You step back, shoulders rising and falling with each breath, but you’re not done. Not yet.

The wedding china.

The plates, the dishes, the goddamn gravy boat.

You hurl them at the wall, watching them shatter into pieces, and for the first time, your hands shake —because that hurt. That was a gift from your grandfather. That was yours .

You swallow hard, eyes burning, but you don’t stop.

Your wedding dress is in the attic, stuffed away in a box that smells like dust and memories. It was a short thing, gifted by Nemuri from her first failed attempt down the aisle, something borrowed, something meant to be special.

Keigo’s tux is there too. An old rental, something he nearly threw away.

You whisper a quiet, sorry, to the dress before setting it ablaze.

Better for it to burn than to live in that dingy old box forever.

But Keigo’s tux? That, you take downstairs.

You nail it to the front steps.

For when he gets married again.

And then, finally, you slide the ring off your finger. It’s lighter now.

You don’t look at it as you place it on the nightstand, as you go back upstairs and pull out an old suitcase. You pack only what you came into this house with. The clothes from your old life. And your hero costume.

For good measure, you slice up Keigo’s expensive jackets, the ones he always threw over your shoulders in public when people were watching, but never when you actually needed them. All this money can’t buy you the arms that you wish would hold you more than just at night when you’re falling apart and can’t feel anything. Then you flood the bathtub with them.

And spit.

The fire crackles, eating through the fabric, the flames licking up the ruined cloth, filling the air with the acrid scent of burnt leather and regret.

Do you feel better?

No.

But it helps .

And then you leave.

You step out of the house barefoot, your pretty dress stained with smoke and dust, your expensive heels clicking against the pavement as you walk . And you don’t stop. Not until you reach your grandfather’s old house. The porch steps creak under your weight as you sink down, too exhausted to even push open the door.

Your body is spent. Your soul is empty.

So you just curl up on the steps, resting your head against the worn wood. And for the first time that night—

You close your eyes in peace.

—————

Keigo watches you from across the room, his golden eyes tracing every flicker of emotion that crosses your face. He sees it all. The hurt. The betrayal. The night he can never take back.

And the worst part?

He knows—knows deep down in his bones—that there’s nothing he can do to fix it. 

No matter how hard he tries, no matter how many times he rewinds the memory in his head, searching for the moment where he could have done anything differently.

Because he did come home that night.

Heart pounding. Mind racing.

At first, he thought someone had attacked you, that some villain had stormed the house, tearing it apart, leaving nothing but chaos and destruction in their wake. But then he saw it.

The tux.

Nailed to the front steps like a goddamn headstone.

And then he stepped inside.

The walkway, the living room— empty.

Not in the way that an unfinished house is empty, but in the way that something once full of life had been stripped bare, gutted from the inside out. The only things left were the shards of glass scattered across the floor, catching the moonlight like cruel little stars.

His stomach had twisted at the sight, his fingers tightening around the doorframe as he forced himself to move forward, to climb the broken staircase, to look .

And when he did—When he stepped into your bedroom—His knees nearly buckled beneath him.

Black stains marred the pristine white carpet. It took him a second to understand what they were.

And then it hit him like a freight train.

Your tears.

You had knelt there, crying so hard and so long that the venom from your mouth had dripped onto the floor, burning into the fibers. His gaze had swept the room, taking in the smoldering remains of your shared mattress, the burned sheets, the shattered windows. His jackets—shredded beyond recognition.

And there—on the bedside table—

The ring.

The one thing he never thought he’d see off your finger.

And then he checked the closet. Your clothes—all the ones he had ever bought you—were still there. Neatly folded, untouched. The only things missing were the clothes you brought with you the day he gave you the keys and you moved in together.

The same keys he now kept locked in a safety deposit box. Along with the keys to your first apartment. Because some part of him had always held onto the hope that maybe—just maybe —you’d come home.

But that hope had been a fool’s dream, hadn’t it?

He hates the person he was then. Because even if people needed  him, he took vows to you.

And he broke them.

Maybe there was no adultery, no scandal, nothing that would make the tabloids scream betrayal. But what does that even matter?

He still failed you.

And he doesn’t blame you for wanting out. For wanting away from him.

But fuck —he’d been an idiot.

An idiot to not try harder. To not fight tooth and nail until his last dying breath to make it right. To not chase after you, to not choose you the way he should have from the very beginning.

And now, standing here, watching you—

He wonders if maybe the right thing to do is to finally let you go.

To stop being selfish.

To give you the space you deserve to heal , to move on, to find someone who truly understands you. Someone who isn’t afraid to tell the world no for you, who will always put you first.

Someone who will love you better than he ever did.

And God—

He hopes that whoever it is, they love you more than anyone in the world.

Because you deserve it.

You always did.

"Okay."

Keigo blinks at you, his golden eyes narrowing slightly in confusion. Okay? That’s it?

"Okay?" he echoes, like he needs confirmation, like he hadn’t just spent the past few minutes bracing himself for another argument, another rejection, another reminder of how much he fucked up.

" Yes, okay," you say with a yawn, stretching your arms over your head as your hair flattens slightly against the pillow. "That's what I just said, right?"

He doesn’t respond right away. Just watches you, still half-buried in sleep, your voice groggy, your body warm beside his. He doesn’t know what he was expecting— screaming? A shattered vase? —but it sure as hell wasn’t this.

"I don't see the point in wasting a beautiful day," you add, voice softer now, as if admitting something you’re not sure you should. "But I'm tired. I need a nap."

And so you do.

Just like that.

You turn over, curl up under the blanket, and drift off. Keigo watches you for a moment longer before finally settling in beside you. His wings fold close, the weight of everything still lingering heavy on his chest, but for the first time in a long time, he lets it be. He lets you be.

And maybe it’s not forgiveness. Maybe it’s not even healing.

But it’s something.

The sun is well into the afternoon sky by the time he stirs, rousing you gently with a touch to your arm, murmuring your name in that low, familiar voice.

You wake slowly, stretching again before swinging your legs over the edge of the bed.

"Five more minutes," you grumble. Keigo chuckles.

"That’s what you said an hour ago."

You throw a weak punch at his arm before shuffling to your bedroom. At first, you tug on a plain tee and jeans, running a brush through your hair before stopping. Your eyes flick to the back of the closet, to something you haven’t worn in a long time.

A soft pink dress. Short and flowing. One you used to wear on dates before you got married.

You hesitate for only a second before pulling it out. It feels almost foreign in your hands, but when you slip it on, it fits just the same. A little piece of the past, like muscle memory. Your hands move on their own—pulling your hair into a high ponytail, swiping on a light cat eye, painting your lips a deep maroon before adding a slick gloss over it.

Your eyes flicker to your feet next. Heels? No, too much. Sandals? Maybe.

Instead, you grab a pair of flat tennis shoes, white, and slip them on over your hot chili pepper socks. A tiny smirk tugs at your lips. You used to wear them all the time, and Keigo always teased you for it.

When you finally step outside, the sunlight kisses your skin, and Keigo—

Keigo is already waiting.

He stands there, casual as ever, golden eyes sweeping over you in quiet admiration before his hand disappears behind his back and reemerges holding a large bouquet of flowers.

You stop short, eyes flicking between him and the bouquet.

"Where did you get those?"

He grins, his classic, cocky smirk making its first real return in what feels like ages. "I have my ways."

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real bite behind it. You take the bouquet from him, inhaling the soft, floral scent before carefully opening the sliding glass door and placing them in a vase with fresh water. But before you turn away, you pluck a single sweet pink rose, tucking it between your fingers.

When you step back toward him, his arms are already open, waiting—

And without hesitation, you wrap yourself around him.

His arms tighten around your waist, lifting you with ease like he used to, like it’s routine , like it’s muscle memory .

And for a moment—just a moment—everything feels familiar again.

Keigo lifts you into the air with ease, the wind rushing past as you hold onto him, your heart steady against his. His wings beat strong and sure, carrying you higher, away from everything—the city, the noise, the expectations.

For once, there is no mission. No duty. No answering to anyone.

Just this. Just you.

The sun is warm against your skin, golden and high, as he finally descends upon a quiet field nestled between rolling hills. A place untouched by the rush of the world. He lands effortlessly, his boots meeting the soft earth with a quiet thud before setting you gently down beside him.

There’s a small rental station tucked under the shade of a willow tree, and Keigo pulls out his wallet before handing over a few crisp bills. In return, he’s given two sleek bicycles, their frames shining in the midday sun.

"Hope you still like bike rides," he muses, smirking as he swings a leg over his.

You roll your eyes but can’t hide your own smirk as you do the same.

And then you’re off—pedaling down winding dirt paths, the wind catching your hair, the scent of fresh earth and wildflowers filling your lungs.

The river beside you glistens, its waters clear and cool, flowing endlessly along the curves of the land. Keigo rides ahead at times, turning back to call out teasing remarks, daring you to keep up, but other times he slows just enough to let you ride beside him, your hands brushing every so often as your laughter fills the air.

At a small wooden stand along the path, an old mountain man greets you with a weathered smile, his hands rough but steady as he hands you fresh fruit and skewers of grilled meat. Keigo pays him generously, thanking him before leading you to a shaded spot where you both eat, savoring the simple flavors.

Then, with a sly grin, Keigo wipes a stray drop of juice from the corner of your lips with his thumb. His touch lingers, eyes golden and soft, and for a moment, he swears you both are younger again—two reckless souls, dressing up for each other just for fun, holding hands simply because you wanted to, not caring if anyone else saw, because you see each other, and that was all that ever mattered.

He never thought he’d get to have this again.

After the meal, he takes your hand and leads you somewhere even more breathtaking—a secluded stretch of Japan’s most beautiful flower fields. Endless waves of color spread before you, vibrant reds, soft lilacs, golden yellows, and blushing pinks painting the earth in an explosion of life.

"A private tour," he murmurs, nudging your side as he watches your expression, drinking in the way your eyes widen with wonder. "Just for you."

And it is just for you.

No cameras. No reporters. No agency calls.

He left his phone at home on purpose—no tracking, no interruptions.

Just this. 

Just you.

As the day winds down, the sky begins to shift, trading its bright blues for something softer, richer—deep oranges and soft pinks flood the heavens, painting the clouds in their warm embrace.

You both lay stretched out on a picnic blanket, the fabric worn but comfortable against the cool grass. The scent of flowers drifts through the air, mingling with the fading heat of the sun. Your head rests in his lap, your body relaxed, skin kissed by the sun, glowing beneath its last golden rays. His fingers move gently, threading delicate stems together, weaving a flower crown with practiced ease.

You hum quietly, running your fingers through the soft grass, feeling the earth beneath your touch, the moment settling deep into your bones.

"Hold still," Keigo murmurs, placing the finished crown atop your head. You glance up at him, catching the way his golden eyes soften, the way his lips twitch into a barely-there smile.

"Perfect," he whispers.

And for the first time in a long time, he truly believes that this moment —just this —is all he’s ever needed.

You move suddenly, shifting up in his lap so quickly that his wings ruffle in surprise.

"Hey, dove, what are you—"

"Shut up, birb brain," you mutter, licking your lips before grabbing his face.

Keigo lets you, just like he always does. It’s something that used to unnerve him when you first met, when you started dating, but he’s long since grown used to it—the way you inspect him like a cat, your sharp eyes scanning every inch of him as if you’re searching for something out of place.

Your fingers thread through his hair, combing through the strands, checking for anything you don’t approve of. He doesn’t move, barely even breathes, just lets you do what you need to.

Your pupils dilate, then shrink, then dilate again as you stare into his golden eyes. He’s watched this before, felt it before, how your scrutiny is never cruel, never careless—it’s careful, meticulous. Like you’re cataloging him, making sure he’s still here, still whole.

Then, without a word, you turn him slightly, brushing your fingers over his back, plucking loose pin feathers and laying them out in your lap like little trophies. Keigo exhales through his nose, resigned, watching as you note each one with silent judgment.

"You need to moisturize," you murmur, rubbing one of the smaller feathers between your fingers. "And let Touya help you if you're gonna be a bitch about it." Keigo gawks at you, wings twitching. 

"I haven’t seen him in forever—"

"Don't lie to me." Your nose wrinkles, and he knows there’s no fooling you. "Tell him a man who's died twice doesn’t need to kick the bucket to a cigarette addiction." He groans, rubbing the bridge of his nose. 

"Yeah, yeah, I’ll pass it along."

You let him go suddenly, like you’re done with your little assessment, and flop back onto the blanket without another word. Keigo blinks down at you, rubbing at his jaw where your fingers had gripped him, before shaking his head with a huff.

"Y’know, sometimes I think you might love my feathers more than you love me," he teases. You smirk, closing your eyes.

"Hate to break it to you, birdie, but they were my first love."

Keigo snorts, leaning over you, his shadow stretching over your sun-kissed skin. "Guess that makes me your side piece then, huh?" You hum, cracking one eye open.

"Mm. Keep up the good behavior, and I might just promote you."

He grins.

"Guess I better work hard then."

You burst into laughter, the sound spilling out of you uncontrollably, catching you both off guard. It startles Keigo for a second before he starts laughing too, that boyish, unrestrained laugh you used to hear all the time—before everything.

And it keeps going, your laughter feeding off each other, bubbling over until your stomach aches and your cheeks are warm.

You can't help but smile when you see him like this. Keigo—he feels ten feet off the ground, weightless in a way he hasn’t felt in years.

Your hands find his, holding onto them from where you’re lying between his legs, your head resting in his lap. The flower crown in your hair fights to stay in place, petals shifting gently as the wind plays with the strands of your hair.

It’s such a perfect moment—the flowers around you, the sky melting into brilliant hues, the way your skin glows, alive and healthy.

The setting sun casts a golden glow over Keigo’s face, catching in his windswept hair and making his eyes burn with a warmth that melts straight into you. The wind hums through the open land, rustling the flowers around you, making them bow gently as if nature itself recognizes the weight of this moment. But none of it matters—not the sky, not the wind, not the fading light.

Right now, it’s just you and him, existing in a perfect kind of stillness.

Your laughter lingers in the air, soft and unrestrained, a sound Keigo would bottle up and keep forever if he could. He watches you, completely enthralled, because he’s seeing something sacred, something only he has the privilege of knowing.

And when you smile at him—genuine and unguarded—his heart stirs, light as air, as if it’s grown wings of its own.

Being with Keigo feels almost like freedom, like the weight of the past and the uncertainty of the future can't touch you here. Like for once, you are both untethered, just two souls caught in each other’s orbit, unburdened by the world beyond.

His hand finds yours, his thumb grazing the back of your knuckles in a quiet kind of devotion, and you squeeze back, grounding yourself in him.

The wind carries the scent of wildflowers, the last of the sun’s rays spilling over the horizon, but you don’t care.

You only care about this—him, you, together.

And in this fleeting, fragile moment, it feels like nothing could ever take that away.

Then you wipe a tear from your eye, and Keigo watches the way your little teeth poke out from behind your soft lips, a detail he never stopped loving.

"It’s moments like this," you say, voice quiet, almost hesitant,

"When I believe I can fall in love with you again."

Keigo swallows hard, his throat working against the lump forming there. He tries not to blink, not to close his eyes, terrified you’ll disappear in the fraction of a second he does. Instead, he leans down, his hands tightening around yours.

"Would you?"

The laughter dies.

The warmth in your face fades, your expression sobering as you hold his hands back. Silence stretches between you both, heavy and aching. Keigo feels it settle in his bones, a sharp contrast to the golden, fleeting happiness you’d just shared.

And then you finally answer.

"I could…" you say, voice barely above a whisper.

"But I won’t."

Keigo tries not to react, tries not to let it show. But there’s too much history between you, too much weight in the air. You both know each other too well for him to pretend.

"Keigo, I’m—"

"Don't."

You pause, mouth slightly open, but you let him speak.

"Don't," he repeats, softer this time. "You have every right. I just…"

His eyes flick over your face like he’s memorizing it all over again. Then, slowly, his hands rise, cupping your cheeks, his touch impossibly gentle. His thumbs glide beneath your eyes, collecting the tears that had started to gather, his warmth sinking into your skin.

The breeze whispers through the field, making the flowers sway, bending in reverence to the moment passing between you both.

"You just wish things were different, right?"

He nods, dipping his head closer, his throat betraying him when he swallows hard. 

"I do."

"Me too."

Keigo opens his eyes again, and for a second—just a second—he sees you. The real you. The earnest girl he fell in love with, the girl he thought he’d grow old with, the one he’d everything for.

And you see him. The boy who made his dreams come true, the only man you could ever love like this.

There will be no others. Not for you. Not for him.

"A bird cannot love a fish," you murmur, your voice barely carried by the wind.

Keigo flinches. His wings shudder, and a soft, wounded noise escapes the back of his throat.

"Please, don’t…" he whispers. "Not that saying again."

So you don’t.

You just stare into his golden eyes, and he stares into yours—where he finds himself lost, and where you find yourself found.

The sky above is vast and endless.

And you know you shouldn’t.

You both know you shouldn’t.

There’s too much pain here. Too much time lost.

But Keigo leans in anyway, until your noses touch, your foreheads press together, and you stay like that, frozen in something between longing and regret. 

Your hands move slowly, framing his face, nails skimming his skin just enough to make him shiver. He breathes you in, your scent hitting him like a memory too vivid to be anything but real. His favorite drug. You feel his warmth seep into you, melting the cold hollowness that has lived inside your chest for too long. You both feel it.

How could something so right feel so wrong?

As promised here is more info:

You and Keigo were once the hottest couple of the hero world—until, without warning, you filed for divorce.

The media spun the story every way they could, branding you as an opportunist, a traitor, a villain who played the long game. But Keigo? He never once spoke against you. If anything, all he’s done is defend you—both in the public eye and from it.

Now, months later, he’s supposed to be at a high-profile Valentine’s Day event, flashing that easy smile for the cameras.

Instead, he’s at your doorstep, dodging vases and sharp words from Rumi, who seems more than happy to keep him from getting too close. But Keigo’s never been one to back down. No matter how many times you evade him—setting fire to his car, disappearing behind locked doors—he keeps showing up, keeps reminding you of what once was. Because no matter how much you try to push him away, there’s one thing neither of you can deny:

You still love each other.

Your history is tangled, your wounds are still fresh and raw, but fate has a cruel sense of humor. You may no longer wear his ring, but in the eyes of the public, you’re still bound together. Keigo is still holding out hope that you don’t actually want to let him go.

And maybe you don't really want to...

~~

I do NOT own the images!!

My master list is a work in progress but there's plenty more fic's and other characters if you request them. Ao3 is sexy too. I haven't posted the story yet because I need to Finish my Katsuki one first at least, but all the support and comments I receive help give me the motivation to finish!

You can also tip me a coffee if you want.

Remember: Comments and likes, really help. Don't be afraid to leave me a sexy little reblog too.

Stay tuned for the rest!! If you wanna be tagged, lemme know.

I promise I bite~

See you soon my loves!! <33

-Angie (✿^‿^)

I do not own My Hero Academia or its characters. However, the original plot, storylines, and any original characters in this work are my own creation. Please do not copy, repost, or claim my work as your own. Respect the effort and creativity that went into this story—thank you!

[fallen-w1ngs]

'' DEPOLLUTE ME , GENTLE ANGEL ,,

|| pairings: hawks x reader / keigo takami x reader

|| warning: a little suggestive, but it stops, other than that its comfort <3 listen to the song "We'll Never Have Sex" and you'll understand. reverse comfort

|| word count: 0.8k

Hawks. Number two hero in all of Japan. Fastest hero in all the country, youngest too, only age 22 and he was number two. Everyone seemed to want a piece of him, woman, man, anyone. It made sense, of course, he was attractive. He acted carefree, always with a boyish grin on his face and everything he did seemed so effortless. Perhaps that was apart of the problem.

No matter what he did, everyone made their assumptions. Made their ideas, believing him to be a playboy or some sex-driven man. He hated it. Keigo was told to just let it happen, it was good publicity. Especially with how much his fans ate it up, he complied. He let it happen.

That all changed when he met you. Who's hands were never quick, never yearning in a way to get his clothes off. Your hands were soft, gentle. Always caring, never forcing. Keigo didn't understand it, why weren't you trying anything? Why weren't you trying to make him apart of a fantasy?

Your soft lips against his as you sat in his laps, but it wasn't quick. Not 'hot and bothered' as some may speculate, no, it was slow and careful. His hands placed on the small of your back as the two of you kissed. It was a comfort, it was wonderful. Something Keigo always yearns after he finishes a hard day of a hero, to come home where you'd swing by. Watch a movie, make some food, just be together. Sweet kisses exchanged, tonight was no different. The only small change was that those small kisses turned to a small make-out.

You, who'd move your hands just a bit down, down Keigo's chest. He didn't want it to stop, but at the same time it felt like too much. Something he wasn't ready for, not yet at least. The vermillion feathers ruffled behind him as he forced himself to let this happen. You, on the other hand? You stopped and pulled away, cupping his face in your hands as you pressed a gentle kiss on Keigo's scarred cheek.

"Why'd you stop?" Your boyfriends question was barely above a whisper as he held you close. He didn't understand, was he not kissing you well enough? Not being good enough for you?

"Because you wanted to stop," You ran a hand through his messy blonde hair. One that's been kissed by the winds that he flew through during the day. Before he could try to fight back you continued. "I could tell your hesitation, love."

"Dove, we can keep going-"

"When you're ready."

Keigo stared at you with his golden eyes, staring up at you as you mindlessly brushed through his hair with your fingers. Untangling any mess that had happened from the day, taking out any small pieces of dirt or debris from the day. He didn't understand. No, he wasn't a virgin, why were you acting like he was? He held you tighter as he pushed his face into the plush of your neck.

Taking a deep inhale of your scent as he relaxed under your touch.

"Thank you."

You knew how the media treated him, as some sort of sex symbol. Always putting him on a pedestal as the number two hero, fastest hero in all of Japan. It killed you everytime you'd see an article of some made up scandal Keigo was supposedly apart of. You'd compare that article to your boyfriend. The man who'd come home, dragging his feet against the wooden floor. Eyebags under his eyes once he wiped the make up he used to conceal it. He was exhausted, overworked. Yet all the media saw was some one-dimensional man.

With a small hum, you shook your head and pushed a small kiss to your winged boyfriends forehead. Lingering there for a few moments before pulling away. A small smile on your face as you kept your gaze on him.

"You don't need to thank me, Keigs."

"But I should, you-"

You pushed your finger against his lips, a small smirk danced on your lips as you huffed.

"I don't wanna do anything you're not comfortable with. We don't have to do anything soon," With a small sigh, not of disappointment, you pressed your forehead against his. Fluttering your eyes closed as you kept speaking softly. "I kiss you just to kiss you, Keigo. If you don't wanna go too far, we don't have to. I'll be as patient as you need."

Your words hit a chord somewhere in Keigo. He always felt so pressured to do.. Well, anything. Hero work, the Commission, friends, enemies. He had so many things he had to do. But with you? He could go his pace for once. Not Hawks'. Not the man he presented to be, not the fastest hero in Japan. Just Keigo. He could go as slow as he needed, and you'd be there to support him.

"I love you," He whispered softly, his voice trembling just the smallest bit as he kept his emotions in check. Trying not to cry.

"I love you too, my darling."

"I love you," He repeated again. And again. And again. He kept whispering it as he kissed your neck softly, not a tease, not to lead up to something else. But because he could, because he wanted to.

"My gentle angel."

|| GUYS. GUYS. IM CHDBSIUBSIBVIDBLDVSAA i love keigo oml. i love how complex he is, he means sm to me OOOMMMLLLLLL :(( TO BE CLEAR!! im not anti-sex or smth, i js find it interesting to see the difference between hawks and keigo. i can make a whole essay on this

[nightfall-kachiniko]

Keigo has this thing where he’ll try to guess your chapstick by kissing you 😭

Like you’ll give him a quick kiss before walking out the door and all of a sudden he shouts “it’s strawberry!”

Or you’ll cuddle up next to his half awake self, giving him a kiss on the lips before he tiredly wrap his arms around you and he’ll mumble in his raspy voice “marshmallow…”

[thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels]

I just wanted to be something (I wanted to be good)

This is how it feels to take a fall - series masterlist here

pairing: takami keigo x reader (gender neutral, no use of y/n)

length: 1.4k

genre: hurt/comfort, fluff

warnings: strong allusions to depression in this one, trying to figure out who you are and what you're doing, sorry kids I'm going through it and it's showing ig

a/n: hey shout out to everyone who's ever said smth nice about my writing this one's for you <3

Save lives, get bloody, rinse, repeat. Save lives, get hurt, rinse, repeat. Try to save lives, get beaten, rinse, repeat. Try to save lives, try to scrub the blood off your hands, try to stomach the sight of the red pooling on your shower floor. Try to save lives, try to save yourself, try to make it to the next day. 

Rinse. Repeat.

Keigo finds, as he watches you towel dry your hair through the open bathroom door, that the monotony might be getting to you a bit. He realizes, with a swirling sort of concern, that the endless spiral of it all might be taking its toll on you. 

Try to stay alive. Try to do something good. Rinse. Repeat.

You meander into your bedroom slowly, your hair still damp as you eye the way that Keigo lies sprawled across the bed.

"C'mere," he says easily, and you go to him like it's second nature - like lounging against him in your shared home is where you're meant to be.

"Tired?" he asks gently, wrapping himself around you and cocooning you against him as he presses a kiss to the crown of your head.

"I dunno," you muse noncommittally, stiff against him. He hums suspiciously as his hand runs up and down the length of your spine, as if he could tether you here through the touch.

"You seem tired," he points out gently - and you bristle as if it were an insult. You know it's not  - you know it's not, but something burns in your gut and you move to pull away from him.

"I'm just a little worried, is all," Keigo continues, his arm banding around your waist to keep you from wiggling away. "I'm just… "

"Worried about me?" you fill in, still pulling away just enough to look at him where he slouches against the pillows. He smiles at you in a way that you're sure is supposed to be comforting, but Keigo's never been too good at hiding his concern, and it doesn't take much from you to make him anxious with the need to keep you safe.

You stare down at him for a moment and he braces himself for the argument - for you stubbornly digging your heels in and denying that anything's wrong. Keigo's done this dance with you before; he's gone through these steps countless times. You'll swear up and down that everything's fine, that you've got it, you're handling it. And then he'll push, as gently as he can, until you crumble. 

But this time, you just sigh, your eyes misting over in a way that has his heart lurching in his chest. Your hands grip onto his t-shirt, and you give him your own tense smile.

"Yea," you say dully, and the waver in your voice has Keigo sitting up. "I'm a little worried about me, too."

"Baby - baby," he says in a rush, sitting all the way up so that he can haul you into his lap, curling himself further around you as if he can hide you from the world, the striking red of his wings blocking your view of anything other than him. His heart stutters violently in his chest, something panicky rising in him at the sight of you crumbling like this. "What's going on, hm? Talk to me? Please?"

"I'm, uh… tired," you offer limply. He smooths a hand over your hair and rocks you back and forth slightly, as if to comfort both of you.

"Tired?"

"Sometimes I don't really… know what I'm doing anymore," you continue, something strange and distant in your voice. Keiog squeezes his arms tighter around you.

"You're a hero," he offers - like it's easy.

"That depends on who you ask," you retort, but it's lacking any sort of bite.

"Is that what this is about?" Keigo pushes in that gentle, loving way of his. You slump further against him at his words, though, and he hums knowingly.

"No. Maybe it's part of it, but… I don't know."

"Keep talking, baby," he prompts. 

"It doesn't make sense," you say desperately, but he just nudges you gently.

"Say it anyway. We'll figure it out."

"Sometimes it feels like I'm just… spinning on the wheel. Like I'm - I'm just trying to get through the day, and it - for what? For what? Because… because tomorrow I'll wake up and just have to get through it again."

Keigo hums in understanding, bringing one of your hands to his lips so that he can press delicate, feathery kisses across your inner wrist while you speak.

"I just wanted to do something. I wanted to make a difference. I wanted - " you cut yourself off, pressing your lips together. 

"There's no one but me here to see you cry, love," he says softly. "You do whatever you need to do."

"I wanted to be someone," you choke out, and the tears really do start rolling down your cheeks now, leaving hot, salty tracks in their wake.

"You are someone."

"No, I - you know what I mean."

"I do," Keigo sighs, rubbing a hand up and down your arm.

"I just want it to matter, you know?" you continue, tears continuing to drip down your cheeks as your voice shakes. "I wanted - I want for the things I do with my hands to mean something good. And it never - it doens't matter how much I do, it never feels like… enough."

Keigo's quiet for a long moment, moving both of his hands to cup your cheeks so that he can brush your tears away with his thumbs, cooing and shushing you as you cry. And you do cry, weeping until your head hurts and your throat is dry and scratchy, your eyes red-rimmed and stinging as you sniffle. 

He's patient, like he always is when he's in love, holding you and soothing you and pressing fleeting kisses across your heated skin.

"Have you looked at the news today?" he murmurs eventually, and you blink at him slowly as you try to wrap your head around the sudden subject change.

"No?" you say obviously. "Why would I? We go out and have to be the ones to deal with it anyway - why would I not give myself some peace from it while I'm home?" Keigo nods in understanding at your words, but as one of his feathers dutifully flutters off to scoop up his phone and bring it to him, you narrow your eyes suspiciously.

"What are you doing?" you ask tiredly, but he just pats your hip and starts scrolling through his phone. You decide to sit rather impatiently, blowing a breath out through your nose harshly as you watch him. 

"I just figured you hadn't seen this," he says eventually, handing you his phone. Your eyes, blurred and aching from crying, have to blink and squint to read the headline that he's showing you.

Citizens express thanks to pro hero saviour in wake of natural disaster.

You read the headline a couple of times before tentatively beginning to scroll through the article.

"It's about that building collapse last week," Keigo supplies as you skim through the testimonials, a collection of civilians praising the pro hero who'd saved them. Keigo brushes his thumb ever so gently over the bandage on your shoulder, a nasty gash that you'd gotten that day from falling rubble. 

You hum absentmindedly at his words, hyper-focused on the article in front of you as you sift through it, something squeezing your chest painfully. 

"You're doing enough, love," he continues gently, moving his hand to smooth it up and down your back. "Even when it doesn't feel like it." You nod stiffly in agreement, locking his phone and pressing it against your chest. He doesn't say anything more, just sits with you and lets you tap on the back of his phone anxiously, your mind whirling through it all.

"I guess this is the part that really matters, isn't it?" you muse quietly.

"Sometimes," he agrees. "But sometimes… it matters that you think it's enough."

"I don't know what I think of it all most of the time - these days, at least," you admit weakly. He squeezes you against him.

"That's what this is here for," he offers, tapping his phone where you still clutch it in your hands. "It's just a little lifeline, baby. That's all."

"It… helps."

"Good," Keigo softens, pressing a kiss to your forehead before tucking you against his chest. "Remember that."

[keikiri-kitten]

EYES ★ KEIGO TAKAMI

keigo likes to stare at you. you like to stare at keigo <3

Just imagine Keigo staring at you. He loves to get up close and personal every time he does. He’s always leaning in ever so slightly to get a better look at you, but what he doesn’t realize is that he’s presenting an ethereal view.

You can see him so clearly now and oh my, is he stunning. His color palette is gold; in fact, the only contrast on his face are his pupils. There’s even a warm tone to his rosy-pink lips. He’s smiling at you— always. Whether it be a gentle tug of the lips or a full grin, the shimmer in his eyes are always in view.

Speaking of his eyes, they’re so much prettier bare faced. They’re big, bright and pierce right through you all of the time. There’s only a slight angle to them without his liner, but his thick, flared, bushy, wheat colored lashes frame his gilded eyes perfectly. Only when he gets close to you like this is when you can spot the hills of honey and valleys of tawny in his irises. You almost curse that one lock of blonde curling over one of his eyes. He doesn’t mind it as long as he’s looking at you.

Sometimes you forget that he’s real; like you can’t reach out and touch him. And even with your hand lifting as if you’re reaching for a figment of your imagination, he pushes his face closer to you so the tips of your fingers can graze along the scruff of his chin. He’s indeed real. They brush over rough facial hair, teasing up to a strong, bare jawline and even higher to full, soft cheeks. That’s the only time his eyes close. And they close slowly as his cheek forces its way into the palm of your hand. He says nothing but tugs the left corner of his lip up for a brief moment. As his smile falls only a little, his eyes open once more to look you in the face.

You have to pull yourself back for small breather, trying to catch the breath you didn’t know stopped. The full image of him is stunning. Keigo’s hair falls in layers around his face and dusts right along his shoulders. All of that free time after the war gave him the opportunity to let his hair grow out again. Wheat tones of blonde, brown and platinum add to your pretty hero’s allure. His hair only has a bit of unruliness to it today, not worried about it being out of his face for fightings sake.

He’s in a natural state. Wearing a loose button down only done up halfway, allowing you to see straight down his shirt and his sun kissed skin. You can’t miss the discolored scar he earned right over his neck and collarbone from his time fighting villains on your travel down his abdomen. That’s not the only scar he had but it’s the biggest one. He stands before you in loose fitting lounge pants, hands stuffed in his pockets. He’s stared at you so long the only thing he can think of is laying a fat, damp kiss to your lips. You two were only in this position because he wanted to get a bit playful. However, as passionate as he is, his playfulness comes in waves. Now all he feels is warmth.

To cut the intensity, he swims closer to press that kiss to your lips before standing upright. “Alright,” he drags. Sauntering away from you with his hands in his pockets and a coy smile on his lips, he chuckles at your attempt to throw a couch pillow at him until his instincts allow him to grab it. How dare he tease you— without having to do much at all?

[kyojurismo]

gamer!keigo who has a youtube / twitch channel where he plays and goes live almost everyday, playing a variety of video games to keep his audience interested in the contents he create & is very active on socials. then one day you happen to enter his room and give him the food he ordered before starting the live and when his fans see you on screen they start bombarding the chat. keigo notices and decides to let you sit there for a while as you feed him while he plays, you’re quiet most of the time as to not disturb you, but then once he’s done he leans over you and kiss your lips in front of millions of spectators and you can’t help but feel embarrassed and surprised since he wanted you away from that world — he knows people can be mean and doesn’t want you to feel bad or guilty for literally nothing.

goatkeigo: KEIGO IS DATING SOMEONE ?!

keigbby: NO WAY THEY JUST KISSED IN FRONT OF US

hxigo: WHAT THE FVCK GUYS. HE NEVER MENTIONED ANYTHING ABOUT IT

[starstruck-flames]

Hawks and comfort? It’s pretty simple I think. In his own flashy way.

Compared to Dabi he’s way more in tune to what you actually need

He’s just such 💅 an empath 💅

Realistically you’re probably pouting and being moody but not wanting to bug him. Which he understands because he works so much but shut up!!! He wants to love you!!! And help you!!!! His little bird brain is going feral with ideas

He flies off while you’re off doing something, showering, on your PC. He knows you won’t pay much mind to it.

And he comes back with take out!! (Your fave! If it’s something he doesn’t like, he’ll get his own food. If his is farther away, he’ll buy yours on the way back so it’s still hot!!)

He makes a nest. He makes such a big nest. (Full credit to @mossy-opal here)

Big big nest, and you’re gettin dragged right into the middle of it.

Takeout, cuddles and whatever the hell you want.

He’s here for you! Though…

He’ll probably space out, fondle your chest. Or just appreciate the soft skin if there’s not a lot to grab.

Hawks is a boob man, and he likes good skin so he can’t help it if your chest just happens to feel best.

It’s a soothing motion at least!

You are not leaving till he thinks you’re better.

Or at all.

“Too comfy.” As he grips your waist. “We sleep here. Forrrrever.”

[shouyuus]

+18, mdni, i love one (1) birdman and one (1) birdman only

lazy sticky sunday afternoon sex with keigo where you're both way too hot and the ac's broken so you shouldn't be doing this but something about the way every single fan is turned on and the hum of them all runs undercurrent to the little panting grunts he makes when he thrusts into you, something about the way his slick skin feels on yours, or the way he started to try and fan his wings to keep the room a bit cooler but lost concentration in the way you're squeezing down around him so tight, so hot --

"fuck... think... think they'll fix the ac by tonight?" he pants, pressing his forehead to yours as he ruts into you, the sticky, dull slap of skin on skin made all the more obvious by the oppressive, humid heat hanging about the room.

you let out a pitched whine, pursing your lips; your hair's sticking to your forehead, the sheets are damp no matter where you touch them, but you can feel his cock pulsing inside you just the way you like.

"m-maybe... ah -- just... just a bit more --" you roll your hips up, lashes fluttering as keigo drops his face into your neck and moans, long and loud and unabashed.

"fuck, fuck, fuck -- c'mon dovey... cum for me -- there y'go..." he whispers, his voice nothing but husk and honey. you feel yourself tipping over the edge, the orgasm rolling through you, slow as unfurling smoke. you feel him follow after a few quick thrusts later, his arms shaking with the effort of not collapsing on top of you entirely.

he rolls over to lie beside you, the pair of you staring up at the inadequately spinning ceiling fan.

"cold shower?" you ask, twisting your head slightly.

keigo turns to look at you, his eyes like tiger eye gems in the slanted afternoon light.

"yeah. yeah," he says, pushing himself up and grimacing at the way his own feathers are sticking to the skin of his back. he picks one off and flicks it over the side of the bed. "the coldest shower, actually."

you laugh, reaching down to tug him up with you, down the hall and to the white-tiled bathroom, where you turn the knob only to find that --

"oh my god..." you stare at the faucet as it lets out a single, measly drop of water. keigo blinks he leans over your shoulder to stare at the decidedly not running water.

"do not tell me the water's broken too."

[myherobirdbros]

"Can you please stop." If Fumikage could sink into the floor this very second and never come back out again, he would gladly take the opportunity to do so. Hell, if he'd known this would happen he might have scheduled an appointment with Mudman just for that. "This is incredibly humiliating."

"Nonsense," the man who was causing him pure suffering or otherwise known as Keigo Takami said, clicking his camera once again. It made Fumikage's eyes burn with its flashing. "Now do a little spin for me will ya?"

Sighing, he did. The graduation gown making a pretty little twirl. He made sure to hold onto the hat as he didn't want it to fall off or tug too snuggly against his feathers. "Nice," the man cheered. Fumikage felt his face warm, not unaware of the soft snickers from his classmates around him.

This was so humiliating. "Must you do this?"

"Do what," Takami-senpai asked, looking up from adjusting God knows what on that ancient looking camera. "You're parents are gonna be so proud." His eyes are shining and his smile his so wide Fumikage can faintly spot the dimple on his left cheek.

It made him shake his head, a rueful smile of his own tugging at his beak, "Nothing," he huffed, doing another spin and holding his diploma up proudly much to Takami-senpai's delight. "Nothing at all. Thank you for coming."

When the former pro hero looked at him this time, it was with a sense of pride and happiness so strong it nearly knocked Fumikage off his feet. Then the man grinned, winking before the camera clicked again stinging his eyes. "I wouldn't miss it for the world kiddo."

[sparklykaminarii]

"cmon baby one more..." he coos into your ear, nails still digging into the fleshy fat of your ass as he guides your hips up and down on his girthy cock. he was determined to get one more orgasm from you. he had to.

it felt like forever. you had been bouncing up and down on his shaft for what felt like ages. you couldn't even recall when it all had started. one orgasm to another, he simply couldn't get enough. he was addicted.

you felt that same knot in your stomach tighten again, this time it was much tighter and intense. the grip you had on his shoulders tightened, your nails engraving small crescents.

your boyfriend had noticed this, he swiftly grabs onto your waist, lifting you up and slamming himself into you at an cervix bruising pace. it was so quick you could barely could even process your own high approaching by second. then you felt it.

back arched, eyes rolled all the way back, jaw dropped, legs trembling. it was intense and heavenly. you've never felt anything so good in your life. it was so good that you didn't even notice the fluid you had squirted everywhere.

as you came back down from your high you realized your boyfriends thrusts had came to an abrupt end. "w-whyd you stop?" you ask, somewhat disappointed. but your boyfriend was looking into your eyes, a cheeky smirk plastered all over his face. "dirty girl- you squirted on me..." he panted out, slowly beginning to buck his hips into your cunt again.

you notice the tacky thin layer of liquid painted between your thighs and his lap. you let out a breathy sigh before your boyfriend whispers into your ear.

"y'think you could do that again for me pretty?"

gojo, geto, nanami, kirishima, hawks, denki, eren, jean + any of ur favs !!

[grenadehearts]

You love annoying your boyfriend, Keigo—better known as Pro Hero Hawks, number two in the rankings. One of your favorite ways to get on his nerves—or, as he likes to put it, “tease” him—is when he’s out on patrol. You always wait until his shift’s just about over, then you strike.

You throw on your best wide-eyed, flustered look and squeal like some fangirl with an obsessive crush, loud enough for the whole city block to hear, “Oh my god, is that Pro Hero Hawks?!”

Then you start gushing. Loud. Profanities fly out of your mouth like confetti. Everyone turns to look—eyes wide, jaws slack—and you can already feel the heat of his stare. Keigo’s there in a flash, hand over your mouth, feathers wrapping tight around your waist as he lifts you off the ground.

He mutters through gritted teeth, “You’re insane,” while trying to avoid the incoming swarm of fangirls—blushing, breathless, and bursting into declarations of love.

And just as he’s lifting you higher, you mumble into his glove in your sweetest, sultriest voice, “Won’t you sign my tits, Pro Hero Hawks?”

He scoffs. Classic Keigo. “Yeah, yeah.”

You figured that’d be the end of it, like always—a quick getaway, some grumbling, maybe a feather-flick to the forehead. But not this time.

He’s flying fast. Too fast.

Before you know it, he’s landing hard on some random rooftop, hidden away from the street, pushing you up against a stone wall next to a rusted door that probably leads to nowhere. The air between you turns heavy. His golden eyes are sharp. Hungry.

He peels his gloves off with his teeth, one by one, still staring at you like he’s got something to prove. His hands slide under your thighs, gripping the soft flesh and lifting you like it’s nothing. Then he’s biting at your shirt, bunching it up in his mouth before holding the fabric in his hand—exposing just enough to make your breath hitch.

Then, in that cocky, ego-dripping voice of his, he says:

“Yeah, anything for my fans. I’ll sign ’em alright. Wanna use my mouth or my cum—your choice, angel.”

master list link here.

[nightfall-kachiniko]

*you and hawks coworker doing your daily gossiping session*

Y/n: “U know when u can tell a dude is checking out ur ass ?”

Hawks: “No-? I don’t think anyone’s done that to me”

Y/n: “Shit I check out ur ass all the time”

[thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels]

Do you come by it honestly? (this halo, bright, that weighs you down?)

split like a thunderstruck tree trunk - series masterlist here

pairing: takami keigo x reader (gender neutral, no use of y/n)

length: 1.4k

genre: street racer hawks & street fighter reader !! angsty comfort

warnings: vague and minor injuries from being in a fight, they're both kinda sad and kinda unwell, hope within despair light within darkness, you get what I mean

a/n: this might be cursed idk tell me what you think tho bc I will write so so much more

"Nice fight tonight," Keigo drawls, and you hum in agreement without looking up. It's dark in the back alley that you've found yourself in, the summer air humid and sticky as you lean against the bricks. He watches as you light your cigarette, your lighter flickering gold and red across your face for a moment before you shove it back in your pocket. "Shame about the face, babe."

"Comes with the territory," you murmur in response, but the bruise blooming on your jaw hurts just the same, throbbing as your head spins. 

"Makes me glad I didn't watch tonight," Keigo mutters in response, and his touch is gentler than you feel it should be when he reaches out to hold your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your head slightly to see the bruise better under the dull light of a nearby streetlamp. "Made good money off it, though."

"Lucky you," you say dryly, but then you soften a bit as his hand moves to the back of your neck, running across the taut muscles. "Sorry I missed your race."

"Don't worry about it, baby. I still win even when you're not there."

"Cocky" you quip.

"Just how you like me," he retorts, a grin flashing across his face. His eyes, though, stay trained on the bruise on your cheek, his brows twitching into a subconscious furrow. He's standing close enough that the smell of him curls around you, gasoline and leather and sweat from his race.

"Sometimes," you muse quietly, and you find that the cigarette between your fingers has become largely unappealing. When you move to throw it onto the ground, though, Keigo snatches it, his hand shooting out with reflexes that your eyes have a hard time following, so you opt to just lean your head back against the alley wall and watch him tilt his head away from you to blow a puff of smoke, instead.

"What's got you feeling like this tonight, hm?" he asks gently, and you narrow your eyes at him - at his constant perception and razor-sharp reads of you. 

"You made good money off me tonight?"

"You know I always bet on you, baby," he responds easily - like it's a given, like it's everlasting, that he'll be right behind you the whole way through. 

"Lucky," you drawl. "You know I was supposed to go down tonight?"

"Huh?" he blinks at you, throwing the ignored cigarette on the ground and stomping on it with the heel of his boot. "You rigging fights now?"

"No," you say sharply. "But sometimes they wish I would."

"Why don't you then?" he pushes, like he doesn't know the answer already.

"Because I like winning too much," you snap back, and he makes a thoughtful face while he hums. Somewhere nearby, a car passes and its headlights pour liquid gold onto the two of you for the briefest moment, Keigo's sharp eyes watching the way you frown up at him.

"You ever won a fight that way?" he asks lowly. You freeze for just a moment, the insinuation making something in your chest squeeze painfully. 

"Fuck you," you scoff, pushing yourself up from the brick wall and walking past him, out of the alley and away from the pool of hidden darkness. Keigo follows you, of course, dutifully chasing after you as you walk down the sidewalk with your hands shoved into the pockets of your leather jacket.

"I'm not accusing you," he yells after you, and you stop abruptly, turning on your heel to face him. You're standing under the streetlight now, the light flooding down onto you as he stands just beyond its reach.

"How about your win tonight?" you say sarcastically. "Huh? You come by that honestly?"

"I didn't cheat," he assures. "I don't. But you and I both know we can't say any of this is honest."

"You don't cheat?" you retort. "And I've gotta, what, just take your word for that?"

"I'd take your word for it, too, love. I don't know why you won't just say it."

"Because I shouldn't have to," you say bluntly. "Because you should know by now."

"What? You?"

"Yea."

"I do know you," he says easily. You roll your eyes.

"Clearly not."

"I know you well enough to know you'd never cheat," he says lowly, and you find yourself scoffing from where you stand in the halo of light, crossing your arms.

"Then why'd you ask?" It's a challenge, the way you say it - but you've found that it's the only one he won't rise to. You find that he's the only one who won't fight you, opting instead to kiss your wounds and clean the blood off of you with tender hands, instead.

"Because it needed to be said," Keigo says simply - like it should make sense, like you should understand the way that he runs laps around your mind.

"No, it didn't."

"Yes, it did," he insists. "Because it proves something, babe."

"What?" you quip. "What point are you deciding to prove tonight?"

"That you need to trust me more. That you need to have a little faith."

"Faith?" you spit. "Of fuck, here we go."

"I'm serious, baby." Keigo takes a step closer as he speaks, his boots right on the edge of the pool of light that you stand in, the streetlamp flickering slightly and casting a hazy, ever-changing glow down onto you. "You gotta take a step forward."

"I thought you said you knew me?" you murmur. "Gotta know me enough to know I trust you by now."

"I do know you," he insists - like it's fact, like it's something holy in his hands.

"You're proving that you don't, Kei."

"I know you," he repeats, and when he steps forward again, placing himself into the spotlight that you stand in, he blinks and squints slightly at the change. "I know you."

"What is it that you think you know?" you press, but you find that you're not really looking to win anymore. You find that maybe you want him to land a hit - you want him to prove that you're not alone in the ring, that he's in your corner and he has your back.

"I know that it keeps you up at night that you're the only speck of light in this place," Keigo says quietly, and you feel the world shift beneath your feet just a bit too much. He sees your unsteadiness - he always does. And he presses on, surer of our own footing than you are these days. "I just wanted you to say it out loud. Because I know you need to."

"How would you know what I need?"

"Because I know you," he says, with a resoluteness that belongs somewhere else.

"Whatever," you say weakly.

"And because I love you," he continues, with a solidness that you're sure used to belong to you.

"Whatever." It's a murmur, a plea whispered into the night, into the darkness that feels as if it's bearing down on you. Keigo reaches out his hand, his palm bright in the pooling, golden light of the streetlamp, and you glare at him in response - widening your stance and planting your feet. He laughs.

"You're not in the ring right now, babe. I'm not here to fight you," he reminds you - and you think that he should be angrier. You think that he should forgive you less.

"Aren't you? Isn't everyone?" It feels a bit hysterical even to your own ears, but you find that you can't help it, and you discover that you don't mind.

"No. That's my point," he responds patiently. You stare at his hand, at the light that collects in his outstretched palm. "I'm not here to win." You think, as you stare at him, that perhaps you both need that - perhaps you both need something that isn't a fight - isn't a race. Perhaps you both need something different.

And so you take his hand, your bruised knuckles flashing in the yellow light as the warmth of his palms hits yours. And he tugs you - out of the spotlight and into the winding, endless darkness of the city streets and back alleys. And you follow willingly, away from the shining streetlamps, blinking in the sudden, unknown darkness. And perhaps, you think, you've both won something tonight.